“This is the English translation. They were originally published in Indonesia and have been translated into thirty-five languages.”
“Cool. They look awesome, but why are they so interesting to you?”
He finished his first cupcake, took a draft of coffee, then said, “Because they’re about you.”
I frowned in suspicion and studied him a long moment before I let out a soft laugh. “Seriously, Swopes.”
“Seriously. I couldn’t believe it either at first. Until I read them.”
“Okay, so what? They were written by some ancient prophet and only recently found and published, becoming an overnight international sensation?”
“Right on all counts save one. An ancient prophet didn’t write them. A seven-year-old one did, and he—I think it’s a he—is deaf and blind and lives in Jakarta.”
I put the book on the table and offered him my best impression of a Doubting Debbie.
“Read the bio. His parents believe he’s a prophet. He signs the books to them, and they write the stories down.”
“It says the author also illustrates them. If he’s blind—”
“He does. All by himself.”
I ran my fingers over the embossed cover. “But if he’s never seen these things … I mean, has he always been blind?”
“Since birth. But you’re missing the point, Charles. Read the back cover.”
I turned the book over and began reading as Garrett got up for more coffee.
I read the blurb aloud. “A long time ago in a faraway land, there was a kingdom with only seven stars in its sky. Of the seven, none were more beloved than the First, for though she was the smallest, she was also the brightest and most caring. The other stars were jealous of her and angry with the people of the kingdom for loving her the most. They decided to punish the people. They caused earthquakes and floods and made volcanoes erupt. The First Star was heartbroken, but what can one tiny star do? Anything to save her people.
“Okay,” I said, opening to the first chapter. “Intriguing, but I’m not sure I’m seeing the resemblance.”
“Read it,” he ordered. He sat back in his chair and waited.
So, I took the next few minutes to read the book. And the more I read, the more I realized Swopes might be onto something.
Told from the perspective of an omniscient seer, the gist of the book was in the blurb. Seven stars watched over an ancient kingdom, but none were more beloved than the First. The other six were jealous and teased her. They knew that the First Star, who loved her kingdom and her people so much, would do anything to protect them.
The six stars began creating mischief in the kingdom. They summoned earthquakes and storms and volcanoes. People in her kingdom were dying, and the stars were growing more malevolent by the day.
Then one day the First Star warned the other six never to harm her people again. They laughed and pushed her out of her orbit and caused even more disasters.
When the First Star fought her way back into her orbit, hundreds of thousands of her people had died. A great and terrible anger came over her. She threatened to kill them all, but they laughed at her.
“You cannot kill a star,” they told her. “Stars cannot die.”
“Watch me,” she said. “I will eat you. I will swallow you as the ocean swallows the sea.”
They didn’t believe her, so she ate one of the stars.
The five remaining were stunned. They scattered to the farthest reaches of the universe, but the First Star was furious for all the lives they took. She hunted another one down. There was a great battle in the heavens, causing tides to swell and lands to buckle. In the end, she defeated it as well. In the end, she did as she’d promised. She swallowed it whole.
The other stars, hearing of this, decided to merge to become stronger so they could fight her. Four became two, but they feared they were still not strong enough, so two became one.
That time, they went after her, and the smallest star had to face the now gigantic one, four strong. But her anger could not be contained. They battled for forty days and forty nights until only one star was left standing: the First.
Seven stars strong, the First Star became known as the Star Eater. She still protects all life, bringing her light to those in need and her appetite to those who cross her.
I closed the book and took a moment to absorb all the metaphors. “I get it,” I said. “It’s similar, but this story is different enough from the original prophecy to make me think it could all be a coincidence.”
Garrett nodded in thought. “True. The original prophecy states that the seven original stars, a.k.a. gods, merged over the course of millions of years until there were only two, your parents. Then they merged to create you, the thirteenth incarnation. The last and strongest god of your dimension.”
“This is almost the exact opposite,” I said, holding up the book.
“It is, but take the books and read the other two. I think you’ll find them very interesting.”
I picked up the second book. “The Dark Star.”
“Can you guess who comes into the story in that one?”
I glanced up at him, surprised. “Reyes?”
He nodded.
“And the third?” But the moment I laid eyes on it, I knew, and my breath caught in my chest.
“What do two stars make when they, um, crash into one another?”
“Stardust,” I said, now completely enchanted. “Beep. He predicted Beep.”
“He predicted Beep.”
A woman’s voice sounded from the door to Garrett’s bedroom. “Oh, hi,” she said, dropping a sock and turning in circles to look for her shoes. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had to get up early.”
“I didn’t,” Garrett said. He stood and helped the girl with her things. “Zoe, this is my associate, Charley. Charley, this is Zoe.”
