I paced the small conference room in the resort as I debated my next move. Normally the colorful room calmed my nerves, but not today. At the moment, it was filled with mirrors for Pirate Doug’s fitting and at every turn all I could see was his appalling choice of wedding ensemble.
Running my hands over the shiny, sea glass encrusted table, I groaned. This was a scary start to the day. Crap.
The shirt was truly heinous—flabbergastingly horrifying. The sleeves alone had more material in them than all of the clothes in my closet put together times ten.
And the breeches? I couldn’t even explain the breeches with words.
Granted I wore bikini tops and sarongs most of the time, but I’m a Mermaid, that’s the typical uniform of my kind.
How in the love of everything fishy had I been assigned to help my soon to be brother-in-law choose his wedding attire? Was this payback for hiring a Squidward impersonator to strip at the bachelorette party?
I thought that was hilarious. We needed a little levity. All this lovey-dovey stuff was starting to give me hives. I knew I could have gotten out of the task completely, but anything to keep my mind off of Archer the rule breaker with the fabulous Johnson-man-tool was a good thing at the moment. His freakin’ glitter was still in my hair and on my skin. No matter how many times I bathed, the sparkly reminder of the jackhole wouldn’t go away.
Two of my sisters were now down for the count and wildly in love with dolts. Tallulah had mated with the questionably intelligent Pirate who was now twirling circles in front of the mirror checking out his arse.
And Ariel aka Joan had mated with the Selkie, Keith, who had the maturity level of a third grade human boy.
What in the chicken of the sea was the world coming to? Love was all kinds of ridiculous.
“I think my breeches might be too long,” Pirate Doug muttered as he rolled up one of the lacy legs above his knee.
“If it were me, I wouldn’t wear breeches at all,” Poseidon volunteered. “Less to take off for the wedding night. I say… Let your Johnson breathe.”
“Fine point, well made, Pappy,” Pirate Doug bellowed and magically removed his breeches with a wave of his hand.
Quickly, I snapped my fingers and put the breeches right back on him. I had no desire to see his butt or family jewels. It was enough to have to see the puffy-sleeved nightmare he thought passed as a shirt. Seeing his Johnson was entirely out of the question.
I should just tell him. Or maybe I should wiggle my fingers and set the ensemble on fire. I mean, he was a five-hundred-year-old Vampire Pirate after all. If he lost an appendage or two in the blaze, it would regenerate.
Nope. I should just keep my lips sealed and my itchy zapping finger to myself.
But wait…Wouldn’t I want one of my sisters to say something if the situation was reversed?
Yes. Yes, I would.
I pointed at his shirt. “You can’t wear that,” I blurted out. “You look like a weird drag queen in a lacy bed sheet with no freakin’ hands.”
“And this is a problem?” Pirate Doug inquired, completely perplexed.
The idiot raised his arms in the air and completely obscured most of his large frame due to the sheer volume of the puffy sleeves.
“Yessssss, it’s a problem,” I huffed. “Your shirt—and I hesitate to even call it that—is at least five times poofier than Tallulah’s dress. You should not look more feminine than your bride. You feel me?”
“So you’re saying it does make my arse look big?” he asked.
Closing my eyes and breathing in deeply through my nose, I nodded my head slowly. Maybe appealing to his vanity would do the trick.
“Yes, your arse looks… umm… enormous in that shirt—bulbous, ginormous, grotesque. I’d even go so far to say offensive,” I added.
“Thank you,” Pirate Doug said with a wide grin on his stupidly handsome face.
“That wasn’t a compliment,” I replied and let my chin fall to my chest.
“Do you want to know what I think?” Pirate Doug asked, patting my head like I was a puppy.
“Nope, but I bet I’m gonna hear it anyway,” I muttered, slapping his hand away.
“Aye, you are,” he said with a laugh and handed his father another bottle of rum. “Tallulah loves me and I love the crazy, violent, swimming hooker right back. I love her more than I enjoy pilfering from gnomes—and I love pilfering from gnomes. I wouldn’t care if Tallulah wore a paper sack to the wedding as long as her knockers were covered. Can’t have anyone ogling her rack except me.”
