by M. K. Gibson
“Yeah,” he said. “The caduceus is legit. Other than empowered by black magic, the vial and its contents were inconclusive, so I’ve called in a specialist. In the meantime, we need to plan our next move.”
“Is Mr. Whiskers talking?” Cross asked.
“No,” Messer said with a shake of his head. “He knows the protocol: shut up until a lawyer comes. He ain’t talking. Whiskers is betting that his lawyer can get him out of custody before we get a warrant for a mind probe.”
“You can do that?” Arby asked.
Gabby giggled and happily nodded up and down.
“Then what do we have?” Cross asked.
“A whole lot of nothing,” Messer said. “Our only lead right now is that god meeting at the Osiris Outreach Center.”
“What are we looking for?” Arby asked.
“Hermes was an addict,” Jessie said. “And a lot of drug deals happen at group therapy sessions.”
“That’s sound police work, DeLeon,” Messer said.
“Does this mean I get to wear plain clothes now?” Jessie asked.
Messer looked at Cross and Arby, then back at her. “Nope.”
Chapter Seventeen
14 May - 10:00 am
ReDeifyning Dreams, Osiris Outreach Center, District of Brightway
“It’s like . . . it’s like I don’t even matter,” the large man with long red hair and matching beard said to no one in particular. He stared at the glossy basketball floor of the outreach center’s gymnasium while his hands opened and closed as if searching for something that wasn’t there.
“It’s okay,” said a dark-skinned woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a professional suit. “You’re in a safe space here.”
“Some days it’s not so bad. But in others, it’s—it’s like I’m invisible. When I tell people who I am, they look at me like I’m lying. They say ‘But you’re not blond’ and laugh. And according to the stupid law of this city, I’m no longer allowed to crush their skulls. They . . . they even took my hammer away. My hammer. They claimed it was a WMD. But it was just another middle finger from them to us. Why did I ever come to this place?”
The woman crossed her legs, adjusted her data tablet, and leaned forward. “And how did that make you feel?”
Thor, Viking God of Thunder, wiped at his eyes. “It hurts, man. I used to be worshiped and feared. Since the coming out, things have gone to Hel.”
“Go on,” the woman said, taking notes on her data pad.
“Thanks to those stupid movies and comics, I’m not even a person to them. Everyone thinks I’m some hairless Australian guy. Do I look hairless to you?” Thor asked, pulling open his flannel shirt to reveal a thick carpet of red chest hair. “What kind of man shaves his chest?”
“Not everyone is a bear like you,” said a pale, black-haired woman with blue face tattoos who was sitting across from Thor in the circle. On her shoulder, a raven squawked in agreement. “And some of us like the smooth look. It’s sexy.”
Thor rolled his eyes at the Celtic goddess of war, sex, and death. “Then date women.”
“I am,” Morrigan said, reaching out to take one of Kali’s four arms.
The blue-skinned goddess gave her partner a smile, then turned to Thor. “Ever since we started dating, things have been a bit more manageable. And you should relax a little. You have a day of the week named after you.”
“No one knows or cares that Thursday was named after me,” Thor said.
“Lots of people know,” Kali said.
“Yeah, nerds and dorks. No one cool,” Thor said.
“Ladies,” the woman with the glasses interjected, “you will have your turn. This is Thor’s time to share.”
“Thanks, doc,” Thor said. “You know something else that really sucks? People think that the ridiculous-looking LARP hammer in the Marvel movies is the real Mjolnir. And when I try and tell the tourists, they laugh at me. Tourists. Even they don’t take me seriously. My sons Magnus and Modi haven’t called me in weeks. I’m a joke now.”
“At least you have movies,” the god seated to Thor’s left said. Vulcan, Roman god of the Forge, sighed. “When I tell people my name, they say ‘Like Spock?’ I try and explain that I’m akin to Hephaestus, but the Roman incarnation. I tell them I’ve forged weapons for the gods. I tell them that volcanoes were named after me. They just look at me with blank stares. They don’t get it. They don’t get me. No one does.”
