Dogs and Goddesses

by Jennifer Crusie

“No.” Daisy realized she was clenching her teeth and loosened her jaw. “It was Vera Dale who died. Kammani tried to call her to service, and it killed her.” Daisy nodded to Squash, who snored quietly in the corner. “That’s her dog. Was her dog.”

  “Vera,” Peg said, her voice soft. “She was the last of Il-tani’s line. I wonder what happens—” Her face went white. “You don’t think they’ll call me, do you?”

  Daisy released a slow breath. “No, Peg, I really don’t. One per bloodline, far as I can tell.”

  “Oh.” Peg relaxed and then, finally, her face morphed into an expression of sympathy for Vera. Bailey came back, this time with a dusty tennis ball in his mouth. He dropped it at Daisy’s feet and sneezed.

  “Bless you,” Daisy said, and picked up the ball. “Jeez, Bail, where did you find this?”

  “Under the bed!” Bailey barked. “Throw!”

  “Ugh,” Daisy said. “I’ve got this kind of dust under my bed?”

  “Yes!” Bailey barked. “Throw!”

  Daisy threw the ball and sat back, her mom staring at her, eyes wide in childlike fascination.

  “Did he just … talk to you?”

  “Yeah,” Daisy said. “They all do.”

  “All dogs?” Peg said. “They can talk now?”

  “No,” Daisy said. “We can understand them now.”

  “Who? You and Noah?”

  “No. Me and Abby and Shar. And the rest of the Seven.”

  Six now.

  Peg nodded, seemingly fascinated for a moment; then a mischievous glint sparked in her eye. “So, what do you and Noah do?”

  “Oh, for the love of—” Daisy picked up her wine and went to the kitchenette, Peg close behind.

  “Honey,” Peg said, “just tell me the sex is good. If the sex is good, you can fix everything else. Except drugs and other women.” She sipped her wine thoughtfully. “And other men.” She waved her hand in the air, then grinned at Daisy. “So tell me. How is it?”

  “Now, this is fascinating. You, who lied to me, expect me to just open up to you, is that it?”

  “I didn’t lie.…”

  “Yes, you did,” Daisy said, her hands clenching at her sides. “Not telling is lying. You should have told me what was happening, and you didn’t, and someone died. How can you expect me to trust you now?”

  Peg stared at her. “Where is this coming from, Daisy?”

  Daisy lowered her eyes. “Let’s just drop it, okay?”

  Peg hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay. As lovely as this little visit has been, I have unpacking to do.” She went to the hall table and picked up her purse, then said, “Come on, Bailey.”

  The air around Daisy went suddenly still. “Wait, what?”

  Peg blinked at her. “I’m taking Bailey. I thought you couldn’t wait until…” She trailed off, realization hitting her. “Oh.”

  Between them, Bailey dropped the ball on the ground, his tail slowing down and lowering. “Peggy’s going?” he barked.

  “Yeah, Bail.” Daisy’s chest hurt as her mind reeled. How had she not seen this coming? The instinct overcame her to send some chaos her mother’s way, to make her back off, force her to give up Bailey, but she looked at Bailey and thought, No. Instead she stepped out from behind the island and knelt by Bailey, petting his head.

  “Bail,” she said, “if you want to go with Peg, that’s okay. I’ll understand.”

  “If he wants to … ?” Peg said, stepping forward. “He’s been my dog for three years, Daisy, of course he wants—”

  Daisy stood up and shot a look at her mother. Peg’s mouth stayed open, but she went quiet. She looked from Daisy to Bailey and nodded. “It’s okay, Bailey. You can come with me, but you don’t have to.” Then she shifted her eyes to Daisy and said, “He can understand me?”

  Bailey lowered his head, and Daisy said, “He understands.”

  There was a long moment of silence, and then Bailey lifted his head and trotted over to Peg, who said, “That’s my boy!” and knelt down to pet him.

  Daisy leaned against the island and looked at the ceiling for a second while her heart sent stabs of sadness through her on each beat. Not gonna cry, not gonna cry… She blinked hard, got it under control, and looked at Bailey. He was wagging his tail, putting his front paws on Peg’s knees, licking her face. He would be happy with her, and that was what mattered.

