Dogs and Goddesses

by Jennifer Crusie

  He pushed her against the wall, supporting her, and tore his mouth away. “Where can we go?”

  “Right here. Right now,” she said.

  He carried her over to the waist-high counter, shoving the cookies and mason jars out of the way. She lay back, spreading her arms over her head as he pulled her underwear off her. “Hello Kitty?” he muttered, tossing it to one side.

  “So I like anime,” she said, waiting for the rasp of his zipper, waiting for him to push inside her, fill the emptiness that had been tormenting her for weeks. For all her life.

  She felt his hands on her hips, and a moment later his mouth between her legs, and she let out a little shriek of surprise, reaching down to push at him.

  He caught her hands in his, holding them, as he tasted her, his tongue wicked and wonderful, and in a moment she climaxed, hips arching, straining, needing more. He touched her, one finger sliding inside her, and the feelings multiplied until she could think of nothing at all but the waves of pleasure rippling through her body.

  She came down, slowly, and he pulled away, wiping his mouth on his open shirt, and his eyes were glittering in the stormy darkness. Abby was panting, her heart banging against her chest, trying to find her voice.

  “I didn’t think math professors did that,” she gasped.

  “Only when we’re particularly inspired,” he said, pushing her back on the counter so that she lay across it, her skirts up to her waist, and he climbed up after her, between her legs, and he cradled her head in his arms, kissing her, and she could taste her own desire on his mouth, and it only made her hotter.

  She reached down and fumbled with his jeans, undoing them with shaking hands, shoving them down his hips, reaching for him, putting her hands on him, the hard, smooth length of him, and another ripple hit her, without him touching her.

  She heard the rip of paper. “You brought a condom?”

  “Condoms, plural. Always prepared, remember?” He slid his hands under her butt, cupping her, and she could feel him against her, hot and hard, and she was so wet that when he sank into her, there was no pain, just a glorious fullness that made her body begin to shiver and clench once more.

  He froze, as she shattered around him, keeping very still until the last stray shudder left her, and then he began to move, so slowly that each thrust shook her, pumping into her, and she wanted even more, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him in deeper, wrapping her arms around his neck, closing her eyes and meeting him, thrust and push and a shattering delight that was so powerful she let out a low, keening wail as she felt him climax inside her.

  And somewhere in the distance she thought she heard the dogs howling in unison.

  He collapsed on top of her, gasping, and she cradled him, shivering as the last tiny orgasms drained away, and she felt limp, exhausted, and complete. Totally and forever, and all she wanted to do was hold him.

  The thunder had died away, the wind had slowed, and in the distance she could hear the soft, soothing sound of rain as it fell outside, a gentle benediction after the anger of the approaching storm. All was as it should be, calm, peaceful. Right.

  It was quite a while later when she heard his voice, soft and wry. “Did your dog howl at the same time you did?”

  She laughed. “I think so. I don’t know where he is—he must have decided to give us some privacy.”

  “Great,” he grumbled, lifting his head to look down at her. “Let’s hope the voice in my head is just that, and doesn’t come equipped with eyes as well. I’d rather not be on display for dogs or gods.”

  “I don’t think Milki-la-el is a god. Just a mathematician.”

  “Hey,” Christopher protested. “That’s close enough. You ready to go upstairs? Not that this counter isn’t delightful, but the butcher block is hurting my knees.”

  “And my butt,” she said. She reached up a hand to push his tumbled hair out of his face. “You realize this doesn’t make sense, don’t you?”

  “Love isn’t supposed to make sense.”

  She froze, looking up at him. “Love?”

  “What do you think this is? Recreational therapy? I’m a logical man, and I can draw logical conclusions. I’ve never been at the mercy of my biological needs or, even worse, my emotions. And I am now. Totally. And if that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is.”

  “What makes you think I’m in love with you?”

