Nathan hurriedly wraps himself in whatever scraps of clothing and bedsheets he can get his hands on, while Sekhmet lies perched in a hunter’s crouch, ready to spring at any threats. She relaxes as soon as she recognizes me, sliding into a leisurely pose that reminds me of the Graces.
“You startled me, little fighter,” she says with a throaty sigh.
I blink, and close my mouth.
“Um, hi, boss,” Nathan rasps, still trying to cobble together an outfit from the shreds around him. That draws my attention a little more closely to my high priest. Nathan looks—how do I put this? Imagine someone who’s just run a marathon, gotten dunked in an ice bath, then finished things off with a visit to a sauna and a bottle of the world’s finest champagne. My high priest is beat, and besides his general state of exhaustion, he also looks … happy.
As I stare, a cut over his left bicep closes and heals. His other nicks, bruises, and scratches are all fading away in slow motion, as well. I’m confused for a moment until I remember Sekhmet is, among other things, a goddess of healing and medicine.
Huh. Well, I guess if you’re going to sleep with the Egyptian embodiment of vengeance, femininity, and war, it helps if she’s willing—and able—to patch you up afterward.
And during, come to think.
“I’m—I’m going to go,” I say, jabbing a thumb behind me. “Just … uh … got some news, but how about you swing by later and we’ll discuss?” I take a quick breath, letting the spectacle of the room and its steamy demolitionists sink in a bit more. “In the morning? Cool?”
“Not urgent?” Sekhmet says, stretching like a cat.
“Not … at all, no.” Short of a Finemdi raid, I can’t imagine what could be critical enough to keep me here, basking in the awkward. A light fixture detaches from one wall with a clatter, and I take that as my cue to leave.
“Bye!” I say, stepping out and trying to jam the door back in place. Nathan provides a very uncertain wave, while Sekhmet gives me a lazy nod. I force a smile as I wedge the door upright, then move into the hallway.
There are even scratches around the lock, my mind cheerfully provides.
I shake my head, then bury it in my hands, gritting my teeth as I clench my fists in my hair. An all-too-familiar emotion runs through me, stronger than ever, and it’s finally sharpened to a point where I can recognize its unsettling nuances for what they really are.
I’m jealous.
There! I admit it! Are you happy, world? It’s alllll clear to me now, thanks to how I felt about that delightful tableau. I know things weren’t awkward because I interrupted two lovers who are also close friends of mine. I’m a fertility goddess, remember? All the fun stuff they were doing? Part of me deeply approves. Even more maddening is the fact that I’m not hung up on the guy! I’d been wondering if maybe I wanted a try at a relationship, but no. This is something far deeper and divinely primal: Thou shalt have no other gods before me.
That’s right, we’re not talking about a simple love triangle. No, this is next-level relationship stupidity, because I’m apparently a territorial Old World psychopath who doesn’t want her high priest getting close to any other god but her, and it took that charming moment to prove it to me.
Oh, there are so many happy experiences ahead. As a god of love, I’ve seen a million romances, from star-crossed to sublime. This may be a slight twist on the classics, but at the end of the day, we have two lovers and a third party who’s upset about it. I know the playbook forward and backward, and this particular scenario has all sorts of gems to look forward to, like:
• Pretending to be happy for friends when you’re screaming/dying inside
• Listening to relationship successes and wishing they were failures
• Listening to relationship failures and hoping a breakup is imminent
• Hating yourself for feeling this way about people you care for
And so on. Even better, this is a relationship I dare not upset, because doing so could push away my two closest allies and derail my dreams of glory and vengeance alike. Between my personal feelings and the resurgence of my faith, there’s no contest: I am literally incapable of choosing any other option.
