by T. G. Ayer
Nor could she find a reasonable way to confirm that the observer had removed the heart. How would Vee explain that from merely reading the crime scene?
“They slashed her, took their bloody prizes and then left her to bleed out.” Vee studied the wet ground surrounding the body, grateful to find half of a bloody footprint a few inches from Monroe’s shoe. She pointed to it and said, “Watch where you step, Monroe. The perp was kind enough to leave a footprint.”
Monroe glanced down and took a sudden step back. She gave Vee a heated glare, as if she held Vee responsible for the detective having almost stepped on the evidence.
Rising to her feet, Vee gave the scene one more scan, deciding there was nothing else she was willing to share with the cops, especially not her vision of the lion man. Admitting what she’d thought she’d seen would surely get her ass kicked off her consultant’s role, FBI notwithstanding.
“So let me know if you need anything else,” Vee said, taking a step away, relinquishing the scene to the cops and the techs. “I’ll go back to the morgue with Dr. Feldman.”
With that Vee said her goodbyes, leaving Clyde with a promise to keep him and Monroe up to speed if she uncovered anything further. She managed to keep on her feet as she made her way to the open doors of the coroner’s van where she found Max Feldman, bent over a box of rubber gloves.
“Hey,” she said as she collapsed beside him.
He rewarded her with a pat on the shoulder with a gloved hand that left a shadow of powder on her coat. “You look fatigued, my dear. Why don’t you wait here while Jo and I wrangle the body away from Andrea?”
Vee nodded gratefully, wondering what she would have done if he hadn’t offered. No doubt she would have stayed where she was anyway. She was too exhausted to even think about moving.
“Could I get a ride back with you?” Vee asked.
Max nodded, grabbing his medical bag as he hurried away. “I won’t be long,” he said with a wink.
Then he was gone, disappearing amidst the organized mayhem of the crime scene. Vee gathered her strength as she watched lightbulbs flash, and the techs efficiently catalog the scene, trying hard not to fall asleep.
Chapter 5
The god Brahma paced the off-white tiles of the patio floor.
His fingers were laced behind his back, his head down, eyebrows scrunched in a twisted frown as he walked back and forth along the edge of a pool that sparkled with water so azure-blue it was almost painful to the eye.
His long hand-woven dress-coat swished around his knees and he flinched as the collar bit into his neck. The warmth of the evening only increased his discomfort.
At home, he’d have suffered none of these earthly effects, but gods out of heaven were also at the mercy of the sufferings borne by humanity. And heat was one of them.
Risha, younger half-sister to the goddess Durga, sighed and shifted on the lounger at Brahma’s left, lifting an elegant and glistening hand to resettle her giant-sized sunglasses on her face.
“I’m still not sure why you’re so worried. Things will resolve themselves. They always do.” Her voice was husky as she spoke, her lips pursing distastefully. “It’s not as if we need to involve ourselves with the humans. Let them solve their own problems.”
Brahma paused in his pacing, stopped and turned his gaze toward the goddess. She lay sunning herself on the lounger, the white fabric of her bathing dress a glaring contrast to her dark bronze skin. She’d be in trouble soon enough with her sisters, being one of the few gods who felt the need to immerse themselves in human activities and yet still remain far removed from them.
He shook his head. “You are tempting fate lying there in the sunshine. Have you not heard of the sun’s rays? And of cancer?”
Brahma found that the goddess, like so many minor gods, thumbed her nose at deific propriety all too often. Her behavior had begun to resemble that of the humans who now wallowed in sin.
Not that Brahma was a prude, but one had to retain some sense of morality—god, demon or human.
Risha snorted, bringing herself up onto an elbow while lifting her glasses off her face so Brahma could better see the disgust in her eyes. “Why would I believe that hogwash? Do you really think Surya is going to harm me with sunshine?”
Brahma opened his mouth, a brisk response hovering on the tip of his tongue. Then he thought better of it.
