“Wait!” said Christine. “I didn’t think you were allowed to do things like this.”
“Technically, no,” said Syph. “But who is going to tell?”
“I didn’t want this.”
The goddess paused. “But he wronged you.”
“It was just a bad relationship. They happen all the time. Wasn’t even really a relationship.”
“But what about your DVD player?” asked Syph. “Doesn’t it make you mad?”
Christine said, “Well, yeah. It is my DVD player. But I don’t know if that warrants being thrown into Hell. Heck, it’s not even that good a DVD player. Sometimes, it has trouble reading discs.”
“It’s true!” shouted Scott. “That thing is a piece of crap! Never worked right!”
Syph glared. The beasts in the pit howled for his blood.
“Okay, so I should’ve given it back,” he replied. “I’m sorry. I really am. And I’m sorry about that time I got drunk and made out with your sister. Or that time I missed your birthday to go to Atlantic City with the guys so I lied and said my grandma was sick and I needed to fly out of town to see her. And I know I shouldn’t have borrowed two hundred bucks for car repairs when it was really to put the down payment on a big-screen TV, and I can’t blame you for hating me for that time I ran over your mom’s cat and threw it in the garbage before anyone noticed, and—”
He paused to catch his breath.
“You didn’t know about any of that, did you?” he said.
“How long did you date this guy?” asked Syph.
“Three months,” replied Christine. “The sex was really good.”
Scott couldn’t suppress his satisfied grin.
“Toss him,” said Christine.
Syph threw Scott into the swirling vortex. It sealed shut with a satisfied shriek.
“Vengeance is served,” said Syph.
“Wait.” Christine went to the kitchen and grabbed something to drink. “I can’t do that. I can’t send him to Hell just because he was a bad boyfriend.”
“But what about all his sins? Don’t you deserve vengeance?”
Christine shrugged. “I kind of knew he was a loser before we even started dating.”
“But you offered him love, the greatest gift in all of Heaven and Earth—”
“Actually, I never loved him. I’m not sure I even liked him.”
“But you could have,” said Syph. “You could have loved him if he had given you a chance.”
“Not really. I was just looking for a fling when we started dating. Kind of why I asked him out in the first place.”
Syph stammered.
“That DVD player is a piece of crap,” added Christine. “He can keep it.”
Syph snapped her fingers. The portal opened and spat Scott back into the apartment. He was battered, bruised, and scratched, and his clothing was torn, but no serious injuries had taken place.
“You can destroy the TV,” said Christine to the disappointed goddess.
The television fell into the shrieking portal. The unknowable horrors were audibly disappointed not to have a soul to rend, but they satisfied themselves by switching on a baseball game before the portal closed.
“Justice is served.” Syph leveled an accusing finger at Scott, who was too dazed to pay much attention. “May you learn the errors of your ways, heartless mortal. Love is a blessing from above and any fool who spurns it shall face the wrath of the heavens themselves.”
She filled the apartment with absolute silence as she stared deep into his eyes.
“Pray we do not meet again.”
Syph and Christine left the apartment.
“Thanks,” said Christine. “What do I owe you?”
“Oh, it was no problem. I couldn’t take anything.”
“I’ve never actually done this before. Is tipping allowed? Or is that frowned upon?”
“It’s not necessary.”
“I insist. Is five dollars okay?”
Christine handed Syph some cash. The second Syph touched the money, she sensed a surge in the cosmic balance. It wasn’t the money itself, but the act of offering tribute. It had been centuries since Syph had been offered a willing tribute, ages since she’d met a mortal who wasn’t unhappy to know her. She’d forgotten what it felt like.
That was the secret to a god’s power and why she was unable to harm Janet. Lucky was a minor god, but he did have his followers. More than Syph had. It was all about tribute, and she couldn’t match his because she’d spent the past thousand years moping, neglecting her followers.
No wonder Lucky didn’t respect her. She wasn’t much of a goddess at all anymore. Any god in the universe could thwart her power.
“Oh,” Syph said to the departing Christine, “if later tonight you feel like pouring a bottle of wine down the sink in my name, I wouldn’t complain.”
“Sure.”
“The good stuff,” added Syph. “Preferably something that doesn’t come in a box.”
“Okay.” Christine skipped away quickly.
Syph was in mid-transformation when Scott poked his head out of his apartment.
“Uh, excuse me.”
“Yes,” she replied coldly.
“You’re a goddess of scorned lovers?”
“More or less.”
He approached tentatively. “Do you help guys, too? Or do you strictly work for chicks?”
Syph pondered the question. She hadn’t thought about it.
“See, there was this chick named Stella,” he continued, “and she totally screwed me over. She keyed my car. And she faked a pregnancy to get some extra bucks out of me. And she took my dog.”
“Your dog?” repeated Syph thoughtfully. “In all of Heaven and Earth, there is nothing so embodied of unconditional love as that of our loyal canine companions.”
Scott perked up. “So you’ll do it? You’ll help me out?”
“I might.” Syph examined the crisp five-dollar bill in her hand. “It all depends on what you are willing to do for me.”
