“For such a publicly active God, this place feels as quiet as a tomb,” Dana said.
“That’s Living Saint, ma’am,” Dubuque’s flunky said.
“Right,” Dana said. Atlanta eyeballed Dana and she did not, thankfully, roll her eyes.
Dana was right. Dubuque’s place had at best a skeleton staff, only four. No media presence, either, which was new.
Perhaps the media had become jaded with the Gods. That would be just like them.
She and Dana followed the young man inside, then into a courtyard in the back. Shrubs, flowerbeds, and fountains in the shape of angels surrounded a shallow reflecting pool. The reception felt vaguely reminiscent of Miami’s greeting, save that instead of hedonistically enjoying himself, Dubuque meditated in prayer.
With a nod he opened his eyes and stared at the two of them. He didn’t stand. He glowed with his Mission. His Congregation and Rapture were far higher than Atlanta’s, his presence as always a slap to her face. He had bothered her the first time they met during Apotheosis. Not only did he play The Man, he wore it like a second skin.
“Atlanta,” he said. Without warmth.
“Dubuque,” she responded, equally warm. She introduced Dana and after Dubuque ignored her introduction she started her presentation.
Dubuque sighed theatrically, stood and waved his hands. “Now, none of that,” he said, hostile, interrupting Atlanta before she got ten words in. “There will come a time where we’ll be able to talk about such problematic issues, but not today.”
Atlanta kept her expression flat, emotionless. “I see.” She and Dubuque had had several short and pointed conversations during Apotheosis. Their first conversation came after a derogatory comment of his about the responsibility of people, including soldiers, to oppose needless wars. She had pointed out to him that as a serving officer, rules and regulations kept her from speaking out politically. She had learned, then, that Dubuque had been a very active anti-war protester during his mortal life. Apparently the fool thought war was proper only when fighting off homeland invasions or something similar.
The second conversation had taken place after the Host gave the Gods the commandment against national wars, an ‘I told you so’ conversation. Atlanta, still taken aback by the neutering of her chosen mortal profession, had apologized for her earlier catty remarks and admitted that ending war, in this way, was a good thing.
Her last conversation with him had been during their last meeting during Apotheosis. They had clashed over the lack of moral limitations the Angelic Host had placed on them, which had suited Atlanta just fine and which had greatly bothered Dubuque. Boise had ruined everyone’s mood by pointing out how the lack of limitations had to be a test, a test that if a God failed, he or she would be sent back to God Almighty. Both she and Dubuque had ended up on the same side in that argument, both expressing the idea that the Gods shouldn’t allow themselves to be frozen into inaction because of the obvious need for caution.
Dubuque’s hostility vanished as she watched him stretch muscles he didn’t possess. Currents of willpower flowed around him, reminding Atlanta of warm sunlight and cool mountain breezes. The splash of the fountains became music.
“So, Miss Ravencraft, you represent an intriguing path I hadn’t before considered,” Dubuque said, turning to Dana as he stood. He smiled ear to ear, and in an instant, his boundless enthusiasm returned. “I congratulate you on your success at becoming the first powered mortal backed by a Living Saint.”
“Thank you,” Dana said. “Thank Portland, as well. She did all the hard work, figuring out how to make this work.”
“I will thank her when next we meet,” Dubuque said, bouncing on his heels. “What are you planning to do with this loaned power, if I may ask?” Sunlight streamed now through the clouds above, a minor miracle of Dubuque’s will. Atlanta couldn’t help herself, and she smiled at Dana and Dubuque. With such an infectious good nature, she could see how he had already become one of the leading Territorial Gods. She felt herself slide in sync with Dubuque’s unstated Mission, simply from its power.
“You may,” Dana said, laughing. “I’m currently serving as Atlanta’s chief of staff, helping her in any way I can. In the long run, what I want to do is help make the world a better place. Help the poor fend for themselves, things like that.”
You rightly feared any God with a Mission more powerful than yours, her instincts reminded Atlanta. He’s messing with your mind. He’s attacking! You have to defend yourself!