  “Love you!” Bailey barked, and licked Peg one last time before Daisy’s mother straightened up and looked at Daisy, her face uncharacteristically conflicted. “Honey…”

  “It’s okay,” Daisy said, but it was not okay, and the sooner her mother and Bailey left, the better.

  “Okay.” Peg walked to the door and opened it, then turned to Bailey and said, “Let’s go, Bailey.”

  But Bailey turned and trotted back to Daisy’s feet, then barked, “Love you!” at Peg again, and relief flooded through Daisy.

  Peg stared for a moment, then looked up at Daisy. “What did he say?”

  “He said he loves you,” Daisy said.

  “What does that mean?” Peg looked at Bailey. “Bailey, do you want to stay here with Daisy?”

  “Daisy’s mine!” he barked.

  Daisy could tell by the look on Peg’s face that she didn’t need to translate.

  “Okay.” Peg nodded and put on a strong smile for Bailey. “Love you, too, baby.”

  Then the door opened, and Noah stepped into the apartment. Peg looked at Daisy, said, “Good-bye,” and left.

  Noah watched her go, and when the door closed behind her, he turned to Daisy. “Everything okay?”

  “As okay as it ever is.” Daisy knelt down to Bailey and scratched behind his ears, and he jumped up and licked Daisy’s face, then ran over to Noah and hopped up, scrambling his front paws over Noah’s knees.

  “Noah!” he barked, glancing back at the tennis ball. “Ball!”

  Noah picked up the ball and threw it, then looked at Daisy. “So, what happened?”

  Daisy watched him for a moment, then said, “Nothing. I asked her for help banishing”—no, no, no—“I mean, doing something, and she wouldn’t help me because she’s Peg and that’s just who she is.”

  Noah walked over to her, looking into her eyes, his own dark and thoughtful. “Is it something I can help you with?”

  She looked into his eyes and he looked back at her, and she wondered what she was so worried about. He would never betray her; he would never lie to her. This was no whammy, it was real, and she knew it.

  Almost all the time, she knew it.

  “No,” she said finally. “I don’t think you can.” Then she kissed him, picked up her knife, and sliced into the last tomato.

  Wednesday dawned cloudy and dim. Abby dragged her sorry ass out of bed and into the shower later than usual. So late that the coffeehouse was deserted. Daisy was gone—off with Noah, no doubt—and Gen was missing as well. Friday was the one day the place was closed—Abby usually spent the time baking in preparation for their now-regular open-mike night, but last night she and Gen had stayed up till the middle of the night, coming up with new and startling combinations, like anise-poppyseed muffins and cinnamon-pomegranate pressed cookies.

  When she went into the kitchen, the room was spotless; having Gen move in had been a godsend, even taking into consideration that Christopher Mackenzie seemed to consider it his responsibility to check on his cousin at least once a day. At least he’d kept his distance since the day they’d gone to investigate the temple hot spots. The next day he’d returned the notebook and a seven-page paper, with illustrations and footnotes, for heaven’s sake, listing the possible use of the power spots. And then nothing. He still came by every day but assiduously ignored her. As if that kiss in the dark had never happened.

  She pulled the apron over her head and began setting out Granny B’s mason jars and her own pathetic attempts. Thank heavens for her grandmother’s colorful clothes. The jeans she’d brought with her were getting tight, but her
grandmother’s gypsy clothes swirled around her like they were made for her. Normally she would have worried—she could just imagine her mother’s voice in her head, criticizing her—but in her new life of demi-goddesshood she just dismissed it. She was feeling strong, ripe, healthy, and her skinny, boyish figure had bloomed. Her A-cup bras were useless, her hips wouldn’t fit in her jeans, but at least her waist was still small enough for the skirts to button around it. She was becoming a goddess in body as well as in spirit, and instead of worrying she felt as if she were glowing.

  She still intended to avoid cookies as long as Christopher was around. Self-preservation could only carry her so far, and she couldn’t look at him without something inside of her melting. But at least she could cover it up.

  She grabbed one of the soft brioches Gen had baked at the crack of dawn, letting the flavor dance on her tongue. Gen’s baking didn’t start all sorts of longings—she could look Christopher in the eye while she ate one of Gen’s raspberry muffins and not betray a thing.

