I am damn good at dreaming, Shar thought. “So, Samu, what are you doing here? Got a message for me? Because the symbolism of this is escaping me.” Aside from the huge wish fulfillment.
“I AM SAMU-LA-EL—”
“We did that part.”
“—RETURNED FOR THE SACRIFICE.”
“Yeah, I saw your stone poster in the auditorium last night.” Shar pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “So you came back to die for the crops? Here’s some good news: we don’t do that anymore.” She leaned closer to him. “The whole sacrifice thing? Outlawed. So—”
“OUTLAWED?” he said, and Shar pulled back, her heart pounding. Dream, it’s a dream. She watched him, his hands planted flat on the table before him. Even his forearms were gorgeous. He could probably lift—
The god shook his head, said, “No,” and picked up his muffin again. “These are very good.”
“Look,” Shar said, breathing again. “I don’t believe you’re a god.”
“He’s a god,” Wolfie said.
She looked down at him. “I don’t believe you’re talking to me.”
“He’s talking to you,” Samu said.
“Like I’m going to let the two of you vouch for each other,” Shar said, and then realized she was asking for credentials in a dream. She glared at Samu. He wasn’t that damn beautiful. “What are you doing in my dream? What do you want? And where did you get that awful shirt?”
“Kammani called me and I rose.” Samu took a bite of muffin and then looked at her kindly. “This is not a dream.”
“Kammani,” Shar said. Great. She had two wingnuts in her REM cycle. “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say Kammani called you. Shouldn’t you be … elsewhere? Like Mesopotamia?”
“Hungry,” Wolfie said, and Samu fed the last of his muffin to him.
“I do not know what Mesopotamia is. I am here because I rose in the room of the sun, as always. The room in the temple that holds my heart.”
Shar froze. “Tell me that’s a metaphor.”
Somebody knocked on her front door as Samu said, “I am whole again now.”
Shar held on to the table. “I’ve been sleeping with your heart in my bedroom???” What the hell kind of dream is this???
The knocking got louder.
“My heart is always with my people, Sharrat.”
He smiled at her, and she lost track of time and space for a moment as her world swung around and then clicked into place.
The knocking picked up speed.
“Let me get that,” Shar said, pushing herself out of her chair. This is a dream, a dream, just a dream.
But god, what a god.
She heard her front door open and Ray call, “Shar?”
“Oh, hell.” Shar headed for the living room. Samu started to say something, and she said over her shoulder as she headed for the dining room, “You stay here while I get rid of him. That man does not belong in my dreams.”
She went through the dining room and into the living room and found Ray unplugging her small flat-screen TV.
“Hey,” Shar said. “What are you doing?”
“There you are.” Ray picked up the TV as he gave her one of his goofy grins. “Sorry to barge in, I thought you weren’t home.”
“I’m home,” Shar said. “What are you doing with my TV?”
“I left a message on your machine that I’d be picking it up,” Ray said. “After all, I bought it and you broke up with me. The only things you ever watch on it are those dumb movies—” He looked beyond her and straightened. “Who’s that?”
Shar didn’t bother to turn around. “That’s Samu—just put the TV back, Ray.”
“Sam who?” Ray looked at her like a wounded puppy. “You’re dating someone else already?”
“Dumb ass,” Wolfie growled, coming to sit at her feet.
“Why is that dog growling at me?” Ray said.
Wolfie sneered up at him. “Bite him.”
“No biting,” Shar said.
“He bites?” Ray said. “You never told me he bites.”
“Do as Sharrat says or I will smite you, son of a dog,” Samu said to Ray.
“Excuse me?” Wolfie said.
Shar looked at the god. “Look, it’s ‘Shar,’ okay? Sharrat was my grandmother, I’m Shar.”
Ray stepped closer. “Smite me? I’d like to see you try.”
“So would I,” Shar said. “I’m bitter about that Taser.”
Ray looked at her, stunned. “You said you were afraid to be alone in the house, I got you a Taser. What’s wrong with you? You’re a sensible woman. Why are you acting like this?”