17
Teri and Phil weren’t happy to discover they were in the middle of an illegal holy war. They were even more upset to be informed of this by a pair of Divine Affairs agents on their front lawn.
A gray sedan, an ambulance, and a police cruiser were parked outside their house. Curious neighbors gawked from their own front porches or peeked out their windows. Neither Phil nor Teri was the kind to be overly concerned about their neighbors, but it was a hell of a commotion. Especially the sedan and the two Divine Affairs agents who came with it. Divine Affairs made people nervous, and rightfully so. Most gods played by the rules. But not every god. And the rogue gods were just as dangerous as in the history books. Even a little bit more so since the hubris of mortals only made these untamed gods more wrathful.
The agents operated in pairs, one mortal and one immortal. Agent Watson, the mortal, was a lanky man in standard Divine Affairs gray. The immortal agent was a muse named Agent Melody. Her suit was bright purple and her every gesture seemed as if it should have been set to music. Wagner would’ve been inspired to write a four-second symphony just by watching her remove a pen and paper from her coat pocket.
Phil was slightly more artistic than his wife. Just enough that being near Agent Melody, he found himself distracted, composing haikus in his head and having difficulty concentrating.
The ambulance sirens blared as it pulled away from the curb, taking the two failed assassins with it.
“How are they?” asked Teri.
Watson replied, “They seem to have suffered a total of five self-inflicted gunshot wounds. Also, one of them somehow managed to burn himself on your stove and got a corkscrew stuck up his nose.”
Neither Teri nor Phil could remember ever even buying a corkscrew.
“According to the paramedics,” said Melody, “none of the injuries should be fatal.”
“That’s good,” said Teri automatically, though she didn’t know why she cared about the he
alth of two people who had tried to kill her. Even if they had failed miserably, they were still assassins.
“They mentioned something about Gorgax,” said Phil.
“Gorgoz,” corrected Watson. “According to our records this Gorgoz is a deity engaged in a holy war with your own registered god.”
“But that’s illegal,” said Teri.
“Yes, miss. Rest assured that we take these violations of Divine Treaty very seriously.”
“Are you currently engaged in polytheistic worship?” asked Watson.
“No,” said Phil. “We just have the one.”
“You do realize that it is deemed unlawful to follow a god without registering?”
Phil and Teri nodded.
“Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider your previous statement?” asked Melody.
“We only have one god,” said Phil.
“Can you explain the presence of an unregistered deity in your home then?”
They followed the agents’ gaze to Quick, who was talking to another pair of agents.
“Oh, that’s just Quick,” said Teri. “He’s not our god. He just sleeps on our couch.”
“He’s a friend of Lucky’s,” added Phil.
The agents exchanged an unreadable glance.
“It’s not a crime to let a god crash at our place,” said Teri, perhaps a bit too defensively. “We don’t follow him. We don’t offer him tribute.”
“According to Article Seventy-one of the Divine Affairs Treaty, offers of lodging qualify as tribute.”
“We didn’t offer it,” said Teri. “He just started doing it.”
“I see,” said Melody. “Would you like to file an official complaint then?”
Phil and Teri both had the same thought. They weren’t sure how they felt about Quick in their home, but they’d come to like him over the past few weeks. They didn’t want to get him into trouble, but they weren’t feeling very charitable toward gods in general.
“Maybe,” said Phil uneasily.
“Can we get back to this holy war thing?” asked Teri. “How does something like that still happen in this day and age? And why weren’t we told about it before we registered with Lucky?”
Watson’s cell phone rang. He walked away to answer it.
“It happens,” said Melody. “Though at this stage the holy wars are more underground, less obvious. More like holy guerrilla wars. Most gods play by the rules. But some can’t stomach having to live by rules at all. So they went underground, where they still find followers among the unscrupulous. As for your god… well… he has no legal obligation to inform you of this.”
“What kind of system doesn’t tell people they’re getting in the middle of a holy war?”
“It’s a complicated issue, miss,” replied the agent, “but Divine Affairs is not just for the protection of mortals. The gods have rights, too.”
“Including the right to lie?”
“Technically, it’s nondisclosure, miss. Would you appreciate having your dirty laundry posted to the public record?”
“My dirty laundry doesn’t get people killed.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you did agree to this, didn’t you? No one forced you into it.”
Teri fumed. “This is unbelievable. We’re almost killed, and you’re blaming us.”
“We see a lot of this, Mrs. Robinson. Perhaps you should’ve considered your decision more carefully.”
Teri shot her a glare, then looked to Phil to rise to her defense. But he didn’t disagree with the agent. And he didn’t see any benefit in arguing. This wasn’t the time to point fingers.
She stormed away, grumbling. Phil considered going after her, but it was probably better to let her cool off.
“If you would like to sever your relationship with your god,” said Melody, “we can start the paperwork. It can take a while, though, and there are penalties.”