  He grinned then, his dimples deep and adorable. “You can spend the next sixty years trying to convince me you’re not,” he said simply. He pulled away from her, climbing off the high wooden counter, and yanked up his jeans before he reached out a hand to help her down. “That sound acceptable to you?”

  She looked up at him, feeling the warmth and joy flood through her, and she put her hand in his. “It sounds perfectly logical,” she said.

  And she led him upstairs to her nice, soft bed.

  Kammani was waiting at the altar with Umma at her side, preparing for that night’s Goddess Way meeting—there’d been a hundred people there on Saturday when she’d announced the plague, and there’d be more tonight, and that knowledge, mixed with the strange and alien contentment that Mina’s pills brought her, was making her sure and steady again—but for some reason her black jacket didn’t feel right. The cloth strained and the buttons turned sideways as if they were about ready to pop—

  The doors opened and Sam came into the temple, wet with rain.

  “It is good!” she called to him, leaving her jacket unbuttoned as Umma and Bikka danced out to meet him. “The worshipers are flocking to us. We will soon reign again—”

  “No.” Sam stopped at the foot of the steps.

  Kammani lost her smile as she felt the desert stir inside her again, muffled by that chemical contentment. “We have called many to our side for the Goddess Way. Our worship meetings now fill the auditorium.”

  “Cheetos?” Bikka whined to Sam.

  “Not here, Shar has some at home,” Sam said to the little dog. Then he looked back at Kammani. “You don’t have worshipers; you have groupies.”

  “Groupies?” Kammani said, confused.

  “And you sent a sickness—”

  “Cheetos?” Bikka whined to Sam again.

  “Shhhh,” Umma said to Bikka.

  “I sent a plague,” Kammani said, thinking, What’s the big deal? “It has been four days and my worship swells as hundreds die—”

  Sam shook his head, looking equal parts tired and angry. “Mina didn’t tell you, did she?”

  Kammani frowned at him. In another life, a life without meds, she might even have been alarmed.

  “You sent a plague this world has conquered,” Sam said. “Most of these people have been vaccinated; they’ve taken medication that keeps them from getting sick. The others are healthy enough to survive. No one is dying. They’re just angry and they’re looking for where the sickness came from.”

  “It’s a deadly plague,” Kammani snapped, her contentment falling away. “The last time I sent it—” She stopped, seeing the pit before her.

  “Nobody is dying here.” Sam took a step closer and she could see the winter in his eyes. “But the last time you sent it, people died, didn’t they?”

  Kammani took a step back.

  “You sent the measles to Kamesh and killed them,” Sam said, his voice like a knife. “That’s why they stopped worshiping you, because you were greedy and sent the plague to command obedience, and too many of them died and the rest left the plague city. Ishtar didn’t overthrow you, the people left you, and when you were weak and alone, Ishtar took you.”

  “They were not devout,” Kammani said, and heard the whine in her own voice.

  “They were not yours to kill,” Sam said.

  “The world is mine to kill.” Kammani drew herself up. “As you are mine to sacrifice. The solstice is Saturday—”

  “I will come to the sacrifice only if you take us back to Kamesh,” Sam said. “Back to the time before the plague. I’ll b
e your sacrifice there, and only there, but you must swear an oath that you won’t send the plague to this world or that one, that you’ll return us to our time before you betrayed my people so that we can save them.”

  “Do you order me, Samu?” Kammani said, trying to find her outrage somewhere in the calm fog in her brain.

  “I’m telling you. Your time in this world is finished. I will not help you here.”

  Mina came in, slamming the door behind her, shaking out an umbrella, Mort tucked into her coat pocket. She stopped as she saw Sam. “Did you come to gloat?”

  “I came to stop you,” he said, looking at her as if she were a bug.

  “Well, you can’t.” Mina went up the steps and put her briefcase on the altar. “Our first telecast is Saturday. With KG’s beauty and wisdom, it’s only a matter of weeks before we go national.” She looked at him with the same contempt he was showing her. “You are no longer needed.”