“Wise. Very wise,” Poseidon offered as he removed the cap from a yet another bottle of rum and began to partake.
“So, it stands to reason that I could wear a tutu and a tube top and Tallulah would still love me,” Pirate Doug finished.
Almost.
“However, I think she might be a tad put out if I displayed my Johnson to the crowd,” he continued, thinking aloud. “My schlong is enormous and would make all the male guests weep with sorrow that their own Johnsons weren’t as spectacular as mine. I fear crying guests aren’t exactly the mood enhancers we want at this bizarre human nuptial ritual. Therefore, I’ve decided to encase my salami in gold foil and wear my splendid lacy breeches over my shiny pecker. It will be a surprise for my hooker when I do my striptease after the ceremony.”
And I was silent. Mostly because there was absolutely nothing to add to the appalling overshare Pirate Doug had just bestowed upon us.
“So let’s get back to my original question,” he said, bending over and lifting the yards of material up over his head. “Does this make my arse look big?”
“Umm… no,” I choked out. “Your arse looks just fine.”
I really hoped Tallulah would forgive me for letting the butthead wear enough gauzy material to make a huge sail on a ship, but I was terrified to hear about any more gold foil-wrapped genitals.
“Excellent,” Pirate Doug yelled as he snatched the bottle of rum from Poseidon’s hands and downed a healthy swig. “All I need to find is a crown and the ensemble will be complete.”
“I have one you can borrow,” the God of the Sea volunteered. “It’s enormous and pure gold, inlaid with priceless jewels. It will look excellent when paired with your sparkling gold tallywhacker.”
“And I will take you up on that kind offer, Pappy,” Pirate Doug said as he marched out of the room wearing at least fifty pounds of material. “I’m going to model my outfit for my crew of arses. Upton, Thornycraft and Bonar will not know what hit them!”
“Have fun, son,” Poseidon bellowed as he pilfered the bottle of rum from Pirate Doug’s hand before his horrifyingly grand exit.
It was now just the God of the Sea and me… and he was staring at me strangely. Crap. Was he annoyed that I’d said his son’s arse looked enormous, bulbous, ginormous and grotesque?
Getting on the wrong side of Poseidon wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time if you wanted to live to swim another day. He might be a diaper-wearing, soused weirdo, but he was all kinds of powerful and I kind of looked up to him as a dysfunctional father figure.
“Pirate Doug doesn’t look that bad,” I offered weakly. “Kind of weird, but very umm… flowy.”
“My son looks ridiculous. It’s fitting and wonderful,” Poseidon said with a delighted chuckle. “He’s also correct. Love is blind and Tallulah will love him regardless of the sheer amount of yardage in his sleeves.”
“Sure,” I agreed with the smallest eye roll I could get away with without getting zapped with a bolt of magic. I quickly moved toward the door after a polite curtsy to the Sea God. It was time to let my tail out and go for a swim. This day couldn’t get much worse… “It was…umm… lovely seeing you.”
“Not so fast,” Poseidon said, making himself comfortable on one of the cushioned chairs. “So, Misty, where did you find that interesting glitter you’re wearing?”
I froze. Maybe it could get worse.
Being alone with the Poseidon was a r
are privilege, but I had no intention of telling him why I looked like a sparkly holiday bush. As he was kind of my de facto dad, I didn’t want to share I was popping a dude whose name I didn’t know… or want to know.
“Umm… well, I… you know… just the usual,” I stuttered.
Poseidon titled his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “It’s quite magical—very powerful and extremely rare. I’m curious as to why you’re wearing it—or why it’s wearing you, to be more precise.”
Damn it, even slightly inebriated, Poseidon was a smart little fishy.
“It’s powerful and rare?” I asked.
“Aye, it is and it’s been missing in the world as of late,” the God of the Sea said, watching me carefully.
What the hell was Archer? What kind of immortal being was he to leave magic dust that would be noticed and recognized by Poseidon himself?