So where does that leave me? Sucking it up and dealing, that’s where. I will be supportive, happy, and upbeat, keep the whining to a minimum, and my eyes on the prize. There’s simply no other choice. Moping around is for people without religions to rekindle. I straighten my back, take a deep breath, and fix my hair. Yes, this is stupid and it’s all my fault. Yes, I probably shoved Nathan in this direction when I meddled with his mind back when he got cold feet about attacking Impulse Station. Yes, I—
ALL RIGHT, I GET IT. I roll my eyes, then punch the wall. My fist smashes through the paneling with a meaty crunch, and I draw it out of the new hole, astonished. The hell?
I put my angst on hold for a moment, bending down to poke at the damaged wall. I’m not this strong. I mean, I used to be, but it’s been centuries now. This is a high-quality place, and that is not cheap construction I just shredded. I look over my hand. A few minor scratches, but no broken bones or gushing wounds. This wasn’t angry strength—I’m legitimately mightier than I was a few hours ago. What just happened?
I look at the mutilated door to Nathan’s room. I shouldn’t have been able to do that either, I realize. You always see people smashing through doors in movies like they’re made of cardboard, but real ones take true effort to savage, especially solid things like this. This is something Sekhmet could pull off, but not—
Hmm.
I think back to that bizarre surge of energy that filled me when—when my two friends were together. Familiar and exotic all at once, right? Okay, let’s add it up: I’m a god of love. Nathan is my high priest. He shares a portion of my power and can draw on it for strength and spell-casting. In return, he provides a stronger and purer foundation of belief than any ordinary follower. What he did with Sekhmet was an act of love, which you could honestly look at as either an offering in my name or a sanctified deed on my behalf, through a mortal proxy. Either way, for a very brief, very weird moment, he forged a link between Sekhmet and me, sending a little of her sheer might my way. It can’t be permanent, but it’s certainly real, and will remain so as long as they continue their relationship.
So what did I send to her?
My head pounds, and I lean against the wall with a frustrated sigh. This is awesome, unprecedented stuff here, and I know something must have transferred to my bloodthirsty friend, but I’m really not feeling up to a theological audit: It’s late and I’ve had a very long day. When you land a major television role and that’s the least interesting life event to happen in a twelve-hour period, something’s wrong. I shelve my thoughts and questions and head for my room, suddenly feeling exhausted. Forget taking a shower—I barely manage to strip off my dirtied shirt and pants, find my favorite pink pajamas (covered in little hearts), and tumble into bed.
I stare at the ceiling for a few minutes before letting slumber take me, sending out a little prayer of my own: Please let tomorrow be saner. I close my eyes, take some deep breaths, and try to will myself to let go of all the tension and stress of the day.
It takes another fifteen minutes, but I finally begin drifting off.
Then the delightful couple next door starts again.
* * *
Nathan and Sekhmet seem far more shocked by the whole “brush with a hit man” thing than I was. Nathan, I sort of get, since assassins lurking in shadows are a lot more threatening when you can actually die. Sekhmet, though, surprises me—she seems to feel this lapse in security is somehow her fault.
“I should have been with you,” she says, eyes ablaze. She thumps the seat beside her, drawing a glance from the limo driver up front. “This is a grave—”
“It’s fine, Sekhmet,” I say, waving a hand and giving our chauffeur a reassuring look. “It’s not like he could’ve actually hurt me. Besides, I
think you have enough to worry about with the hotel people.”
She snorts. “Oh, their faces. You should have seen it, little fighter. As if these walls had never seen a night of passion before.”
“Considering they were still standing when we checked in, probably not.”
“Hmm,” she purrs. “They do not build them as they used to, I suppose.” She puts a hand on Nathan’s knee. “I wish I could still take you to my temples. Now those were sturdy enough for gods.”
“We’ll find a replacement,” he says, grinning. “Like a bed-and-breakfast … bomb shelter.”
“Certainly,” she says, eyes flashing with a very different emotion. She wiggles her fingers at him. “Do your little computer searches, and I will follow.”
I clear my throat. “So that’s my news, anyway.”