“I’m not acting,” Shar said. “This is the real me. In a dream, of course, but it feels real.”
“What dream?” Ray said.
“Go,” Samu said to Ray.
Ray scowled at Samu. “Who do you think you are?”
“He thinks he’s a god,” Shar said. “Hence the smiting. Put my TV down first.”
“Shar, you know it’s not yours,” Ray said, keeping an eye on Samu. “I just kept it here because my apartment is small and your place …” He looked around the ex-temple. “Isn’t. Come on, Shar.” He smiled at her, keeping an eye on Sam.
The thing was, if she hadn’t been dreaming, she’d probably have let him have it. He had paid for it. She could buy another one. The sensible thing to do would be to avoid an emotional conflict and let it go.
My ass I’m going to let it go. That’s my TV.
“Shall I Smite him, Shar?” Samu said.
“Give me a minute here,” Shar said to him, and then turned back to Ray. “Ray, put the TV down or Samu smites.”
“I’m not afraid of Sam,” Ray said.
“Dumb ass,” Wolfie growled.
“Take the TV, Sam,” Shar said, and Sam stepped forward, a mountain in motion, and took the TV from Ray with one hand.
Love it, Shar thought. Lovin’ the god.
“Hey.” Ray grabbed for it.
Sam pointed a finger at him and a small burn mark appeared between Ray’s eyes.
Ray screamed, and Wolfie barked, “Do it again,” and Shar took the TV and put it on the table so it wouldn’t get broken. This was her best dream ever.
The doorbell rang and Ray backed up to answer it, angrily rubbing his forehead.
Mr. Casey said, “Morning, Shar,” and began to bring in her paint. Eighteen gallons of it.
“What the hell did you do to me?” Ray said to Sam.
Shar waited for Mr. Casey to turn into Winston Churchill or the Michelin Man, but the sun shone through the open door and Mr. Casey was just Mr. Casey, smiling and waving his thanks for a massive paint purchase and then leaving, and Ray was looking very real and really mad, and she thought, This doesn’t feel like a dream.
She looked down at Wolfie. “Not a dream?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, hell,” Shar said, and faced reality.
It was bent.
“I want to know what’s going on here,” Ray said as Shar sat down hard on her couch.
“So do I,” Shar said, looking at Sam with new eyes. Hell, he’s a god. “Leave, Ray.”
“The TV—”
“GO,” Samu said, and it sounded like thunder, and Ray turned and went.
“We need to talk,” Shar said to Sam.
“Let us speak over muffins,” Sam said, and walked back into the dining room.
“Oh, let’s,” Shar said, and followed him. He kept going into the kitchen, and she followed him to sit down at her table.
She put her head in her hands and said to Wolfie, “There’s a god in my kitchen.”
“I like him,” Wolfie said.
“Last night you didn’t,” Shar said bitterly.
Sam came back with the bag of muffins, and Wolfie sniffed his pant leg. “No, he’s good,” he said, and sat down next to Sam.
Sam picked up his muffin again.
“So … ,” Shar said, regrouping. “Uh
… You’re a god.” She looked at him warily. Had she said anything that might annoy him? “What are you doing here?”
“I must find Kammani,” Sam said.
“Kammani,” Shar said, and thought of the maniacal glitter in that woman’s eyes, the massive sense of entitlement, the sweeping assumption that everyone would do as she said. If she was a goddess, that explained a lot.
Of course she wasn’t a goddess. Probably. Except Sam had burned a hole in Ray’s forehead …
“Do you know where Kammani dwells?” Sam said.
“Let me think for a minute,” Shar said, trying to hold on to her sanity.
So something had happened last night in the auditorium that was not about dog obedience, they’d all been tricked somehow, and they’d all swallowed tonic, and then her dog had talked to her, and then a god had risen in her bedroom, and now he wanted to go to the woman who’d started the whole mess….
“My head hurts,” Shar said.
“You drank too much,” Wolfie said, and waddled over to his water dish.