“I get you man,” Thor said, putting his hand on Vulcan’s shoulder.
“Thanks.”
“Will you two just get a domestic partnership already?”
Thor brightened and he looked at Vulcan with hopeful eyes, moving his hand to the Roman god’s knee. “I hear you know how to work a hammer?”
Vulcan sighed and brushed the hand away, then turned towards the women. “No offense, Morrigan and Kali, but you’re both sex and death goddesses, beloved by every horny goth, emo, and fantasy-fic fuckwad.”
“Oh, like we really want that kind of attention,” Morrigan said.
“The free drinks at the bars are nice,” Kali said.
“Well, yeah. But if dumb people want to give us free things, who am I to argue?”
“Exactly,” Kali said. “The point is, we have it rough too. Thor is still Thor, gingervitis or not. When I meet visiting people from India and tell them who I am, all they ask is if I know Shiva.”
“Tell them what happened when we went to Starbucks the other day,” Morrigan said.
“Oh, get this,” Kali said. “When I told the barista my name for my order, she held up her hand and mimed ripping out a heart while saying ‘Kali maa, shakti de!’ Stupid Indiana Jones movie.”
The gods began to argue among themselves until a horrid, sunken voice cut through the chattering.
“When the master is allowed to surface, the world shall weep the tears of brine and blood,” intoned a stout, middle-aged man with a recessed hairline, short beard, green sweater vest, and circular glasses. His black eyes regarded the rest of the gods sitting in a circle while rancid seawater trickled from his mouth. An aura of negative light radiated cold and suffering.
“Drown the world will, beneath that crimson tide, into the folds of his aquatic embrace. So cold, they shall burn. Upon the crushing depth of oblivion, you will give thanks to his cosmic malevolence.”
“Gary, what did we say about dark prophecies while we’re in group?” the doctor asked.
“To keep them to myself,” the man said sheepishly, his eyes clearing.
“Exactly. You’re allowed to be here to act as Cthulhu’s emissary per the Eldritch Accords. As such, you may reflect his emotional journey, but not spout his propaganda or dogma.”
“Sorry,” Gary said as he wiped at his mouth. “Sometimes it’s hard to control. The master is quite distraught.”
“Why?” the doctor asked.
“Because when the master sought his prophet in Lovecraft, he thought his dark word would spread. He thought that the garnered power would prepare him to consume hapless followers. Sadly, after he entered the public domain, he became a joke. A product. Instead of cultists, he got plushy toys.”
“And how does this make Cthulhu feel?” the doctor asked.
“I don’t know if the master feels like we do, but . . . bummed? Apparently he’s been binge watching Netflix and eating junk food.”
“All of you should come down to my fitness center then,” Buddha said as he got a bottle of water from a refreshment table. “A good workout, maybe some yoga, helps center the mind and body. Once you feel good there, bro, life just gets better.”
“Buddha,” the woman said in a tone that sounded like she had repeated herself several times before, “group therapy isn’t for shilling your business.”
“Sorry, I can’t help myself,” Buddha said, flexing his muscular arm. “I’m on this juice cleanse and intermittent fasting diet. And man, whew, my life is nothing but up.”
Thor frowned. “I liked yo
u better when you were fat.”
“You a chubby-chaser?” Buddha asked with a wink. “But seriously, health, mental and physical, impacts your life in ways you can’t understand.”
“Where’s Hermes?” Morrigan asked, ignoring the god’s rambling. “He’s usually here by now.”
Kali shrugged. “Maybe his boss found out that he was stealing the coffee?”
“Wait, do you all sense that?” Thor asked, getting to his feet. “Something’s coming.”
“Yeah, I sense it too,” Morrigan said as her raven cawed.
Kali stood, each of her four arms searching for a weapon. “What is that?”
At the far end of the gym, the double doors opened. In walked three humans in plain clothes, one in an APD uniform, and an elf. Each of the gods looked at the man leading the group.
Him . . . and the knife at his belt.