We’re on our way to some sort of premiere event at Mahesh’s behest, enjoying a limo ride and basking in the rays of morning light that stream through the open sunroof. Mahesh wants to build on my stellar audition with some red carpet time, making sure I continue to be seen as the rising star we’ve started presenting to the world. My goal is to get in front of cameras, look pretty, and charm anyone who looks halfway important. Piece of cake.
The sounds of a waking city are mixed with angry honks and screeches as our driver navigates the already-congested streets to our destination. Though the early start of this event put me off at first, it’s actually good timing to get us out of the hotel and away from the reconstruction efforts. The staff were highly displeased when they went in to survey the wreckage from Nathan and Sekhmet’s bout of late-night property damage (the shouting actually woke me up). I think we might have gotten kicked out if it weren’t for my gifts—love and money, as usual, managed to make everything all better.
“A new ally—especially this criminal warrior you describe—could be a boon to our efforts,” Sekhmet muses, tapping her jaw. “But only if you are certain he can be trusted.”
“If he were following me for money, I might be worried,” I say, looking out the window and trying to guess how far we are from the premiere. “Nobody’s going to beat a life-extension policy like mine, though.”
“Marvelous. How easily swayed you precious creatures can be,” she says, reaching out to ruffle Nathan’s hair. Is it just me, or is she way more laid-back today?
“Hey!” he says, ducking. “Death is the one thing we all have to come to terms with—putting that off sounds like the best deal you could find.”
“Ah, then you’ll be happy to know how far away I’ve placed yours,” I say, grinning.
He gives me a curious frown. “Say what now?”
“Stay faithful and you will see centuries pass, my friend.”
“Cen—Wait, you can really do that? I’m not going to die?” He looks equal parts shocked and elated. It makes my smile even wider. Beat that, Sekhmet.
“Not of natural causes, at least. You’re not going to age, either. Enjoy.”
He seems so grateful, I actually feel a little embarrassed. “How?” he asks after a moment. “Can all gods do this?”
“No,” Sekhmet says. “My realms are many, but the afterlife is not among them.”
I nod at her. “I get top billing for love, war, and beauty, but I’m also a goddess of death,” I say. “It’s part of why I can claim half of all those who die in battle, and it lets me meddle with fate.”
“So you just say, ‘Hands off—this one’s mine!’ and don’t collect?”
“Basically. Only works if you worship me, though. It’s not like I literally get priority over everyone who goes down fighting. You have to believe I do.” I laugh. “I guess that means I could technically give you the same deal if you followed someone else from my pantheon. I’d just prefer it be me.”
“Absolutely fantastic,” he says. “You know, you’re still the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Sara.”
Sekhmet shoots him a look, clearly feeling a little possessiveness of her own. “Well, she brought us together!” Nathan says, sounding defensive.
She laughs at that, then pops a claw out of her index finger and holds it up, pretending to examine it. She gives him a sly smile as its peach-gold polish glimmers in the sunlight.
He glances at me as if to say, “I’m in over my head.” I just smile and focus on the city beyond my window. See? No bitterness! I’m doing good!
A few minutes later, we pull up to the event, which looks to be set in an upscale theater. There’s a decent amount of press here, including some of the major TV outlets, and even a medium-sized crowd of fans. It’s nothing on the scale of, say, the Academy Awards, but there’s clearly enough star power on the invite list to warrant a bit of a show.
I wait for a valet to open the limo door, scooching forward with a big smile I can’t wait to show off to the cheering crowds. The door swings wide, I straighten the folds of my dress, and—
“Move it!” a shrill voice explodes. A bony bundle of hate shoves aside the valet, barrels into the limo, and plops herself down on the seat beside me, slamming the door closed behind her.
Kirsten Riley pushes her face up against mine, shadowed green eyes glaring like emerald suns. “Did you sleep with him?” she snaps at me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nathan holding out an arm, trying to calm Sekhmet, who looks like she’s about three seconds from gutting our new passenger. “Hi, Kirsten,” I say, trying out my celebrity smile. “Lovely day.”
“DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM?” she shrieks, the red glow of rage exploding across her cheeks and washing out those perfect freckles of hers.
“Gonna need to narrow it down.”
“RRRGH!” she growls. “HARV! Didyousleepwithhim?”
“Much as I’d like to see if you can turn redder, no,” I say, smile never faltering. “We just had a little chat, he realized I could get you in a lot of trouble if he tried to pressure me into dropping Switch, and we left it at that.”
“What?”
“Extorrrrtion,” I say, drawing it out like I’m talking to a child. “I know it’s a big word, but it can still get you arrested.”
She sputters for a moment. “I wouldn’t—Harv … Daddy would never let that happen!”
“Test me, bitch.”
Her eyes go wide, and she works her mouth for a moment before yelling, “Give me that part, you stupid Euroslut!”
“No. Now get out of my limo before I have Rashida here throw you out,” I say, jerking a thumb at my friend.
Kirsten looks at Sekhmet, who provides her best slasher smile and adds a meaningful crack of her knuckles. The little starlet goggles for a split second like she can’t believe anyone would dare threaten her, then snarls at me as the fury returns.
“Gah! This—this isn’t over!” she yells, fingers scrabbling at the latch behind her. “You think you’re sooo clever with your—How does this even—Open this door!”
The valet outside complies immediately, hauling it open and offering a hand. Kirsten slaps it out of the way and tears out of the limo. As soon as she’s upright, she sticks her head back in and says, “You’re going to wish you’d stayed in Siberia. By the time I’m done, the only way your fat ass will be on a shoot is if you’re bringing the bagels to it!”
With that, she smashes the door shut and storms away.
The three of us in the car exchange bemused expressions. “Could totally go for a bagel,” I say at last.
“Ooh, me too,” Nathan pipes up. “Think they’ll have any inside?”
“One way to find out,” I say, heading out of the car at last.
The rest of the event is actually quite lovely, but in terms of pure entertainment, nothing can really top Kirsten’s ineffectual fit. Part of me wonders if there’s anything she really can do to mess with my plans, but without her little scare tactics, what else could she possibly have to threaten a god? I decide to brush her from my thoughts, focusing instead on networking with the glitterati.
After a few delightf
ul hours spent soaking in camera flashes, random reporter questions, and the offerings of craft services, we all agree it’s time to head back. The Sunset Tower’s repair efforts are still under way when we return, so Nathan and Sekhmet have to wait for another room to open up in the evening. I offer to let them hang out in mine, but Nathan suggests going on the zoo trip she’d been asking about earlier, and that’s the end of that. You should see how she perks up the instant someone mentions the z-word.
I wave as they go, and a small part of me can’t help feeling amused at how oddly well they work together. I mean, I’m still conflicted about our little triangle, but the part of me obsessed with love and relationships (a very, very big part, in case you’ve forgotten) is intrigued.
Most of the time, dalliances with celestials like Sekhmet don’t end well for mortals. If some cruel twist of myth doesn’t end the relationship, another jealous god usually shows up to do something horrible. Time and again, history has shown there’s little but pain in pairing the earthly with the eternal. Thing is, all these tales of romantic woe come from the mists of the past. I don’t know of a single liaison like this happening in modern times, let alone involving a high priest with an extended lease on life. Nathan really isn’t like most mortals—not anymore.
I mean, something strange is clearly happening to the guy. Proximity to the divine can twist people, and he’s been my priest, roommate to five goddesses for over a month, and, as of last night, extra close to one of them. We’re literal forces of nature, and part of that includes placing something of a personal stamp on whatever bit of nature we happen to be near. That means somewhere inside of Nathan, a PROPERTY OF FREYA tag is clashing with a PLAYTHING OF SEKHMET poster and a bunch of HAWAII ROCKS! graffiti. What that could mean for the poor guy’s state of mind is anyone’s guess. As far as I know, this is fairly new ground he’s treading, and I have to admit I’m curious to see where his path is headed.
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