Atlanta ignored her instincts, leaning forward to see how Dubuque would respond to Dana’s answer. Despite her rational analysis, she couldn’t sense any willpower in use.
“Excellent!” Dubuque said. “A worthy goal, one I’m working on myself. So, are you Portland’s one and only?”
“No, she has several more, but they’re in training,” Dana said. “Portland’s cautious, afraid of what large numbers of borrowed-willpower beings might do to society.”
“Of course, of course!” Dubuque said. “With all the power we have, all of us Living Saints have to be careful about what we do.”
Atlanta relaxed, relieved that Dubuque hadn’t attacked them physically or verbally. Despite her doubts about Dubuque’s power, she found herself attracted to the pale bastard. If they could work out their personal issues, she could easily see herself hitching herself to his wagon.
Besides, if someone like him could attract her interest as a leader, she could see how he could attract followers and converts by job lots. Which would be a good thing, for all the Gods.
“Unfortunately, duty calls and I have to go,” Dubuque said. “It was nice meeting you, Dana, and seeing you again, Atlanta.”
Dismissed, they left.
“That didn’t work at all well,” Dana said as they walked out the double front doors of Dubuque’s estate. “Despite the positive attention I got.”
Atlanta nodded. “Dubuque and I had issues during Apotheosis, about war, but I’d thought I’d straightened that all out.”
“Uh huh,” Dana said. “Unfortunately, I suspect he’s anti-violence as well as anti-war.”
Atlanta sighed. “A refrain we’ve been hearing over and over again. Well, those other Gods will just have to get used to the differences between us.”
“I think you’re going to have to convince them,” Dana said. She smiled and batted Atlanta’s shoulder. “You can start by convincing me.”
“Later,” she said, taking off into the air, with Dana. “Dubuque’s too important to give up on. By dint of his Mission strength and his public activities, he’s made himself our putative boss, like it or not. We’ve got to find some way of giving Dubuque our presentation about the Seven Suits and the rest of the problems, and I think I know how we can do it.”
Dana snorted and frowned. “I thought we were going back home?”
“Nope. We’re going to visit Phoenix. I’ve got a new plan.”
18. (John)
“Let’s find out if this works,” Reed said. “John, are you there?”
“Yes,” John said. Reed had outfitted John with some damned bit of wearable computer tech Reed cattily called an iPatch, which John suspected wasn’t its real name. This Gadget Age monstrosity was a set of fake plastic-rimmed eyeglasses, and Reed had it set up so John could, if he flicked his eyes just so, see out of Reed’s eyes, as well as out of Jurgen’s eyes, back in the Lowezski compound. With their equivalent gadgets. Epharis and Gwydion, using Reed’s knowledge and linkage to Nessa, were keeping track of the peripatetic duo using their tricks. “Don’t worry so much, bro. You’ll do fine.”
They had split up, John wanting nothing to do with Celebrity and Reed not wanting anything to do with Nessa and Ken. That left Reed on an airplane to Los Angeles and John, Epharis and Gwydion attempting to figure out a place where John could meet up with the two Telepaths. The Telepaths’ protections kept Epharis from reading their plans, or Gwydion from hearing their voices, at least most of the time. The two had risen at
sunset and taken off in their rental car back up the coast toward the city of Miami. Had they become vampires, perchance?
He wondered if they had targeted the God Miami. He got himself on a plane flight to Miami; helping them defend themselves from a God sounded like a perfect introduction.
While he squirmed in the too-small first class seat high above America, Nessa and Ken boarded a plane to Kansas City. “They’re sneering at me, John,” Epharis said. “My Craft tricks can’t cope with Telepaths.” No, his luck hadn’t changed one iota.
“Ma’am, I’d like to talk with you for a moment. Business,” Reed said.