He began his pacing again, leaving Risha to sniff and return to her basking. Let her burn to a crisp, he thought. Why should I care? It isn’t as if she is going to die anytime soon.
Just when his thoughts turned to the morose, the sound of footsteps drew his gaze to the patio. His man, Gopal, hurried outside, his eyes scrunching against the glare of the island’s tropical sunshine.
The house was a sprawling mansion, sitting a few yards from the dunes and the shoreline. The entire stretch of beach for two miles either way up and down the coast was owned by the earth-based company set up by Brahma and Shiva before Shiva had made his sudden departure. Brahma had to wonder if his brother had planned his departure before he’d insisted on providing for the pantheon financially.
Not that money was an issue; just that Shiva and Brahma had both agreed that existence on the earthly plane required they have legitimacy, either in identity or in source of income and property possession.
Gopal hurried to Brahma’s side, the man’s steps short and hurried. He always seemed to be scurrying off somewhere, focused, determined, possessing the kind of single-mindedness lacking in so many of the pantheon who’d survived its destruction.
“They are all here, my Lord.” Gopal bowed low and Brahma stared at the shiny bald crown at the top of the man’s head.
Gopal is aging too fast, he thought, again struck with a blast of powerlessness. At a time, years in the past, Brahma could have easily bestowed immortality upon the man, if only to halt the aging process.
But the dispensing of those boons had come to a halt, their laws adjusting after one too many recipients had taken advantage of their gifts and turned bad.
The problem with humans was they often acted out of selfishness, even when the acts they performed were selfless and charitable. And no matter the act, the intentions propelling them were far more important.
In the past, the gods had made terrible mistakes, granting many a boon to the undeserving.
Brahma focused then nodded, and Gopal turned and scurried away. The man, unlike Risha, disliked the sunlight. Perhaps he possessed some of the healthy respect that humans had for the dangers of Surya’s light. Brahma turned on his heel and followed the man inside.
Gopal was half god-half demon, a lower-level asura who’d been in Brahma’s service since he’d been abandoned by his mother. She’d realized her mistake too late, that there were dangers in indulging in relationships with the Asuras, that the consequences were multiple and varied.
Brahma shook his head again as he slid from the warmth of the sun to the cool, conditioned air of the house.
He followed in Gopal’s wake as the man led him to the boardroom from which emanated the hum of conversation. The god steeled himself, preparing to face his board. They were not going to like what he had to say.
Gopal threw open the double doors and stood aside like a sentry as Brahma entered and headed to the main table. The boardroom was a large square hall, a massive circular stone table taking center stage. The left wall of the room consisted of a long row of glass patio doors that led out onto a deep balcony, giving onto a view of the churning oceans of the East coast of the island.
A dozen gods sat waiting for him, all eyes turning as he entered the room and strode to his seat. He’d deliberately chosen a round table with no obvious head, in the hope of placating the few there who didn’t appreciate his authority.
In his brother’s absence, Brahma was forced to retain sole control over the board, and he desperately hoped Shiva would return soon. At least before the end, so the gods had some form of power at their disposal. With Shiva
gone, the demon horde, long imprisoned within Patala and Naraka, now threatened to escape the prison of the underworld, to spill into the human plane.
And they were making inroads in a thousand different ways.
Only the actions of the gods had so far helped to ensure the demonic horde didn’t flood the world in one bloodthirsty tsunami.
Brahma took his seat, facing the view beyond the windows. Perhaps the beauty of it would help him retain a semblance of calm through this meeting.
As he faced his board, the ancient war goddess Begtse tipped her red head in greeting. One of the wisest—and most dangerous—of the gathered group, Brahma often sought her counsel on war matters. Like Buddha Vajradhara, she sat on the council as advisor more than anything else.
For which Brahma was extremely grateful. Too many of the gods were losing their power, and it seemed nothing they had done, or were currently doing, was helping regain their influence and their believers.