********
14 May - 10:13 am
ReDeifyning Dreams, Osiris Outreach Center, District of Brightway
Messer’s hand rested comfortably on the knife’s pommel. All of them were looking at him with hatred. Four gods, an abstract, an emissary, and a human woman. They, like many of the myths, were not happy to see him.
“Man, they really hate you,” Deacon said from over his shoulder.
“Yup,” Messer agreed.
“Is this like, normal, for you?” Deacon asked. “Seems like wherever you go, myths want to either run from you or kill you.”
Messer nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated,” Messer said as he started walking towards the group. “Ladies, gentlemen, and other worldly avatars, I need your attention.”
“What’s he doing here?” Kali asked.
“My job,” Messer said.
“Dr. Harris, I thought this was a safe space?” Thor said.
“It is,” the woman in glasses leading the group, likely Dr. Harris, said as she stood. “Excuse me, but you all can’t be here. This is a closed session for my patients. So, please leave.”
“We won’t be long, Doctor,” Messer said as he produced his badge. “But we need to talk to your group.”
“I didn’t ask how long you would be, and I don’t care about your badge. I asked you to leave. Your presence is clearly disturbing my patients.”
Messer stared at the professional woman. She didn’t flinch. Interesting. A mundane in a pantsuit held her ground while literal gods were nearly crapping their togas. He admired that.
“If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t interrupt,” he told the doctor in earnest. “But I need to talk to you and your group.”
“Leave,” Harris demanded.
“We can either do it here, or in the station back at Axis Mundi,” Cross said, coming to stand to his right. “But I think everyone would prefer this to be civil.”
“If the group wishes to speak, that is their decision,” Harris acquiesced, yet remained unmoving.
“We don’t want to talk to him,” Thor said. “He’s the reason my hammer’s gone.”
“I won’t do any of the talking,” Messer said, holding his hands up in a non-threatening manner. “But this is important.”
“Look,” Morrigan said, her eyes glowing red, “this is one of the few reprieves we have, and we’ve done nothing wrong. This constant harassment of our kind has gone on long enough—”
“Hermes is dead, and one of you is next!” Deacon blurted out.
Messer just sighed and looked at the man. “Really?”
Chapter Eighteen
14 May - 10:16 am
ReDeifyning Dreams, Osiris Outreach Center, District of Brightway
“Hermes is dead, and one of you is next!” Arby said as he stepped up next to Messer.
Cassy heard the older cop say “Really?”
But Cassy wasn’t watching Arby or Messer; she was watching them. It was how they reacted that she needed to see. Arby said it because she needed him to say something shocking to shut them up so she could see who flinched.
“Sorry to be so blunt, folks,” Arby said, stepping forward. “But it’s the truth. Hermes died two and a half days ago.”
Some looked stunned. Others were calm, as if they had been expecting it.
“And one of us is next?” Kali asked.
“That is unconfirmed,” Cassy said as she put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder. “Detective Deacon can be . . . overzealous.” She shot him a stern look and private wink. “Stand down, Detective.”
She watched her partner fight back a smile. Slowly, he nodded and lowered his head. “Sorry, Detective Cross, but I thought they had a right to know.”
“We have ways of doing this,” Cassy said with a shake of her head. “And pardon me, Detective Sergeant, but these citizens are clearly upset with your presence. So please, leave the area.”
“Excuse me?” Messer said. “This is my investigation.”
“Which you are now hindering,” Cassy countered.
Through his beard, Messer’s mouth was a tight line. But this close, Cross could see the twinkle in the older man’s eyes. Messer looked around the gym at the gods, then back at his team.
“Fine. Don’t screw this up. When you’re done, meet me back at the precinct.”
“Officer DeLeon, please escort the Detective Sergeant off the premises.”
“You sure?” DeLeon asked.
“Yes.”
“You got it, Detective,” DeLeon said, taking a moment to look around the room, and then walked Messer out of the outreach center.
Once the two had left, Cassy pointed at the stack of plastic chairs. “May I?” When the doctor nodded, Cassy picked one, set it in the circle, and sat down.