Okay, on the off chance that Sam and Kammani really were gods—there was a small explosion in Shar’s brain at the thought—then their meeting would probably advance whatever plan Kammani had, so getting them together would be a very bad idea. She watched Samu as he started on another muffin. He looked sane. Maybe if she talked to him, explained that the world had changed—
He looked up and met her eyes, and her brain stalled out at all the power and confidence there. He was a god. This was not a man who would listen to reason, this was a god who did what he wanted, and anyone would let him because he was tall and dark and beautiful, and because he could burn a hole in your forehead with his finger, and because when he looked at you, it was as if he’d known you forever….
She was in big trouble, no, the world was in big trouble, unless she figured out how to get rid of him, send him someplace else, someplace he’d like, someplace he’d fit in….
“I think Kammani’s in LA.” Shar got up and headed for one of the bookcases in the dining room. “Let me find you my road atlas. I’m sure you’ll be very popular as a hitchhiker.”
“LA?”
“Hollywood.” Shar pulled her road atlas out, found the pages that said California, tore them out, came back into the kitchen, and handed them over, trying not to look at him. There was so much of him, and it had been on her side back there in the living room, fighting for her TV, and—
He took the pages and she backed away.
“Just go out the front door and turn left and keep going until you hit the highway. A big wide road. There will be cars. Like chariots without horses. You just stick out your thumb and tell them you’re heading for California.” She crooked her thumb to demonstrate. “Somebody will pick you up.” She took him in again in all his massive glory. “A lot of people will pick you up.”
“LA is where Kammani is?” Sam said, looking at the map.
“Yes.” Shar took a deep breath and then added without thinking, “You’re done here.”
He met her eyes, and she lost her breath again.
“If you say it, it is so. Thank you, Shar.”
“You’re welcome,” she said faintly.
He put down his muffin, stood up, and moved through the living room, and she followed him to the front door, slowing when he stopped in the doorway, blotting out the daylight with his bulk. “MAY THE SUN SHINE ON YOU,” he said, and walked out, letting the light back into the house.
“You, too!” Shar called after him, and then put her hand on the door frame to steady herself as the air in the room settled down again now that he was gone. “Okay, that was upsetting.”
“I liked him,” Wolfie barked, sitting with his tail wrapped around him, thumping.
“Good to know you’ll sell out for a muffin.” Shar looked out the door and felt bereft, which was stupid, going all breathless over a god like some divine groupie, but there had been that feeling for a moment… . “Anyway, he’s gone, and it’s a damn good thing, too.”
“No,” Wolfie said, but he trotted back to the kitchen calmly and Shar heard him crunch dog kibble from his bowl. Whatever danger he’d been so upset about, he was over it now.
My dog talks to me, and a god rose in my bedroom.
She shook her head. Whatever was happening, it had to be bad. Wolfie talking, that was different and strange and upsetting, but it wasn’t going to lead to blood on the sun and lions whelping in the streets. Kammani behind the black curtain, though, standing in front of that altar …
“That was a sacrificial altar on that podium,” Shar said to Wolfie. “That’s an ancient horned altar in the auditorium.” Before she’d realized Kammani might have been worshiped four thousand years ago, but that was just an academic fact. Now …
“Don’t go back there,” Wolfie said. “She’s bad.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Shar told him, and dialed Daisy’s number.
Abby was sitting on the steps that led down into the courtyard, a mug of temple tonic in one hand, when Daisy found her.
Daisy sank down on the step, looking slightly frantic. Then her eyes narrowed. “Were you crying?”
Abby sniffled. “Not really. I was looking through Granny B’s stuff and I guess I started feeling … I don’t know. Just sad that I never knew her.”
Daisy reached into her compact purse and pulled out a travel pack of Kleenex and handed it to Abby. Then she pulled out a pen, which was odd, since she didn’t have any paper. Instead, she just flipped it over in her hand, examining it as she spoke.
“Why didn’t you know Bea?” she asked. “She was extremely cool.”