Phil’s first reaction was to say yes to the offer. But the penalties part made him hesitate. The law didn’t just protect mortals from the capricious nature of the gods. It protected the gods from the fickle nature of mortals. There had to be stability, a reliable exchange of tribute and favor. He got all that. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it was the best they had. And even if it had its flaws, it had kept things in order. No longer did mortals have to fear seeing their city erupt in fire and brimstone just because a few of their mortals offended a powerful deity who didn’t understand subtlety. Now if your house blew up, you’d earned it. Or at least put yourself in the line of wrath, even if indirectly.
“No, it’s okay,” he said. “Maybe later. How long has this holy war been going on?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s—”
“Privileged information,” he said. “I got it.”
Watson returned. “Mr. Robinson, was there an incident in your office this Tuesday?”
“My boss had a heart attack.” The realization dawned on him slowly, but the agents gave him time.
“Wait. Oh my… it wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“We aren’t allowed to discuss pending investigations in detail.”
Phil shook his head. “Oh, come on. This isn’t right. We must have some rights. It’s bad enough our own god failed to mention we might get killed just for letting him sleep in our spare bedroom. Now you ask me about a mysterious death and don’t want to give me any information. How is that fair?”
Agent Melody shrugged. “A forensic team turned up a death rune written on his coffee mug. It was written in invisible ink. We’re lucky to have caught it.”
“Somebody killed him?”
“In a manner of speaking,” said Agent Melody. “We believe he was trying to kill you and that the attempt backfired. You were supposed to drink from the mug. He most likely planned to switch it out so that there would be no evidence, making it look like a coronary. Probably would have worked, too, if he hadn’t mixed up the cups. Lucky break for you, Mr. Robinson.”
“Yeah, lucky.”
But it hadn’t been blind luck. If Phil hadn’t spilled his coffee, if he hadn’t switched mugs to try and cover the mistake, he’d be dead right now. Lucky had neglected to mention Gorgoz, but Lucky’s influence had also saved Phil’s life. It was complicated.
“A search of Rosenquist’s home turned up a secret altar and contraband paraphernalia,” added Watson. “From the looks of things, we think he was giving tribute to Gorgoz.”
“But he was a business executive,” said Phil. “Why would he be following an illegal god?”
“Happens more than you might think,” said the mortal. “Statistically, most unsanctioned tribute is committed by the middle class.”
Phil didn’t know what to think. Like most everyone, he was inclined to imagine the temple underground populated by lowlifes, thugs, and murderers. Those people who couldn’t get ahead in this world and turned to the dark gods in desperation. But that really made no sense. Why wouldn’t people who were willing to invoke unethical and dangerous powers get ahead? He’d met plenty of middle management and been impressed with their complete lack of practical job skills.
And what about all those other employees who were promoted, never to be seen again, despite promises to “keep in touch”? Were they inducted into a secret cabal, too busy engaging in ritual sacrifice and secret ceremonies to return phone calls or even just drop by and say hi? Or even more sinisterly, were their promotions just a ruse, an excuse for a convenient transfer to some obscure position in another city so that no one would question their disappearance, another sacrifice to dark gods to facilitate the sinister boardroom dealings?
It sure as hell would explain a lot.
“What are we supposed to do now?” asked Phil.
“I can understand your concerns, Mr. Robinson,” said Agent Watson, “but you can rest assured that we’re on top of this. These sort of incidents are the exception, not the norm. And Divine Affairs is very good at dealing with them.”
“What’s that mean?”<
br />
“It means we stand by our record,” replied Agent Melody.
“And what record is that?” asked Phil.
The agents turned their backs and exchanged whispers.
Divine Affairs offered vague reassurances, but nothing tangible. There was a twisted god out there, somewhere, issuing death warrants for Phil and Teri. Their own god, meanwhile, didn’t appear as trustworthy as they’d hoped. And he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Maybe he’d heard about the incident and flown back to Wisconsin rather than stick around and face the wrath of Teri.
Phil waited for the agents to finish their conversation, though he was positive they wouldn’t have any real help to offer. Just a vague promise to look into things and get back to him. They’d give him some phone number to call in case of trouble to make him feel better, but what good could it be?
“Cripes,” he groaned as he looked to the heavens, which now appeared so indifferent to his problems, more than ever before. And he spotted his god floating overhead in his signature globe of light.
He had no idea how long Lucky had been hovering there. The god chewed on a piece of beef jerky, sipped on a Big Gulp, and surveyed the scene. He spotted Phil, shrugged, and descended to earth reluctantly. Before Phil could speak with him, the agents pulled Lucky aside.
Phil waited for his shot at his god. While he waited, Teri and Quick returned.
“Don’t be too hard on him,” said Quick. “He’s not such a bad guy, really.”
Phil and Teri were having none of it. They wouldn’t have been surprised if, after finishing his conversation with the agents, Lucky had flown away rather than talk to them. But he didn’t.
“Hey, buddy,” he said with every ounce of carefree charm, “how’s it going?”
“Not so good,” replied Phil.
“So I gathered.” Lucky’s smile dropped. “I know this looks bad—”
“You’re damn right it looks bad. It looks worse than bad. We were almost killed, sacrificed as tribute to some evil god with a grudge against you.”
“I can explain—”
“You lied to us.”
“I never said—”
A Lee Martinez Page 15