The Afflicted Zodiac Complete Series

by M J Marstens

  What did Kane say about Nyam?

  That he was the sun?

  Did he mean The Sun?

  ‘We are planetary gods,’ is what Kane had said. . .

  I realize I did not really process that information properly, but reflecting upon Nyam suddenly glowing bright and then actually blinding me makes the light click on in my astrological brain.

  They were the planetary gods of the zodiac.

  That is why Kane questioned me when I insisted the sun was a star, not a planet. He expected me to view everything through an astrologist’s lens. . . or needed me to, in this case. Using this newfound insight, I grab Nyam’s chart and see it’s his sun that squares the moon. I grab my phone and shoot a quick text to Khal:

  ME: Who are you?

  I probably should have explained myself better. He responds a second later.

  KHAL: I’m who am.

  What a fucking smartass.

  ME: I know you’re ‘god’, which one, though?

  I almost tack on ‘dick’, but think better of it. They really haven’t demonstrated the full extent of their capabilities, and I should probably tread lightly until I have a better understanding of them.

  KHAL: I’m the god of discipline.

  Wow, when you just read that abstractly. . . it kind of sets your mind up to picture some stuff, right? Naughty stuff. Like I-have-been-a-bad-girl-and-need-disciplined-meow kind of stuff. Let’s just take a moment to enjoy that mental image before moving along. . .

  Damn, I got sidetracked again. We need to stay on pace, this is some serious shit we are in. . . no need to point out there is no ‘us’ in this situation. . . it’s all on me. That makes me a sad panda. I need a physical support team to help me through this troubling time. Ok, back on track. I text Khal a confirmation question.

  ME: So, you’re Saturn?

  KHAL: Obviously.

  I’m surprised his mother didn’t strangle him as a child. (Did gods have mothers? I’m guessing no, since Khal is alive.)

  ME: And the others?

  KHAL: Figure it out.

  AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! That man is the most frustrating non-human I have ever met. And that is saying something because the other seven are pretty damn vexing as well.

  ME: Must you be so hard?

  I could have kicked myself the minute I sent it. I meant difficult.

  KHAL: Apologies. I thought you liked it when I was hard.

  Jesus, even sexting, this man was uptight.

  KHAL: Or do you just like it hard?

  I almost choke on my sweet tea.

  ME: You really need a primer in digital conversations. Usually one adds an emoji or something to indicate they are joking.

  KHAL: I wasn’t joking.

  Was he flirting with me? I try to decipher his meaning and motives. . . Probably best not engage him further. . .

  ME: I like it when you’re hard and when you give it to me harder.

  . . . I’m really bad at taking my own good advice.

  KHAL: I’ll remind you of this when you’re bent over my desk.

  . . . I think my brain succumbed to mental combustion. . . My vagina is now running this show. Before I can even formulate a response to send back to him, Khal sends me a new text.

  KHAL: See you tonight.

  I’m not going to survive the next two months, am I?

  (That was a rhetorical question.)

  Ok, so Nyam is the sun. I look at Nyam’s chart as a whole, instead of just focusing on the moon and see that his sun is the strongest energy in the wheel. I think of when I first assessed the charts, trying to discern whose was whose. . . Each one had a ruling planet or sign whose energy reigned supreme. For Khal, it was definitely Saturn. I remember it being conjunct his MC and his rising sign was Capricorn. So much discipline. (His neurotic compulsions make sense. Good thing he doesn’t have a strong Virgo, his OCD would be off the charts!)

  Caed’s chart was all fire, with a rising Aries and Mars in the exalted sign and house. . . I think of his turbulent disposition. . . Ok, so Caed is Mars. I look to the others and make similar connections. Mio is Mercury, Kane is Jupiter, Arawn is Pluto. . . but the twins are who? I think of them and their names. Uryn and Illu. Uryn sounds like Uranus. . . which means Illu is Neptune. I look at their charts with the moon. . . each planet representative of their godhood harshly aspects the earthly satellite.