Had Archer stolen the magic from the gods? Was the dork a freakin’ Gods Robber? Was that why had the God of the Sea’s eyes had narrowed to slits?
Shit.
I was not going to let Archer the jackhole, whatever he was, get me into trouble with the Sea God for having put rare stolen sparkly magic on me.
But I also didn’t want to get the jackhole in trouble either.
Why? No clue. It just felt kind of right.
Plus, if anyone was going to kill Archer, it was going to be me.
“I bought it on the internet,” I lied, staring right at the bridge Poseidon’s nose hoping it would look like I was meeting his wise yet slightly drunken gaze. For a brief moment I was certain the Sea God looked as if he was trying not to smile, but then his expression grew stern.
“Not possible,” he replied in a clipped tone. “However, I will let you keep your little secret if you agree to do me a little favor.”
Shitcrapshitcrapshitcrap. A favor asked by Poseidon wasn’t something a lowly Mermaid could decline. However, he was a little nuts. Why would he want a favor from me?
And why in the Seven Seas was I so set on protecting Archer?
Because I was clearly an idiot.
“You might not know this, but I’m running DIC now. I was voted in—kind of—sort of,” he explained with a grimace, handing me the bottle of rum.
“You’re a running dick?” I asked, wondering how much rum he’d had. I mean, the visual alone was enough to make me want to down the entire contents of the bottle. And why did I need to know he was a running dick? That was TMI—father figure or not.
“No, child,” Poseidon said with a bellow of laughter. “DIC—Divine Immortal Circuit. All the gods have to take a turn at governing the other idiot gods and demigods. I lost at strip poker last month and have to run the damned thing for the next hundred years.”
“Ooookay,” I said slowly, still wondering what any of this had to do with me.
“I’m getting ready to fire someone. This individual has been slacking off on the job and you shall be the replacement.”
“But I’m not a god,” I pointed out, seriously regretting helping Pirate Doug with his wedding attire disaster. If I hadn’t said yes, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.
Wait a minute… Had Archer really stolen some god’s magic? Sweet chicken of the sea in a frying pan on high, the jackhole’s ego had nothing on his balls. Only an immortal with a death wish stole from the gods.
“This is true, you’re not a goddess,” Poseidon agreed with a nod of his head. “But the magic is on you. You must have an affinity for it. So you’re hired. Deal?”
“Umm… what exactly am I hired for?” I asked, trying to wipe the red and silver glitter off to no avail. A several-thousand-year-old god in a diaper had just given me a job because I was sparkly and had no clue what it was.
“What do you think of love, Misty?”
“I think it’s stupid. Love is for fools,” I blurted out without thinking.
“Perfect,” he yelled, startling me. “You won’t use the tools incorrectly then. I need someone for the job who is as tough as nails and above mundane fancies like love and romance.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” I grumbled. I wasn’t cold-hearted at all. I might seem that way occasionally, but the outside often hid what was truly in the inside. Whatever. “And just so we’re clear here, I already have a job. I run the tourist trap for humans. Whatever this job is, it has to be temporary.”
“Is that how you speak to the God of the Sea?” Poseidon demanded beginning to glow.
“Umm… yes?” I whispered.
He eyed me for a long minute and then threw his head back and laughed. “You have balls. I like a gal with big balls. You will most definitely be perfect.”
It was clear he had no plans to respond to my demand that the position be temporary. And I really had no power to fight him on it. He was Poseidon after all. I never should have gotten out of bed this morning.
“And the job is?” I asked, dreading his answer. I was about to learn the identity of the god or demigod that Archer had stolen from.
“From this day forward you shall be… Cupid.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I shouted.
“No. I’m Poseidon. And you are now Cupid.”
Unbelievable. I was now a demigoddess of love because the jackhole I’d been bumping uglies with had stolen magic from Cupid of all people. And how was Cupid going to handle being replaced by a Mermaid? Were my days now numbered because a tiny, chubby, curly haired, weirdo demigod with freakin’ love arrows was going to be gunning for my ass?
