Nergal gazed down at the city. “Because it is beautiful.”
“Uh, yeah. I mean, it used to be.…”
“There is nothing more captivating than chaos,” Nergal continued.
“You’re destroying us because you’re bored?”
He laughed. “That is the way of gods.”
“Not the one I believe in.” I tightened my hold on the reins. The lamassus tensed, sensing my mood. They, too, wanted to fight.
Nergal drifted over his city, gazing down proudly at it. “It is rife with plagues, sicknesses no medicine can cure. Your people will tear themselves apart with tooth and nail. I promise you a bloodbath from which the city will never recover. And then it will spread across the land, and beyond.”
“What about Gilgamesh? And Belet? You haven’t defeated either of them.” At least I hoped not.
He peered toward Central Park. “Gilgamesh will see reason eventually.”
“Belet won’t. She’ll fight you for the rest of her life.”
“The life of a mortal is short.”
“You’d be surprised. I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“I will remedy that here and now.” He lowered his spear, pointing it straight at my chest.
I pulled hard to the right, forcing a sudden lurch as Nergal shot past me, his spear tip shredding the side of the chariot. He roared louder than the thunder and arced high and back toward us.
Straight ahead, lightning flashed within an enormous storm cloud. Black and swollen with rain, enough water to wash the city clean.
That was it.
Gilgamesh had talked about using the water supply to spread the cure. As the raindrops pelted my face, I realized I had a better, faster alternative.
I needed to get higher. “Come on, guys.” The lamassus didn’t need to be told twice, and as we got closer to the cloud, their bodies began to glow with a soft blue aura.
I looked over my shoulder.
Nergal thrust his spear at me, and I twisted right before it went through my shoulder blades. Instead, it splintered the front of the carriage. I jerked the reins left. Nergal beat all four of his wings to change direction. I only had seconds before he would be upon me again, and the chariot wouldn’t be able to take another hit like that.
“Come on!” I flicked the reins, and the two weary, battered lamassus gave everything they still had.
The chariot bounced violently as Nergal landed on the rim in front of me.
One hand on the reins, the other clutching the tub, I stepped backward and ducked as he jabbed forward with the spear, but not quick enough to avoid it ripping through my shoulder. He glared at me with wild delight. “Now we’ll test the limits of your immortality, boy!”
His next stab went into my upper thigh, and I buckled. How could you escape a god standing only a few feet away? The winds that had been assaulting us suddenly disappeared. The pandemonium of thunder and lightning vanished behind us as, for just a few seconds, we were bathed in the cold, clean light of the full moon. But the enormous storm cloud was still in my sights, just a few yards ahead.
Nergal smiled as he steadied his grip on his weapon. He could finish me easily but was having too much fun and wanted to play his cruel little games even now. Then he noticed the tub in my hand, and his smile faded. “What’s that? A magic potion?”
Uh-oh.
“This?” I said. “It’s my lunch. A boy’s gotta eat when he’s saving the world. Would you like some?”
He didn’t fall for my bluff. I guess he was smarter than Humbaba. Instead, he pointed the spear tip straight at my heart. “Why do you insist on interfering? Your people hate you now.”
“That was your doing. You changed everyone into monsters.”
Nergal shook his head. “I changed the outside, but what was within—that was always there. Deep in their hearts, human beings are monsters. You will save nothing. Hand over the potion to me, and…I will cure your parents. You have the word of a god.”
“And I should trust you because…?”
He tightened his grip, and the metal spear shrieked. “Because you have no choice.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I think I do.”
I jumped out of the chariot. Directly into the thunderhead.
And pulled off the tub lid as I tumbled.
Glowing droplets of eau de toilette streamed out behind me, instantly vaporizing into a silver mist that caught the eddies and spread, seeding the cloud.
Then I closed my eyes and let the storm carry me.
“GET UP, SIK.” THAT SOUNDED LIKE BELET. “IT’S NOT OVER.”
A boot nudged my ribs. Definitely Belet.
“Leave me alone. This cold, wet pavement is sooo cozy. I am just going to lie here for a while longer.”