I would’ve shaken one of her hands, but they were both full, so I just waved a greeting. “Nice to meet you, Zoe. Sorry about”—I gestured to her bedmate—“that. Better luck next time.”
She let loose a nervous laugh, not quite sure how to take me.
“Ignore her,” Garrett said. “She has mental issues.”
“Hey, do you know what I called the last guy who said something like that to me?” When he only raised a noncommittal brow, I said, “An ambulance.”
“Like I said, mental issues.”
I threw the saltshaker at him.
He caught it with ease, then saw Zoe to her car as I perused the second book. As fascinating as the books were, I still had a big problem that needed solving PDQ.
The moment he stepped back into the house, I hit him with it.
“So I accidently-on-purpose sent Reyes into a hell dimension and then couldn’t get him back out again but around an hour later he exploded out of the god glass that has a difference of anywhere from several years if not several hundreds of years to a single hour here on Earth but when he came back he wasn’t so much Reyes anymore as an angry deity with the power to destroy the world with a single thought.”
He sank into the chair across from me again and just kind of stared.
I did a quick analysis of my nails. Nibbled on a couple. Conducted a visual assessment of Garrett’s kitchen. Contemplated raiding his cabinets for Oreos. Took another sip of coffee. Wondered if Marvel and DC could ever live in harmony. Shifted in my chair to adjust my underwire. Tapped out White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army” on the table with my fingertips. Checked my phone for messages.
When the silence dragged out to an uncomfortable level, I clarified. “That’s my conundrum. In a nutshell. That’s why I’m here. More coffee?” I stood and grabbed both of our cups, allowing Garrett more time to absorb. To compute. To process. Some things were harder to process than others. I got that.
I topped off our cups, then returned to the table.
Garrett was still staring. He could have had a stroke, but I didn’t think so. Was the first sign a droopy face? He didn’
t look droopy.
“Son of a bitch, Charles,” he said at last, the words clear and vibrant like his silvery-gray eyes.
Whew. No stroke that I could detect. I was no expert, but when both of his hands curled into fists on the table and his gaze remained steady on mine as though he were plotting my death, I took it as a good sign. No visible weakness in his extremities. Mental acuity sharp and sustainable. Any stroke-free day was a good day in my book.
“Hey,” I said before he actually carried out his diabolical plot to clobber me, “it was his idea. I didn’t want to send him into that hell dimension. I was going to go in myself. Check shit out. Come back no worse for the wear. But noooo. The man with the balls had to go in because he’s manly with manly balls and a penis to guide him. And now he’s all savage and wild, but he still has his balls. That’s all that’s important, by God. His man parts.”
“He’s feral?”
I gaped at him. “Farrow. Reyes Farrow? Are you even trying to keep up?”
“Your husband.” He ground out each syllable from between clenched teeth. “Is he feral, or is he still conscious of who he is?”
I scrunched my mouth to one side in thought. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say yes, he did seem to be very aware of who he was. If we’re talking about the deity Rey’azikeen. Otherwise, we’re screwed. There wasn’t a whole lot of Reyes in there.”
When he just sat there again, either deep in thought or seizing, I snapped my fingers in front of his face.
“Earth to the Swope-a-nator. We need a plan, Stan. We can’t just sit here thinking about it. You’re plan guy. Why do you think I came to you first?”
Actually, I’d gone to Garrett first because I was stunningly worried about how Osh, a former slave demon from Reyes’s old stomping grounds, would react.
“What’s he capable of?” Garrett asked.
I pressed my lips together, then said softly, “World annihilation.”
He nodded and yet didn’t seem particularly surprised by any of what I was saying. I told him as much.
“You don’t seem particularly surprised by any of what I’m saying.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I figured it was only a matter of time. He’s a god, Charles. And from what I can tell, he’s a violent one.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You said that God, our God, Jehovah or Yahweh or Elohim or whatever you want to call Him, you said that He created the god glass for His brother, Rey’azikeen. Why else would God create a hell dimension, a prison, for his only living relative?”
He had a point. “Well, I’m a god, too. If anyone can trap him and knock some ever-lovin’ sense into him, it’s me, right?”
He clenched a fist again and conceded with a nod. Then his gaze darted back to mine. “Wait, you came to me first?”
“Yes. I told you, you’re plan guy. Speaking of which, dude, you know this whole research and development gig? You’re killing it.” I figured a little positive reinforcement would go a long way right about now. “Killing it. When it comes to research, I don’t kill it so much as pet it and set it free.”
“But this happened three days ago.”
“Yeah, I tried to fix the situation on my own.”
“And how did that work out for you?”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“First things first. We need to kidnap and torture Osh.”
“I’m good with that.”
“Do you have torture supplies?” I asked, hopeful.
“Not on me, but there’s a twenty-four-hour Walmart nearby. Any particular reason we have to torture him?”