  “Watch it,” Umma said.

  Mort whispered, “Heh, heh, heh,” from his coat pocket, and Umma looked up at him and said, “You, too, you little freak.”

  “Cheetos!” Bikka barked at Sam.

  “I told you, there are some at home,” Sam said to her. “Go see Wolfie if you want Cheetos.” He looked at Mina and said, “Tell her about the measles. She doesn’t believe me.”

  Mina turned to Kammani, almost rolling her eyes with her insolence. “I tried to tell you the plague was a bad idea. You have to stop that stuff, swarms and plagues. It just makes you look foolish. Next you’ll be wanting to ransom somebody for one million dollars.”

  Sam laughed, and Kammani looked between the two of them, knowing they knew something she didn’t, that even though they loathed each other, there was a bond of knowledge, of culture, that she had missed completely.

  “Enough,” she said to both of them, trying to draw her jacket around her again. “I am the goddess. And we will do this the Goddess Way.”

  “Don’t start believing your PR,” Mina said briskly. “That’s how all the big ones fall.” She looked at the jacket critically. “That doesn’t fit you anymore. You’re putting on weight. It’s probably the Paxil. My mother put on twenty pounds in a month on it.”

  Putting on weight? Kammani looked down at her once flat stomach and saw paunch. “The pills make me … fat?”

  “You just have to lay off the frozen Snickers,” Mina said, dismissing her. “Nobody wants to follow a porko.”

  The room crackled with rage as Kammani froze her with a glance, literally, Mina’s eyes bugging out as she realized she couldn’t move.

  “Do not forget,” Kammani whispered to her, “that I am a real goddess. Do you remember, Mina?”

  The fear in the girl’s eyes was evident but not as strong as it had been before.

  She knows I will not harm her, Kammani thought as Sam said, “You can kill her, but you can’t take her free will; she will think what she wants to think. This time is different. You can’t rule here.”

  “I can rule anywhere,” Kammani snapped. “On Saturday, on the solstice, you will come to me for the sacrifice—”

  “No,” Sam said, his voice final. “If you take us back to Kamesh and leave this world alone, I’ll bleed and die for you there one last time, to save that world and this. If you won’t go back, I’m living out my years here with Shar.”

  I don’t know how to go back to Kamesh, Kammani thought, and then realized that even if she could, she wouldn’t. Kamesh had no lemonade, no refrigerators, no flush toilets, no television that would bring her the worship of millions—

  “No,” she said to him. “You can’t accept mortality. You’ll become human on the solstice. Without me to intervene, you’ll die forever if you stay here.”

  He shook his head. “Even if we go back to Kamesh for the sacrifice, when I rise again, I’ll rise here. I belong here now.”

  He turned and walked away from her, and she yelled, “Don’t be a fool. I won’t raise you again.”

  He turned at the door and smiled at her in the dim light of the temple, sure and confident like the damn god he was. “I’ll rise.”

  “Not without me,” Kammani shrieked at him. “You can’t come back without me.”

  “I’ll come back for her,” Sam said, and left, and Kammani sat down on the edge of the altar platform, panting with frustration and exertion, and thought, Bloody hell.

  Umma padded up. “Mina.”

  “What?” Kammani said, staring at the little dog. “Oh.” She released Mina from her rigor.

  Mina relaxed, stretching a little, wary but by no means cowed. “He deserves to die.”

  “Yes, and he’s going to on Saturday,” Kammani snarled.

  “I don’t think he’s coming back for the sacrifice,” Mina said, sounding exasperated with her. “He’s part of this world now. Most men who look like him are gods here anyway, so he fits right in.” She leaned closer. “You could, too. You’re beautiful; people would follow you for that alone, if you’d just stop with the swarms and the plagues.…”

  Mina talked on and Kammani thought about freezing her again, this time permanently, but she was already short one priestess, and she still needed the Worthams. Plus Mina probably knew how she could take the damn weight off. Hell.