“Sik…”
“Okay, fine. I’m getting up.” I groaned as I slowly moved into a sitting position. “But this had better be worth it.”
Rain poured down, my clothes were in shreds, and my flesh was one big purple bruise, clear signs that I was still in the real world. I winced as I got up. “How far did I fall?”
“About six thousand feet.” Then she pointed to the adjacent tower. “But you did bounce off that a couple of times on the way down.”
That explained the big crack in the asphalt under me and why my skeletal structure felt…rearranged.
“Well, you know what they say,” I said. “Any landing you can walk away from is a good one.”
She helped me up, but Belet looked grim, cradling the arm she’d torn when we’d crashed through the windows. “Get ready to fight.”
I looked around. “Everybody?”
Poxies filled Seventh Avenue as far as the eye could see, and more were spilling out from the side streets. They were beyond monstrous now, some unable to retain a single shape but melting and re-forming with every step. Through sheets of rain, I saw the suffering in their pain-crazed eyes.
Yes, it was clear now: Mo’s Promise hadn’t worked. Daoud had diluted it too much. So much for all my hopes.
I stepped next to Belet, wishing I had my wok. “What are they waiting for?”
The reply came from above. “Me.”
Nergal beat his wings to land on the roof of a parked van. It sagged as he settled his weight on it.
Now that he was closer, I could see that his wings smoldered. One was torn, and the feathers were singed. Parts of his body smoked, too, the skin black and peeling under his molten golden armor. But none of that mattered. He still topped ten feet and radiated supernatural strength. The poxies were not here to fight but to witness his ultimate victory.
Belet readied Kasusu.
“Be joyful, Niece,” he said. “I am about to send you to your mother.”
“Those you kill with words live longest,” said Belet.
Nergal shrugged. He spread out his wings and stepped off the van.
Only to fall flat on his face. Hard.
Even I winced. “God or not, that had to hurt.”
He stood up and wiped his bleeding nose. “That’s impossible. Gods cannot bleed.”
His feathers wilted and started to molt. They dropped in sodden clumps as he flapped his wings, trying to rise. Nergal beat his metal breastplate. “I ate the flower of immortality! Why am I not healing?” He gasped as he gazed at his hands.
The skin began wrinkling. It was weird to watch his smooth, muscular flesh age, turn a jaundiced yellow, and start shriveling on the bone. His muscle faded, and Nergal bowed as his bones weakened. He sank to his knees as the last of his feathers fell and the wing structures sagged.
The poxies changed before our eyes, too. Their deformities shrank away. The boils, the sores, the putrid growths just melted back into healthy full flesh. Crooked bones straightened. Yellow fangs retreated into gums, leaving straight, normal-size white teeth. The monsters growing out of their bodies were washed away by the rain.
We both turned at the loud clang. Nergal sat in a puddle, breathing weakly, his breastplate discarded in fro
nt of him. His chest was concave, and mere skin sagged over a bony rib cage. “I’m…I’m dying. But how?”
I realized the truth as I said it. “Immortality is a sickness.” I gazed up at the clouds, and the raindrops infused with Mo’s Promise. “You’ve been cured.”
Belet walked up to Nergal and pressed the tip of Kasusu under his chin. The withered god looked up at her with pleading eyes. “Help me, Niece. Help me, and together we’ll rescue Ishtar.”
“No, Uncle. I can do that by myself.”
He laughed. It wasn’t much of a noise, just a brittle croaking. “Please, sweet girl. Let me have just one more minute. A few seconds more.”
All those thousands upon thousands of years he’d had, and it still wasn’t enough. He’d never had to contemplate death before, and fear was overwhelming him.
Belet drew back Kasusu, but she didn’t strike. She didn’t have to.
Nergal opened his mouth and sighed. A fly crept out from the depths of his throat as his eyes glazed over. Another fly buzzed out. And another, and more. The swarm enveloped the body of the plague god in an opaque cloud, its buzzing reaching an ear-piercing whine. Then it flew away, dispersing over the crowd and into the sky. No trace of Nergal remained except for a few scattered feathers.