Abby sighed. “My mother and she didn’t get along. My mother’s the Real Estate Goddess of Escondido, and she’s a very focused, practical kind of woman.”
Daisy’s eyes narrowed. “And there’s something wrong with focused and practical?”
“It doesn’t make for a particularly warm and cozy mother. I only met Granny B once, when she came to visit, but she and Amanda had some huge battle about me, and Amanda kicked her out of the house. I never saw her again. I didn’t think she cared about me.”
“Oh, Bea was one of the most caring people I’ve ever known.” Daisy paused for a moment, then looked at Abby. “So, if you didn’t think she cared, why are you sad you didn’t know her?”
Abby tilted her face toward the late morning sun, letting it warm her. “I found things. All sorts of things. Pictures of me at Girl Scout camp. Newspaper clippings of when I won ribbons at the local horse show, the program for my high school graduation. And photos of just about every stage in my life. I don’t know where she got all the stuff—I can’t imagine my mother sending it.” She swallowed, not wanting to cry again. “I just feel funny, knowing she was so far away and she still really cared about me. And that my mother wouldn’t let me get near her, and now it’s too late. I only know it had something to do with something that happened long ago. When I asked my mother, she just muttered something about ‘ancient history’ and she refused to say anything more.”
“Sorry, sweetie,” Daisy said, sounding slightly distracted.
Abby shoved her hair back from her face and looked at her. “Are you all right?”
“Me? Great. Hey, has anything odd been happening around you? Anything you can’t quite explain?”
“Apart from the fact that Bowser suddenly seems to have developed the ability to speak?”
Bowser was standing in the courtyard, still and regal, and Bailey darted around his legs like a demented dervish.
“What?”
Abby looked at Daisy. “You’re looking a little pale.”
“Of course I’m … Your dog talks? And you didn’t say anything until now?”
Abby shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”
“Fair enough,” Daisy said. “How much of the tonic did you drink?”
“Why?”
“Because I drank the whole thing and I’ve been hearing it, too.”
“You can hear Bowser talk?”
“I can hear all the dogs talk. I bet you can, too.” Daisy whistled and Bailey stopped whirling and perked up his ears. “Bailey. Say something to Abby.”
“Abby pretty!”
“Awww,” Abby said, feeling warmed, but then she looked at Daisy. “Oh. Hey. I drank the whole thing, too.”
Bowser, seeming to sense the worry in Abby’s voice, immediately lifted his head and started toward her, ever vigilant, but she managed a shaky smile. “That’s all right, baby. Go play with Bailey.”
She heard the low rumble of conversation, but she was just as glad she was too far to hear any more. Bowser was very kind-hearted, but having Bailey leap all over him was beneath his serene dignity, and she didn’t want to hear about it.
She looked at Daisy, who was staring at the ballpoint pen in her hand.
“What the hell is going on?” Abby asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” She put her thumb on the clicky part of the pen but didn’t click it. “Has anything else weird been happening with you?”
“As far as I can tell, the rest of life is entirely normal. Except …”
“Except?” Daisy prodded as she tucked her pen back in her purse. “What else has been happening?”
“The cookies I’ve been making. They’re good. Better than that, they’re amazing. You eat one and suddenly everything seems to fall into place.” Abby remembered the look on Christopher Mackenzie’s face and could feel her own flushing. “Or not. All I know is they go great with temple tonic.”
“I’m thinking maybe we need to lay off the temple tonic,” Daisy said.
“Do you think that’s it? Bowser never seemed interested in the English language in the past. And there’s some connection between Granny B and that dog class. I was searching through her boxes and found all sorts of interesting stuff. Reproduction bowls and pitchers that look like they belong to Kammani, and notebook after notebook full of recipes for some kind of punch. Do you suppose Granny B was trying to make temple tonic? And why? Kammani said she’d just arrived in town, so Granny B couldn’t have known her, and yet her name was on all sorts of Granny B’s papers and books.”
Dogs and Goddesses Page 9