Brahma bowed to the gathering, receiving a chorus of murmured greetings in return. He cleared his throat. “I apologize for this sudden meeting. It is a matter of some urgency, and as we have all agreed, transparency is the key to our success.” Brahma shifted in the seat, feeling the confines of the chair as if it were a cobra, its coils closing around his chest to strangle the very breath from him.
He pushed to his feet and began to pace. “The situation is far worse than we’d initially expected. The gods that have disappeared . . . they have lost their powers to their jailers.”
“Do we know who took them?” asked Vajradhara softly, red-fire eyes a contrast to his deep blue skin.
The Buddha gave off an air of calm, which Brahma willingly soaked in. Then, Brahma shook his head. “I wish it were as simple a matter as having been taken.” Brahma felt despair tease at his strength. The age of Kaliyuga was upon them. Their power as gods was at its weakest. In this age, the power was, in fact, in the favor of both demon and human, and there wasn’t anything they could do about it without pushing things into an ever more uneven keel.
“I don’t understand,” said Begtse, her dark skin gleaming like the shimmering surface of liquid obsidian. “Why can’t we just go down and fix it?”
Brahma shook his head sadly. “I wish we could. There was a time when we could have done so, and succeeded well. But Kaliyug has a sway we cannot fight. We are powerless.”
“Not powerless.” Kali watched Brahma, her dark eyes swirling with fire.
Her almond eyes were kind as she smiled and tucked her ebony hair around her ear and away from her face. She leaned toward Brahman, her tanned complexion deepening to blue-black.
With a firm shake of her head, she said, “Less in power. But not powerless.”
Chapter 6
Brahma acknowledged Kali’s words with a slow tilt of his head. She was right.
“Yes. We do have ways and means to maintain some level of control. And we do have a weapon.”
“What is this weapon?” asked Ganesh, leaning forward, the luminescent trunk of his pale elephant glamor curling around him like a protective shield.
Brahma smiled. “I’m glad you asked because I’m going to need your help.”
Ganesh squinted. “What could I possibly do? My power is almost depleted. I can no longer remove obstacles as I once did. They no longer believe.”
Brahma nodded. Ganesh was right, too. Humans and demons alike had lost their belief, reducing the power of the gods. Brahma leaned forward and placed his fisted hands on the table. “Perhaps you are not able to remove the obstacles for them . . . but what you can do is help them in some way so they may remove those obstacles themselves.”
The silence that befell the room was filled with discomfort and disapproval.
“I know what you are thinking. Why would we . . . why should we relinquish our power and hand it over to them?” Brahma shook his head and stared from face to face. “We cannot relinquish a power we no longer possess.”
Dharamraj, god of righteousness and justice, spoke softly. “The only thing we can do is help them regain the faith they once had.” The god’s angular features made his eyes appear deeper and darker, and almost hopeless.
One of the gods shifted in his seat and Brahma glanced over at him. “Hanuman, is there something you wish to say?” Hanuman was a god by right, yet had never accepted the status with the kind of welcome it deserved. He’d never aspired to a position of power, being a person who served. General of the Army of the Gods, he had no further aspirations.
Now, in the absence of his Lord Shiva, Hanuman had been required to perform tasks he preferred left to those who aspired to leadership.
But his preferences were irrelevant at this time. So he did his duty. Even if he didn’t like it. And today’s conversation hit close to home, as his own power had diminished considerably over time too. His own deific standing, despite being something he’d never worn with comfort, was beginning to fade in power.
Hanuman got to his feet, his hands resting on his hips, as if ready to draw a sword and strike. Like Ganesh, Hanuman’s alternate form hung around him like an iridescent reflection, the rounded, furred cheeks, and thin lips of his simian body shimmered over his more human one. “I think we should not lose our faith in them.”
The comment elicited a round of snickers from the gathered gods. Hanuman smirked and shook his head. “I know the reasons for your disbelief. But are we not just involved in a never-ending exchange of faithlessness?”