  That was the connection.

  Unfortunately, it did nothing for helping me understand what those eight were up to. If anything, it made me even more confused and curious. I go round and round, looking at their charts with their planets in isolation and as a whole. Nothing resoundingly analogous stands out. . . the only consistent trait all eight men have is their Part of Fortune. They each have it in the sign of Virgo. But even their ‘afflicted’ moons do not have a lot in common. I don’t know what I’m looking for and what they want me to find.

  I pour over the charts for hours, until I realize it’s almost 6:00 and I need to get ready. I change into a little, floral sundress that has an island flare. Perfect for a Luau. I wear my hair down and grab my sandals, without putting them on. I better go find the guys and tell them what I have found. I think back to Khal’s texts. Damn him for working me up. I definitely need to find a fuck buddy at this party. . . a human one.

  CHAPTER 27

  ZAHRA

  The Luau looks to be in full swing when I arrive, although it’s not even a quarter after seven. Located in a private pavilion at the back end of the resort, there are cheery strings of lights, women dressed in grass skirts handing out leis, and waiters milling around with drink trays. I decide to snag a glass of. . . champagne? White wine? Fuck if I know. It looks so pretty. . .

  It tastes worse than my detox tea.

  How can people stand this stuff?

  I meander around, taking in the scene. Mary wasn’t kidding about this being a traditional Luau; aside from the dancers and flower necklaces, there is a giant pig skewered over an open fire- roasting whole hog, and a long buffet table of traditional Hawaiian dishes. The booze I probably wouldn’t do, but I could push past my comfort zone to try some new foods. I mean, I’ve had two three-ways in that past couple of days, I should be down for trying new things, right?

  “Zahra, dear! You’re here! What do you think?”

  Behind me, Mary is smiling that thousand-watt grin. She’s dressed in a wrap dress with printed shells and fish. I don’t know how old she is, exactly, but she has it going on. Note to self: look like Mary when I get older.

  “It looks phenomenal. . . I feel like I’m actually in Hawaii.”

  Mary beams, like I just gave her the highest compliment. Seeing as she probably coordinated this whole thing, I probably did.

  “Follow me. I’ll introduce you to some of the other gals.”

  I walk behind Mary as we weave through the crowd, until we come to a group of girls who look to be around my age. They are sporting short, tight dresses and heavily made-up faces. A few teeter in their heels and I wonder if it’s from the shoes or too much liquid courage.

  “Zahra, this is Beth, Amanda, Trisha, Megan, and Jessica. They work in Human Relations and Marketing.”

  I give a little wave because the girls do not seem nearly as friendly as Mary, if their derisive looks are any hint.

  “Oh, there’s Roger from Accounting. I’ll be right back.”

  Mary gives me a nudge towards the girls and then darts off to catch up with the man walking away. I look back at the set of women and notice they are not even trying to hide the sneers from their faces now. One girl (Megan, maybe?) looks mildly nicer (which is not saying much) and asks with curiosity:

  “So you’re the new one?”

  “Ummmmmm. . . what?”

  “The new ‘flavor’ of the week, she means,” Beth interjects cuttingly.

  “Uhhhhhh. . .”

  I’m not getting any articulation points in this conversation, but what the hell are they talking about?

&nbs
p; “She came with Mary,” Jessica whispers, like I can’t hear her.

  “Is there a problem with that?” I demand.

  I’m all for turning my back on the patriarchy and reforming the bonds of womanhood again, but I’m not letting these little bitches throw Mary under the bus. That woman has done nothing but help me. She’s the only true point of pleasantness in this fiasco. The girls seem to step down at my display of bark.

  “No- no, there is nothing wrong with that. It’s just. . . the, ah, guys do not generally let anyone work with them unless they are family.” Jessica says this like she swallowed something sour.

  Clearly someone is pissed about not being upper-level management.

  Did that mean one of the boys was related to Mary, then?

  I notice the girls are still waiting for some sort of explanation for my presence at the office.