“My name is Detective Cassandra Cross. This is Detective Eric Deacon. And yes, I’m sorry to inform you that the god Hermes died several nights ago. Based on evidence, we assume he was one of your patients, Doctor . . . Harris, was it?”
From behind her, Arby handed over a data tablet, then took a position slightly away from the group. Just like when they did undercover work, she was the face while he was the brute. And also like undercover work, people tended to focus on her, ignoring him so he could read the room.
“Yes,” the woman said. “Francesca Harris. And Hermes is . . . well, if what you say is true, he was one of my patients.”
“Sadly, Doctor, he has passed on.”
“How did it happen?” Thor asked.
Cassy looked at the god, then checked her data tablet. “Mr. Thor Odinson?” When the god nodded, she continued. “Because this is still an open investigation, the specific details are restricted. But we have learned that Hermes didn’t have much of a life. Outside of his job, this was one of the few places he would come to. And you all are the closest thing we think he had to friends.”
The gods looked at one another, unsure how to respond.
Cassy looked at her tablet and frowned. “This . . . this is not how I wanted to do this. Detective Deacon, would you be so kind?” Cassy said, passing the tablet back.
When Arby took the device, Cassy took a breath and leaned forward. “I know this can’t be easy to hear. And the formality of this is likely . . . infuriating. So, please, let me start over. Like I said, my name is Detective Cassandra Cross, but my friends call me Cassy. I know who most of you are, through official records. But that isn’t who you are. Just like I know who Hermes was, I didn’t know who Hermes was. Only you can tell me that. The more we know, the closer we can get to finding those responsible.”
The gymnasium remained silent. The gods looked at the floor or off in the distance. Cassy sighed. Whether it be in a local neighborhood or amid a makeshift pantheon, the result was the same: No one talks to the po-po.
Until you needed help.
“Doctor, can you help?” Cassy asked.
“I won’t force my patients to speak,” Dr. Harris said.
“Oh what a bunch of crap, Doc,” a voice said from the snack table. “Aren’t you always th
e one who tells us to speak up and share? Hermes is dead and your response is to not talk to the ones who are looking for the one who did it?”
“Excuse me—”
“Oh stuff it, Doc,” said an incredibly fit, bald man with jade-colored skin. With a practiced motion, the man swung his sport coat around and slipped it on over his black polo and walked over to her.
“Hello, Detective. I’m Buddha,” the man said, extending his hand.
“I thought that Buddha was, like—”
“Some fat guy?” Buddha offered.
“Well, yes, that,” Cassy admitted. “But also not a god. Or . . . real?”
Buddha chuckled. “I get that a lot.”
“He’s not a god,” the woman with the four arms said.
“Don’t mind Kali, she’s a bitch.”
“Hey!” Kali said.
“That’s what I like about you,” Morrigan said, squeezing Kali’s hand.
“But she’s right. I’m not a god. Long story short, if enough people believe in something, especially in Avalantis, that belief manifests itself into an aspect. Which is what I am. Think of me as god-adjacent.”
“Wait, wait wait wait,” Arby interjected. “Buddha. Like, Body by Buddha Buddha? That Buddha?”
“Detective Deacon,” Cassy said, gritting her teeth. “You’re embarrassing us and you’ve said ‘Buddha’ like nine times.”
“It’s okay Detective Cross, I’m used to it,” Buddha said, “albeit usually from yoga-obsessed white girls named ‘Becky’. But yes, Detective Deacon, that Buddha.”
“Cass, this is the guy who is like the Mr. Fitness of the myth community!”
Buddha laughed. “Yeah, once I manifested and was given form, a whole lotta form. But I had no purpose. So I decided to change all that. In a few years I shed the pounds, then opened a yoga studio. A few years after that a gym, then another gym. Things just kept growing. I’ve been blessed.”
“I subscribe to your meal plan and also have a membership to your gym’s branch in Brightway,” Arby said.
Buddha looked him over. “You sure? The meal plans I believe, but . . . ?”