John had watched through the awkward device as Reed tracked down Celebrity and crashed the party she attended. Based on what he overheard, John figured out Celebrity had an idea about something called a ‘reality teevee show’ about one of the 99 Gods, presumably Celebrity herself. She bent the ear of a ‘teevee producer’ named Sven on the subject, captivating him with her vile womanly charms. Despite all of John’s reassurances, he didn’t know whether Reed’s crazy gadget would hold up against aggressive God scrutiny. So far so good, but only because Celebrity hadn’t attempted to interfere yet.
Celebrity looked Reed over, speared John’s eyes for a moment, and he felt an impossible stirring in his loins. Celebrity had caught him out. John decided he had been wise to let Reed handle this one.
Watching over Reed’s shoulder gave John something to do on the plane flight from Miami to Kansas City. He still hadn’t figured out the two Telepaths’ goals or objectives. Why Kansas City? What were those two crazies up to this time?
“Well, sure!” Celebrity said, fluffing her frizzy blonde hair and giving Reed a large-toothed smile. She led Reed out to a balcony, perhaps ten stories above ground level, and closed the sliding glass door behind them. Her voice deepened and her ditzy demeanor vanished. “Okay, who are you, what are you and what do you want?” Celebrity said.
“My name is Reed Matús, and I work with a magician hunter named John Lorenzi,” Reed said. “We picked up on your grave worries about the other 99 Gods, which we share.”
“Okay,” Celebrity said. “I’ve heard of Mr. Lorenzi, but I thought he supported the actions of the 99 Gods.”
“The actions of some of the 99 Gods changed his mind.”
Celebrity backed away from Reed and went to lean on the balcony railing. She smiled at him and angled a hip. “I’m one of the 99 Gods.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reed said. John shook his head, not sure Reed needed to be so polite to the bimbo. “Nor are you the only God who believes there are problems with the lot of you.”
“But I don’t have any problems with the other Gods,” Celebrity said. “My problem is with the so-called ‘Angelic Host’ who created us. Considering what happened to me, I don’t think they are who they said they are.”
John sat up straighter and began to pay more attention to the conversation. He hadn’t expected Celebrity’s comment. Perhaps Epharis’s scry hadn’t worked. Either that, or his subconscious thought opposing the 99 Gods meant opposing their angelic creators as well. Satan get behind me!
Perhaps Dubuque had been right about John’s side of the fight. That stray thought left a bad taste in John’s mouth.
“That’s new information to me,” Reed said, nervous. “I’m mortal, please.” A plea.
John didn’t know what Celebrity did to Reed to invite his comment. “I’m convinced of that now,” Celebrity said. “You have native powers. Yes?”
Reed nodded. “I’m a Telepath. There aren’t very many of us, and I’m not among the powerful. I can, though, pick up emotions.”
Celebrity nodded. “A Telepath, eh?” she said, with a ‘look what just crawled up to the kitchen counter’ expression on her face. “We’re not allies.”
“Perhaps,” Reed said. “Why are you opposed to the Angelic Host?”
“Couple of things,” Celebrity said. “First, they grabbed me out of my Tesla Roadster, which then crashed and burned. I was married, dammit, and my family now thinks I’m dead. Second, they completely nuked my career. I was in the process of shooting a movie, which folded, and if I reappear I’m going to get my cosmetically altered ass sued off my well-sculpted body. The Angelic Host should have never grabbed me in such a fashion if they had any respect for mortal life. Third, there’s the fact they said this 99 God business is some sort of test for humanity, which implies we’re being judged, and I don’t have the slightest interest in being judged by those clumsy oafs. If they’re so disinterested in mortal life and its intricacies, I’m terrified they’re going to trivially mess up their judgment.”
Celebrity’s logic didn’t impress John. She might not be a total airhead, but he had to agree with the dangers she listed. Humanity as a whole had a history of failing such tests.
“Uh, okay,” Reed said. “I think we’re on the same page. We’re worried that some of the people the, um, Angelic Host chose to be Gods are not good choices. Evil, or easily led into becoming evil. One of our prospective allies is also worried about the effect being worshipped is having on some of the 99 Gods.” Portland. The Indigo group had forced John to give his tale of his encounter with Portland.