  “Yeah, I’m, um. . . a sister.”

  They all give me varying looks of ‘no fucking way’.

  “You’re actually siblings with one of them?” Trisha asks this like I’m nuts.

  Maybe I should have said distant cousin?

  “Well, the brother got all the good looks,” Jessica chimes in again with her faux whisper.

  That’s it. I’m going to purposely stab these whores. No accident about it this time. I’m looking around for a suitable shank (the little cocktail umbrellas in their drinks might work), when someone slings an arm around my shoulders.

  “Our parents used to say the same thing,”

  It’s Caed.

  He’s the epitome of the leisurely gentlemen dressed in board shorts and a casual button down. He has a drink in his right hand and looks like he spent the entire day on the beach. (He didn’t. Part of it was spent mouth fucking some girl on Khal’s desk in the Presidential Office. I remember. I walked in on it. . . you know, right before I learned they were all monsters, I mean gods.)

  The girls titter behind their glasses, laughing at my expense.

  “Isn’t that so, little sister?” Caed goads, picking up his antagonism from earlier.

  “Yep, you got all the looks, dick brother, but I got all the brains.”

  The girls gasp at my irreverence.

  “Oh, did I say ‘dick brother’, I meant ‘dear brother’. Freudian slip.”

  Caed looks torn between laughter and vexation. From the bulging outline in the front of his shorts, he also seems to be getting some sick pleasure from this whole thing. My mind recalls a hazy dream of being in the office with the eight, but not really there. . . A thought of Caed being a sexual deviant flits across my memories. . . What were they talking about in that dream? Because now I’m not so sure it was one.

  Caed distracts me by dragging me away from the girls. I don’t bother saying good-bye.

  “Making friends?” He asks me.

  “Yep, I’m reclaiming the bonds of womanhood and then we are going to overthrow all the dicks at corporate.”

  He looks at me askance, trying to gauge whether I was being truthful or not. I just smile amiably at him.

  “Would you like a drink,” he offers politely.

  “No, thanks- I don’t drink.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  I grind to halt and yank my arm out of his hand.

  “No. I. Don’t.” I state through gritted teeth.

  He seems confused.

  “Are you abstaining or. . . I don’t know. . . a recovering addict?”

  His high opinion of me really is doing fuzzy things inside my head. Oh wait- that’s just the anger sharks swimming to get out.

  “No, I’m not a recovering addict, you dickhead! And I’m not ‘abstaining’,” I take a page from Khal’s book and add some finger quotes. “I just don’t like alcohol. Is that a problem?!”

  Caed looks at me like I’m a loose cannon. Which is rich, considering he’s the god of violent pastimes.

  “No.” He mutters something under his breath. . . it sounds like ‘you used to drink’. What the fuck does that mean? We walk a little further until we come to a section roped off from the rest of the pavilion. Of course these eight would have a ‘VIP section’ at a company party.

  “Too good to hang with your employees?” I snipe.

  “Play nicely,” Caed warns, before escorting me over to the other seven and a few other men I have not met.

  CHAPTER 28

  ZAHRA

  Khal flashes me a charming smile when I get closer. It’s very un-reassuring.

  “Ah, Zahra, you look lovely this evening,” Khal compliments. “Allow me to introduce you to some potential investors- we are looking into expanding our properties. This is Mr. Julio Álvaro, Mr. Brett Michaels, and Mr. Ian Figgenbaum.”

  He points to the men from left to right, who all nod their heads accordingly to me.

  “And this is Zahra Delsol, our resident metaphysical specialist.”

  I arch a brow. He makes it seem like I’m an old member of the team. Whatever. I politely shake hands with the three men, watching warily as they openly assess me.

  “You’re Latina, then, señorita?” Julio asks with a husky inflection to his words. A fellow Spanish speaker.

  “Mis abuelos paternales nacieron en España, pero la familia de mi mamá era de Escocia”

  “¿Era?”

  “Yes, I don’t have any living relatives that I know of actually.” I answer to his question about what happened to my mother’s side of the family.