That brought the group to silence.
Brahma hid a smile.
“They believed . . . once . . . a long time ago. Their faith gave us power. More than we could have ever hoped for. And some of us squandered that power, used it for our own benefit.” Hanuman looked around the table, receiving a few nods in agreement. “And some of us laughed in the face of it. But I would like to believe that many of us reciprocated their belief with faith of our own. Has our faith not waned as much as theirs? We are not innocent in this. Time has changed them, given them reasons to stop believing, and what do we do in return? Instead of having faith that they will regain their belief, we say ‘it’s hopeless, what’s the point?’ I do not believe that is the best direction to take. I do not believe there is no hope.”
Brahma nodded, supremely impressed by Hanuman’s oration. For a god who disliked public speaking, he knew well how to handle a crowd. “I agree, but I am certain there are many who do not.”
Hanuman looked at him. “Well, then perhaps we are at an impasse. I have legions of soldiers at my disposal but their work can only do so much. We cannot defeat the darkness fast enough. They overrun our efforts almost before we do anything. At times it feels like an insurmountable task, but we still do it. I still do it because, for what it’s worth, I do have faith in them.”
Then the god sank into his seat, dark eyes traveling around the table, his brow knitted in a frown. Brahma understood his frustration. Shiva’s absence weighed heavily on all of them, but more especially on Hanuman, who’d served the Greater God for millennia.
Brahma straightened. “Do not despair, Hanuman. We need you to keep working as hard as you can.”
“For what reason?” asked Parvathi. “Why should we care? He didn’t?”
Brahma’s heart twisted in his chest. The goddess had taken it worse than anyone else had expected when Shiva had left. His absence festered in her like a rotting sore, taking over her mind and her heart, turning it hard and filling her with anger and hatred.
Anger, Brahma could deal with. Hatred was a harder, darker emotion that in a god was much more difficult to eradicate. He feared that even if Shiva were to return, the dark abyss of Parvathi’s hurt would be too deep for forgiveness.
Brahma hoped He’d return to them soon, for Brahma was not certain he could retain control of the gods for too much longer. He was witness to the alliances being torn apart at the seams.
A voice broke through the silence. Marduk, the ancient Mesopotamian god, sat forward, the high arches of
his cheekbones and deep-set hooded eyes giving him a harsh, unforgiving appearance, so unlike his true nature.
Marduk cleared his throat. “I am willing to help. I know my brothers and sister and I are not powerful, being so ancient, but where we can contribute we certainly will.”
“You, of all gods, would know that it is hopeless,” snapped Parvathi. Her eyes blazed, windows into a universe brightened only with the fires of hate. “What did your worshippers do? Forget about you, abandon you. Where are they now? Do they even remember your name? Just because some boring old historian dusts off ancient carvings that bear your word, does not mean the souls in the earthly realm give a damn. How much more belief do you think you will need in order to rise back up to the heavens?”
Parvathi’s words rang out around the room and Brahma had to admit that even he had experienced the impact of them. She’d mentioned the one thing that could get to them all.
The banishment from the heavens.
All the gods at the table shared the same yearning—to go home to where they belonged.
But the passing of time, the waning of faith, and the strengthening of demonic power, all combined with the age of Kaliyug, had only served to ensure the gods’ entry to the house of heaven remained tightly shut and nigh on impenetrable.
Brahma scanned the faces circling the table and felt his stomach drop. They were taken with her words, and he feared he was losing hold of them.
He cleared his throat. “Grief is a palpable thing, my dear sister. Do not let it control your emotions, or blind you to the truth.”
Brahma felt horrible for using her pain against her but it had to be done. A few nods here and there around the table told him they’d swayed to his point.
Relieved, he continued, “We all are abandoned too. But even in His absence we cannot lose hope. The souls we care so deeply for are hardened to us. But would you turn your back on your children if they turned theirs on you? Or would you continue to be there for them in the belief that the day will come when they will return to our arms?”