  Back to the problem at hand: what would make Sam come to the temple to be sacrificed?

  Sharrat.

  And what would bring Shar and the others?

  “I need the Three,” she said to Mina.

  “They’re pretty mad about that plague,” Mina said. “One of Gen’s little cousins is really sick.”

  Kammani brightened. “Fatally?”

  “No,” Mina said, “It’s the measles. We have that one licked.”

  Kammani scowled at her and then looked closer. “You’re wet.”

  “It’s raining.” Mina brushed at her damn jacket. “We weren’t even supposed to have rain, but everything’s screwy lately.” She stopped and looked at Kammani. “You didn’t bring the rain, did you?”

  Rain. Lots of rain. In a town close to a big river. She tried to stand in one graceful motion and had to push herself off the steps with one hand instead. “Tonight at the meeting, we will announce a Flood.”

  Mina stopped brushing. “Flood? No.”

  “This rain will not stop; I will see to it,” Kammani said. “And then I will raise the river. I will flood Summerville—”

  “No,“ Mina said. “Look, KG, I know you like the big gestures, but we’re on high ground. If you flood us, you’ll take out half the state—”

  “—but the faithful will be spared—”

  “You can’t build an ark big enough!” Mina said, exasperated. “If you kill everybody, there’ll be nobody left to worship you. Isn’t that what happened to you in Kamesh? Will you just do this my way?”

  “—and the Three will come to us,” Kammani finished.

  “The Three,” Mina spat. “Always the Three. I’m the one who serves you absolutely; I’m the one you need. And it won’t work anyway. They’ve got their own temple in the coffeehouse; they won’t come here.”

  There was a ring of truth in her voice. That coffeehouse…

  “Fine,” Kammani said. “Go there. Tell me what they have there that draws people to them.”

  Mina sighed. “Whatever.” She picked up her umbrella, said, “Don’t forget to take your pill,” and went out the door, taking her little nightmare of a dog with her.

  “Mistake,” Umma said.

  “What?” Kammani said, staring down at the little dog.

  “Sam’s right.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Kammani snarled to her dog. She looked around. “And where’s your sister?”

  “She followed Sam,” Umma said, not cowering. “He has Cheetos. She wishes to live in the other temple.”

  “There is no other temple,” Kammani snapped.

  “And I think I am your companion and solace,” Umma said. “As you are my human.”

 
; “I am not your human,” Kammani said, seething. “I am your goddess. And you are just my damn dog.”

  Umma stared at her unblinking, and Kammani turned and walked away.

  Even the dogs were talking back to her. And the biggest dog of all was Sam. I’ll come back for her. Who the hell did he think—

  The door scraped open again and a man she’d never seen before—tall, dark, rangy, and befuddled—came in, blinking at the light from the electric torches. He caught sight of Kammani and looked … annoyed. “Hello. Are you working on the relief, too?”

  “Working?” Kammani said, caught off guard.

  “The relief.” He gestured to the back wall as he came closer. “I’m studying it.”

  “You’ve been here before,” Kammani said.

  “With Professor Summer. We’re researching the relief together.” He looked at her cautiously. “If you’re researching it, too…”

  “I already know about the relief,” Kammani said.

  “So you’re not going to publish on it,” the man said.

  “No.” Kammani came down the steps. “I am Kammani,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Uh.” The man shifted his notebooks and laptop to one arm, dropping the notebooks in the process, and took her hand. “I’m Ray Reiser, Professor Reiser, very pleased to meet you. So if you’re not—”

  “What is it that Sharrat wants to know about the relief?” Kammani said.

  “We think there’s something wrong with it.” Ray looked around the temple. “See, usually the first layers of a step temple were just filled with rubble, as a platform for the two-storied temple on top. So this room is wrong.”

  “No,” Kammani said. “This room has always been here, in the center. The rest was filled as you say, but there was always a passage to this room.” She stepped closer. “A secret room.”