  Beside me, Arawn’s and Khal’s eyebrows are doing Stephen Colbert impressions. Ha! I’m a lot more awesome than they thought. (Not that awesome though- I took Spanish in college as my ‘ancestral language’. I got pretty good at it, enough for basic conversations, but that is all.)

  “My apologies for bringing up such a delicate matter, señorita.” Julio bows his head in contrition.

  He appears to be in his late thirties, like Brett and Ian, and would be extremely good-looking if my eight bosses were not loitering around, ruining the view. I attempt to block the others out and focus on Julio’s dark eyes. I could do worse for my vice. . .

  “No apologies necessary, Mr. Álvaro,” I lean in a bit as I say this and seductively nip my bottom lip.

  A stern clearing of the throat behind me has Julio snapping to attention and me reluctantly pulling back. I try to not turn around and glare at the jerk behind me. This is payback for me being their cock block, isn’t it? Ian tries to smooth things over by asking:

  “Metaphysical specialist, eh? What does that entail?”

  “Oh, all kinds of new-agey stuff,” I respond before Khal can say anything better. “I do energy healing and intuitive readings using astrology, numerology, or tarot.”

  “Astrology?”

  “Yep, like natal chart interpretations and more advanced chart readings, if the client is interested. It’s a tool to help people understand the deeper levels of their psyche.”

  The three don’t look impressed, per se, but intrigued. I get that a lot. Even if someone thinks it’s a load of crock, they still want to know about it (so they can later put you in your place of how that cannot be it).

  “A tool, how?” Brett asks.

  “Well, for example, I’m a Virgo Rising and have a Capricorn Sun, so I’m very detail-oriented and work driven. . . but my sun is in my 5th house, the house of creative expression and fun, so my work needs to be something authentic to my nature and something I enjoy.”

  The men seem a little more enthralled than before and I decide to restart flirting with Julio. I bat my lashes at him, as I ask:

  “When’s your birthday?”

  “El siete de agosto,” he answers.

  “The 7th of August? That makes you a Leo. I can’t really say much more without seeing the rest of your chart, but you’re confident, creative, and passionate. Leo rules the 5th house, where my sun is. . . it’s also the house of love and sexual attractions.”

  I think I once upon a time said that subtlety was the lost art. . . clearly it was lost on me, too, because
I’m not even trying to hide my attempts at seduction anymore. And by looking at his grin, Julio is game.

  “The house of love and sexual attraction, you say?” Nyam comments, joining the conversation. Fuck me, what is he up to? Of course he knows what the 5th house entails. . . he’s the exalted ruler of it!

  “You know, I would love to tell you more. Want to go sit down with me?” I send Julio a sultry grin to accompany my invitation.

  I need to leave before Nyam says something to fuck up my chances.

  “Are you taking Brett and Ian with you?” Nyam asks innocently enough.

  “Ah. . . if they would like to join us. . . they can. . .”

  “Well, I know how you like being with more than one man at a time.”

  Brett spits his colorful drink down the side of Ian’s face and bends over, choking, as Julio whacks his back. I glare at Nyam. Did I say I needed to leave before he said something?

  Too late. Too fucking late.

  “Screw you, Nyam. I have never been with multiple men at one time before this week. You, Mio, and the twins are the ones who fucked me by initiating me!”

  Brett chokes some more. I should probably clarify.

  “I didn’t actually have sex with any of them. . . I mean, I tried to blow Mio-”

  I’m not helping myself, am I?

  “Shut the front fucking door,” Caed says (I don’t think he got the point of that phrase). “You blew Mio? I don’t recall you ever offering to suck my dick.”

  “I can’t suck your dick- I’m your sister, apparently!”

  Brett might now be dying. Ian and Julio quickly yank him out of the secured area and back into the crowd of mingling Miraval employees. I don’t think Khal is going to get to expand his properties with them. . . whoops. But when I look back at the severe god of control, he’s grinning at me. Glad I could be their entertainment.