“I hadn’t thought much about the possibility that some of the choices for Gods might be suspect,” Celebrity said. “This would fit with the rest of the bungling of our makers. Worship, though? I thought that was obvious, even for a former non-religious-but-spiritually-enlightened type like myself. I mean, we all know God’s the jealous type and the so-called angels said God backed their actions. Having people worship us wouldn’t be right.”
“Some of the other 99 Gods appear to have ignored the obvious,” Reed said.
“Well, geez,” Celebrity said. “That’s stupid. Of course, as an established actress, I know full well about the problems of being worshipped. Last thing anyone needs is a bunch of people obsessing over you. Next thing you know they’re trying to steal your panties.”
Panties. Panties!
“So, can we count on your help?” Reed said.
“Uh, Reed, I’m an actress,” Celebrity said, with a half-smile. “As a Practical God, I’m stuck with the enhancements the Angelic Host gave me, which revolve around my practical specialty. I don’t possess the breadth of tricks of the Territorial Gods and I don’t even understand what the Ideological Gods can do. I’m not sure what help I’d be.”
John smiled at this new tidbit of information. He chalked one up on Reed’s ledger for being willing to brace Celebrity.
“What can you do? You said you were an established actress. Who were you?” Reed asked.
“Well,” Celebrity said. “This is who I was.” Her body’s shape altered. John didn’t recognize her by name, but he was sure he had seen her pouty lips and ample bosom somewhere. Her native dark hair and more serious face gave her more substance, in John’s opinion.
She changed shape twice more before settling back on the blonde ditz. “Easy shape changes, sex appeal, and verbal charisma better than the average God. Nothing else.”
Reed paced the balcony, dodging clay pots overflowing with flowers. “Celebrity, ma’am, I don’t think you need to worry about not being a help to us.”
“Suggest something,” Celebrity said.
“You did high end charity work before Apotheosis, influencing the rich and powerful,” Reed said. He certainly recognized who she had been. “Well, some of the rich and powerful are worried about the 99 Gods and their backers. We’d like you to talk to them. Help coordinate their activities.”
John bit his lip. He wouldn’t have picked that idea, but he decided to let Reed run with it. Reed trusted her, which meant he liked what he sensed of Celebrity’s emotions. He hoped Reed hadn’t been unduly influenced by Celebrity’s divine charisma.
“I could do that,” Celebrity said. “It would be a hell of a lot more interesting than trying to resuscitate my career and trying to ignore how fucking alone I am. Hell, I could even take you shopping withou
t the usual man-woman problems!” She stuck out her hand and Reed took it, smiling.
Save us, John thought. Just save us.
John parked his rental car outside of the suburban estate and waited beside it for Ken and Nessa to finish. They did as he predicted and came out empty handed. They too had thought of the idea of going to the rich and powerful for help, but in their case, their appeal hadn’t succeeded.
He had expected their failure. Telepaths didn’t inspire trust, not in the slightest. They inspired pee-your-britches terror most of the time, even when they were trying to be friendly.
“Over here, you two huggy-bunnies,” John said, pasting as true a smile on his face as possible. “Congratulations on your marriage.”
They walked over to him, stony faced and radiating unhappiness. He had parked behind their rental car, so they didn’t have much choice as to where they walked.
“What the fuck are you doing here, asshole?” Nessa said. She wore dark sunglasses and looked unkempt, wasted and ugly. He hadn’t seen her in years, and the years hadn’t been kind. She looked hard and scarred enough to strop a straight razor. “Stay out of our business and we’ll stay out of yours.”
“Why, Vanessa, you are more…” He had been about to say ‘more beautiful than ever’, but she interrupted and shook her fist in his face.
“My name’s Nessa, you prick. Get the fuck out of my sight!”
Her mind beat on his, incredible agony. He fought himself for control and managed to keep his feet from running away from him. She hadn’t grown any less powerful than he remembered from a decade or so ago in Los Angeles. Or less hostile.
“I know that, and apologize. Old habit, and as you know, all my habits are old,” John said.
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