  She pulled Granny B’s notebook toward her, reading over the notes she’d added yesterday. She’d come to at least one conclusion last night—despite the euphoric effect of the tonic, there was no alcohol involved. She’d placed the depleted basket of tiny liquor bottles on the back table for anyone to grab and focused on the base.

  “Any luck with the tonic?” Gen said, coming in from the front room.

  “I’m getting closer. Cider. Barley malt syrup. Turbinado sugar. Even some Irish moss Granny had, but something is still missing. I’ve tried everything I can think of, repeated Granny B’s experiments, but each time I end up with nothing but a brown, unappetizing mess.”

  “Tough.” Gen reached for one of the raspberry muffins. “I still think you can do it.”

  “The answer is here—it’s got to be. It’s just maddeningly out of reach.” She put her head down on the butcher-block counter, resisting the impulse to pound it a few times, and closed her eyes. Desire, chaos, completion. She had the desire, and the results so far had been chaotic. Where was the completion she needed?

  Which immediately made her think of sex, and of Christopher, and she sat up, shaking her head. “You know, I think we’d all be better off without sex. I spent most of my life not knowing what I was missing, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “That’s the way of it,” Gen said, sounding wise beyond her years. “The longer you do without, the less you miss it. But I’m not quite sure why you’re missing it.”

  “It … complicates things. And I need to concentrate on this freaking tonic.” She poured the base liquid into the ceramic urn she’d found back in Granny’s storeroom. It was round, almost bowl-like, and decorated with female figures, each carrying an offering over her head. They were graceful, powerful, and Abby liked to think they were the five of them, the five who were left. Well, actually six, but Mina didn’t count. Abby stared down into the graceful urn, stirring the muddy mixture, and then on impulse she closed her eyes again.

  “What are you thinking?” Gen moved closer.

  “Hunger. Desire. The sweetness of delight at the heart of all this.” On instinct alone she picked up the honey pot, swirled the wooden spoon into it, and then stirred the honey into the mixture.

  It immediately turned a rich, golden color, like honeyed amber, and the scent drifted up, warm and inviting. She took a taste, letting it dance on her tongue, but nothing happened. A beginning, a hunger, and nothing more.

  “God, look at that!” Gen said.

  Abby closed her eyes again, listening to the voices in her head. Hunger. Chaos. She could picture Daisy, her blonde hair now a deep red, the passion that drove her, the chaos that followed her, the piquant spice of her. Cinnamon. She reached for the cinnamon sticks, dropping one, two, three of them into the mixture.

  There was a flash of light, and the tonic turned a deep red, the color of carnelian, the color of the flowers that had begun to grow wild in the courtyard. The scent from the urn was different now, a little wilder, almost like a song that changed tempo.

  “Holy shit! How did you do that?” Gen said.

  Abby dipped a silver spoon in and took a sip, then offered one to Gen.

  “It’s close,” Gen said, awed. “But not quite right.”

  “Not yet. But I know where I’m going now.” She needed Shar. She needed completion. Something to finish it. She closed her eyes, and the taste of anise came to her, black licorice, strong and distinctive, and it felt right. It didn’t matter that Kammani’s tonic had never tasted of anise—she knew that was what she needed.

  “Hand me the anise seed, would you?”

  Gen put the little vial in her hand, and she opened it and dropped three tiny seeds into the rich red mixture, then two more for Bun and Gen. Another pop, and the color turned the color of lapis, clear blue and shimmering, and the scent was amazing, a rich combination of all the glorious tastes and smells that seemed to blend rather than clash. Almond and mint, honey and cinnamon, anise and rosewater. She dipped the silver spoon in it again and took a small sip, then waited for the bliss to wash over her.

  It didn’t. It tempted, teased, played with her senses, but there was something wrong, something held back, and she wanted to cry with frustration. She was so certain she’d finally understood what was needed. Not the actual flavors, but the essences of their powers.

  She shook her head, turning to Gen. “It’s still not right. And I was so sure. All we’ve got here is a deep blue liquid that tastes divine but does nothing.” She wanted to cry. “What am I missing?”