Nope. My days were going to be fine. I would get myself out of this mess as soon as possible.
However, Archer’s days were definitely numbered.
His ass was grass and I was going to mow it.
I just needed to find him first.
2
Cupid
“Hit it, boys!” Poseidon bellowed as his absurd band of Clams strummed a horrifying banjo version of the Death March.
Visiting Poseidon was unsettling enough, but his Clams… Holy Hades, on a good day they were alarming—man-sized clams with arms and legs and no discernible faces. On a bad day they were migraine inducing. This was shaping up to be a bad day.
I rolled my eyes as I entered the idiot’s chamber on Mount Olympus. I didn’t have time for this shit. I was a busy demigod with a schedule of sorts. Being called to the principal’s office wasn’t on my agenda this century, or any century for that matter.
The dark oak-paneled walls of the Sea God’s massive office were inlaid with shells and sparkling sea glass. Shimmering gold columns flanked the overly ornate enormous pink marble desk and the certifiable old coot was wearing a t-shirt that read Team Poseidon and a man-diaper.
I seriously doubted the old man had a mirror.
Looking down at the floor, I bit back a grin and was glad I was wearing combat boots. The God of the Sea was crazy. The floor of his chamber was covered in pristine white sand. I half expected waves to crash through the room, but even Poseidon wouldn’t flood Mount Olympus—too much backlash if he tried that one.
Avoiding Mount Olympus had become a full time hobby. Of course, I had my own palace at the base of the mountain, but it was far too large for one person. It had become depressing. I’d taken to staying in luxury hotels all over the world to dodge having to deal with all the other gods and their quirks. Plus, it was a write off as my job had me interacting with the human realm.
“You rang?” I inquired disrespectfully with a wide smile.
“You’re fired.”
“Repeat,” I said, no longer smiling. I seated my large and obscenely good-looking frame in the tiny beach chair opposite the huge desk. Clearly, the jackass was compensating for a little something.
“You’re fired,” the delighted son of a bitch restated.
“Could you be more specific?” I asked. Settling my elbows on the edge of his desk, I steepled my fingers and rested my chin on them.
“How much more specific would you like me to be? And what
moniker are you going by this month? Eros, Cupid, Mandan or Archer?” Poseidon inquired, far too pleased to be delivering the unpleasant news.
The mossy-green haired bastard had been the bane of my existence for the last couple of centuries. Granted, he felt the same about me, but clearly I had no power to fire his ass. Although, if I was being honest, which I had no intention of being at the moment, I’d have to admit that I liked the son of a bitch for the most part. I was unsure who had voted the soused bozo into his new position, but I’d like to have a few words with them. Poseidon was a certifiably insane god with tremendous power—a very bad combination.
“I’m going by Archer this week.”
“Fine. Archer. Which part of my sentence didn’t you understand?” Poseidon inquired.
“Well, let me think,” I said mulling over my options while the God of the Sea grinned.
The man was the definition of an ass. He was over the top and entirely too extra for my pleasure. In the thousands of years I’d known him, he’d driven me nuts the entire time.
His man-sized diaper and ornate crown were farcical. However, the scepter and the band of Clams were beyond ridiculous. Normally, Poseidon’s delusions of grandeur would have been amusing if the bastard didn’t actually have some authority over me.
“Is this a temporary redundancy with a probationary period and a slight cut in salary?” I questioned hoping to trip up the always inebriated dolt with large words. The administration of the Divine Immortal Circuit aka DIC comprised of all the gods wasn’t known for their extensive vocabularies—hence the initials that ended up sounding like male genitalia when spoken aloud.
“Nope,” Poseidon replied with a wide grin. “Fired.”
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you, Poseidon?”
“I am, Cupid,” he replied, pointing his scepter at me.
“Archer,” I corrected him.
“My bad. Archer.”
His scepter was still poised in the air and the Clams now held their banjos like they were weapons. The scepter wouldn’t save any of them and neither would the fucking banjos. I was faster. I was stronger. I was deadlier and a hell of a lot better looking than Poseidon.
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