BABA PUT THE PAINT CAN DOWN ON THE SIDEWALK. “I had the strangest dreams when I was in a coma. It was probably just the drugs, but sometimes I wonder.”
“Oh?” I dipped in my brush and started applying the second coat of Overtly Olive to the window frame. Mama and Daoud were inside, arranging the flowers on each table, careful to avoid Sargon, who was having a nap. We’d been at it all day and were finishing off just as the streetlights were coming on, bathing our deli in soft gold.
Baba worked alongside me. “You and Mohammed, sitting in a rowboat in the middle of the sea. The waves were so high, Sik! And there was lightning and the blackest storm clouds. I was terrified for you, but you were both laughing. As if defying the chaos, the very elements that were trying to destroy you.”
“Funny dream.” I tried to avoid splashing the window frame—that was especially tricky.
“Mama had the exact same dream,” said Baba. “Strange, eh?”
“I don’t think it’s strange for parents to dream about their kids.”
Baba stopped painting and looked over at me with a thoughtful frown. He’d been out of the hospital for a month but still hadn’t yet filled out to his normal size. His eyes sat deeper than they used to. “Then Mohammed came to me. He knew I was sick, and he told me to hang on, hang on and wait, because you were coming to save us.”
I tried to keep my expression blank. “How was he?”
“Happy.” Baba shook his head. “And carrying a string bag.”
“Mama have that same dream, too?”
Baba nodded. “You were the reason we fought on, Sik. You know that, right?”
“I…” I blushed. It seemed so long ago already. With Nergal’s destruction, his hold on the city was broken. His curse was lifted, and healing began immediately. I’d made my way to the hospital, past thousands of poxies, bewildered as their diseases receded and their health was restored. There were barricades around Manhattan General, but in all the confusion, I got past them easily. I raced up the stairs to find Mama and Baba waking from their long comas. I’d thought my heart would burst with relief.
We’d been so close to tragedy, and yet here we were, reclaiming our lives. All because of a flower. Mo’s Promise.
Baba squeezed my shoulders. “Don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Likewise, Baba.”
He laughed, and it was the first time I realized how much it sounded like Mo’s. Then Baba sighed as he spotted a guy setting up across the street. “Ya Allah. Not another one.”
“Get your genuine Manhattan rainwater here! Guaranteed to cure anything! Just a hundred bucks and you’ll live forever!”
I watched the guy line up a dozen plastic bottles on a card table outside Mr. Georgiou’s wrecked pizzeria. He held up a bottle as a woman passed by. “Ma’am! Want to get rid of those wrinkles? Better than Botox, and gluten-free!”
Daoud came out and joined us. “Another hawker?”
“Third this morning,” Baba replied. He took off his painting gloves and tossed them onto a table. “Your shift now, Daoud. I’ve got to make up the sauces for tomorrow’s grand reopening.”
“Hey, Baldilocks! Just fifty bucks and you can grow an Afro overnight!”
I sighed as I continued painting, all the while listening to the guy’s increasingly extravagant—and desperate—sales pitches.
“Collected on the actual night of the Big Rain! These are my last bottles! Once they’re gone, they’re gone! One gulp will mend a broken heart! Two will deliver you the man of your dreams! You, sir! Want to lose that gut of yours? Here’s a six-pack in a bottle!”
Mama waved at me through the glass. She had the counters polished like mirrors, and the new wall tiles gleamed. We’d gotten them from a Turkish wholesaler: blue branches spreading across a shiny white background, a design called the tree of life.
“You serving yet?” The street vendor strolled over and perched on a fire hydrant. “I could use a Coke.”
I gestured at the bottles he’d left behind on his table. “Your magic rainwater not good enough?”
“That, kid, is for purely medicinal purposes.” He gazed around and sighed. “Thought I might have better luck selling on this corner. Y’know, because of all the tourists. This is where Sikander Aziz used to live, isn’t it?”
“What?” I asked, bewildered. “And what?”
“The Hero of Manhattan,” said the guy. “Shame he’s dead. An endorsement from him would have made me rich.”