  “Well, I’d add yeast,” Gen said. “Yeast is all about growth and health and … You know what? You’re amazing—you’ll get it. I have classes, but when I come back I’ll do all the baking for tomorrow and you can concentrate on the tonic. I need to work on my croissants.”

  Abby managed a smile. “You’re a saint,” she said.

  And then she was alone in the kitchen, staring down into the beautiful blue liquid. What the hell was missing? She’d been so sure she’d finally figured it out.

  After a moment, she realized she wasn’t alone anymore. Someone was watching her, without the malevolence she always felt in Mina’s presence, without the dark power she felt from Kammani, but with power nonetheless. She turned, slowly, to see Christopher Mackenzie standing in the doorway, watching her.

  She drew in her breath and felt a storm rumble in the distance. “How did you get in here?” She cleared her throat, nervous.

  “Gen gave me a key.”

  “Well, Gen’s not here.” Businesslike, she reminded herself. Unemotional. There was a crackle of thunder outside, getting closer, and she jumped.

  The room grew darker, and she could see through the windows that the trees were beginning to sway in the wind. A storm was coming, a powerful one, and the ozone practically crackled in the air. A bolt of lightning snaked through the sky, followed by a distant rumble, and she stared, mesmerized.

  “I came to talk to you.” Christopher moved into the room, and the impending violence of the weather seemed to glide through his lean body, like threads of electricity, and they danced back to her, tying them together, as the thunder cracked louder.

  Oh, shit, she thought as the low hum of desire began to heat her belly. And she hadn’t even touched a cookie.

  He’d given up his jacket and tie sometime in the past two weeks, and he no longer looked like the cold, uptight math professor. He looked rumpled, distracted, troubled, delicious.

  Now the trees were dancing in the wind beyond the glass door. “What do you want to talk about?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Do you have any cookies?”

  “You can do this without cookies. What do you want to talk about?”

  He ran a hand through his tousled hair. “I think we should date.”

  SIXTEEN

  She stared at him as the storm grew stronger. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. I think we should date. I think I sh
ould ask you out to dinner, bring you flowers, kiss you good night at the door, and then do it all over again.”

  “Until when?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Think about it now. Why in the world do you want to date me? You don’t seem the type to waste your time with anything as superficial as dating.”

  “You were the virgin, not me,” he said with a distinct lack of tact. “And I don’t want to go on dates. I just figured it was the only way you’d let me near you.”

  “And why do you want to be near me?” Her heart was beating a little too loudly, and there was nothing she could do to quiet it.

  “Because you’re all I think about, day and night. I don’t know what the hell is going on with us; I only know I can’t get rid of it. I don’t care if you’re batshit insane and think you’re the reincarnation of Cleopatra. I hear voices; you hear dogs. We’ll work it out. Maybe get a discount on therapy.”

  The branches outside slapped against the window as the wind grew fierce. “Cleopatra was Egyptian, not Mesopotamian. And I’m not the reincarnation I’m the descendent. And Cleopatra was a queen, not a goddess.”

  “And you insist you’re a goddess?” He wasn’t looking happy about it.

  Neither was she. “A demi-goddess. And you still hear voices from ancient Mesopotamia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I think we’re past the point of dating,” she said, sliding off the stool. She needed to get closer to him. Now. She couldn’t fight it anymore.

  “I can’t keep away from you,” he said, making it sound like the plague.

  She couldn’t blame the cookies. It had been more than a week since she’d eaten one. She couldn’t blame the tonic—she was getting close, but it still wasn’t right, and she’d finished the stuff Kammani gave her long ago.

  “I can’t keep away from you, either,” she said, needing him. Wanting him. Craving him. “I think we’re doomed.”

  “Good,” he said, and pulled her into his arms.

  Another crack of thunder, so loud that it shook the building, and she kissed him, letting the hunger out, roaming free, taking from him. His body was hard, strong, shaking just a little bit, and she ran her hands up his chest, then ripped the buttons open, so that some went flying across the room. He picked her up, wrapping her legs around his hips, and she could feel how hard he was, how empty she was, and she needed him more than she needed air to breathe, and she wanted to tell him that, but she couldn’t stop kissing him, taking his mouth, his lips, his tongue, squirming closer.