“He’s not dead. I mean, I’m not dead.” I pointed the paint roller at myself, splashing speckles of green on my T-shirt. “I’m Sikander Aziz.”
The guy laughed. “And I thought I was a con artist. Nice try, kid. Nice try.” Then he pointed at Daoud’s face. “Hey, how about I give you one of my bottles in exchange for the Coke? The water’ll fix that up no problem.”
Daoud touched the scar on his cheek. “How ’bout you just give me two bucks?”
Reluctantly, the guy handed over the money, and Daoud passed him the soda. I watched the hawker head back across the street.
“So, I’m the Hero of Manhattan?”
“Couple of weeks ago you were.” Daoud chuckled. “Fame’s a fickle thing. It’s gone before you know it.”
“It was gone before I even knew it arrived!” I complained. “I did save the city.”
“There’s been a Kardashian baby since then. The world’s moved on, Sik.”
Maybe it was for the best. At least people wouldn’t be turning up to test my immortality. Some guy, convinced the Big Rain had made him invincible, had dived off the Brooklyn Bridge to prove it. He’d ended up in critical condition, with forty-three bones broken.
Me? Mo’s Promise had affected me after all. When it came to Nergal, the desert hybrid had neutralized the effects of the original flower I’d brought back from the Sea of Tiamat, as Ishtar had suspected would happen. But I’d had a double dose of the desert version—first when I’d planted it, and then again in the downpour. As a result, my vitality had only increased. I didn’t need to sleep anymore. I never got tired, and any nick or scratch sealed up within seconds. But I still couldn’t handle more than a spoonful of the Baghdad.
I hadn’t really wrapped my mind around all that. I mean, I could barely plan for next week, and here I was looking at eternal life. I suppose I’d just have to take it one day at a time, like everyone else.
As for how New York City was faring, if the Big Rain by itself wasn’t enough to keep the conspiracy nuts from working overtime, we now had headlines on the front page of the New York Post like “The Gods Walk Among Us” and “The Miracle of Manhattan!”
Fresh theories about what had happened to the city popped up every day. Aliens were t
rending this week. The battle between Ishtar and Nergal on Venus Street had over ten million views on YouTube, though plenty of people were convinced it was just an online marketing campaign for the next phase of superhero movies. And there was the mystery of the seven-tiered ziggurat that had appeared overnight in the middle of Central Park. I’d tried visiting it, but it had been sealed off by the park authorities. When I’d asked about the gardener, no one had seen him.
“You been to the masjid lately?” asked Daoud as he worked his way carefully around the edge of a window. “The crowd has spread into the parking lot. Same with the local church. I hear it’s standing room only these days.”
“Everyone’s waiting on the next miracle,” I said. “How about we—”
Daoud’s phone rang. He paused his rolling and winced apologetically at me. “That could be a callback, Sik.…”
“Go ahead, take it.”
He smiled gratefully and slid it out of his back pocket. “Hey, Claire! Sun still shining in Hollywood? What have you…? Calm down! I can’t understand what…The lead? For real? Let me get a notepad.” He gave me a thumbs-up and disappeared upstairs, the painting completely forgotten. Typical Daoud.
But he wasn’t the same. Like everyone else, he’d recovered from Nergal’s disease. His skin glowed as brightly as ever, his hair had grown back, and his muscles rippled under his tight T-shirt. But he now had a couple of new features: a bridge of pearly-white front teeth, and also a dashing scar on his face, thanks to Idiptu. For some reason, the mark hadn’t disappeared, but it had launched Daoud’s career.
Offers were coming in day and night. When a casting agent went to sleep in Tokyo, a modeling scout was waking up in London. Vogue wanted Daoud in Libya next week for their “Urban Conflict” campaign.
“Hello, Sik.”
Belet crossed the street.
“Salaam. Long time no see.” I put down my roller and wiped my hands on a rag.
“Looking good.” She blushed a little. “I mean the place.”
“Yeah. We got some builders in, the sort of guys who usually do mansions in the Hamptons. They installed a brand-new, top-of-the-line kitchen. Someone paid them in advance,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to know who that was, would you?”
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