“Not especially. Torture just pairs really well with kidnapping. As you know, I don’t like to do things halfway. Also, I’m worried he’ll be a little too happy to oblige.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, we need to come up with a plan before we invite a slave demon, and a former enemy of my husband’s, into our secret club. I’m worried that once he realizes Reyes has gone to the dark side, he’ll go off half-cocked. We need him standing with us. At full-cock. Proud and strong.”
“You’re such a freak.”
“You’d be amazed at how often I hear that.”
3
It’s weird how you can be in love with someone one day,
and hunting them for sport the next.
—MEME
Garrett and I decided to wait until we gathered the troops to get too invested in a plan. Mostly because we had nothing. Absolutely nothing. How did one track and capture a god? And once said god was in one’s possession, then what?
Since I had a couple of hours before we were to meet the Scooby Gang at the office, I went back to my apartment to try to get some sleep. It had been three days since I’d gotten any quality time with my sheets. Whenever I lay down, I tossed and turned, worried that the world would explode.
But I’d been having the strangest dreams. Before I met, officially, my would-be husband, I was having dreams of an erotic nature. My new dreams weren’t so much erotic as, well, disturbingly everyday.
Reyes starred in all of them, but they weren’t about much of anything. Even so, I woke up moments after closing my eyes feeling distraught. Feeling lost.
But not this time, baby. I was going to score some z’s if it killed me. To that end, I did something I rarely do. I resorted to downing a nightcap. Surely that would help keep my harried thoughts at bay.
I readied for bed by washing my face and pulling the brown mess on my head into a hair band. Then I crawled between the cool, superhigh thread counts, closed my eyes, and waited for the nightcap, a.k.a. a healthy dose of Kentucky bourbon, to take effect. Before it had a chance, however, the dishwasher started making that noise again. A clanking noise with little squeaks in between.
No. Way. Was that thing kidding?
Huffing with all the drama queen I could muster, I threw off the sheets and marched to the kitchen. Reyes’s kitchen. Reyes’s chef’s kitchen with industrial appliances and lots of shiny things that I had neither the knowledge nor the desire to work.
I kicked the clanking dishwasher, which looked straight out of the Stone Age. Did they have dishwashers in the Stone Age?
Then I turned to Reyes. He was leaning against a counter, watching me in only a pair of lounge pants. The kind with the drawstring waistband. They rode low on his hips, showing off his hard stomach and abs. His hands rested on either side of him, gripping the edge of the granite countertop at his back. He tightened his grip, and his muscles leaped to do his bidding. They contracted with the effort, the hills and valleys shifting under his wide shoulders.
I stepped closer, my fingertips craving the texture of his body. Just one taste. Just one pass over his rib cage or up across his chest.
“There’s something wrong with Princess Penelope,” I said as I eased closer. Power emanated out of him in hot, sensual waves. He was like a predator on the verge of attack, barely able to restrain himself. Strength and grace incarnate.
He studied me, his gaze shimmering underneath his impossibly long lashes. “Who’s that?” he asked, his voice like warm water rushing to all my naughty parts.
“You don’t know the name of your own dishwasher?” I teased. “Do you remember my name? Or is that asking too much?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and my lungs stopped working. “Is there a point to this?”
I recovered enough to nod and answer him. “Yes, something is wrong with Princess Penelope. I think it’s her carburetor.”
He reached out and pulled the drawstring at my own waist. “I was referring to the fact that your clothes are still on.”
I jerked awake and bolted upright, blinking into the darkness. It was a dream. It was only a dream.
Once I’d oriented myself, I searched the room. No idea why. Naturally, he wasn’t there. He’d reverted back to his old ways. Invading my sleep. Making me crave him.
I just couldn’t figure
out his endgame. Why not just come to me? The dreams from before were pure, no-holds-barred eroticism. These were erotic, but not overtly sexual.
They were, however, the reason I’d slept so little over the past three days. Every time I closed my eyes, strange little vignettes, as perplexing as they were sexy, played in my head. And in every one, I’d get close enough to almost touch my husband, only to be startled awake before I could manage it.
Maybe that was his endgame. Maybe that was the point. To dull my wits. To keep me exhausted and disoriented, but why? So I couldn’t track him? Like I could, anyway.
After I woke up, which was about ten minutes after I’d lain down, it didn’t take me long to realize sleep was going to be just as elusive this morning as it had been yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.
Was he doing this on purpose? Was this some sort of strategy on his part? But to what end? If his plan was to keep me disoriented, what would he gain?
I gave up, mostly because my brain hurt, and got out of bed. I needed coffee. And a shower. Or a coffee shower.
Hey …
Since I’d had enough coffee over the last twenty-four hours to see noise, I chose the shower first. The problem with showers was that I never got to enjoy them alone. Even with Reyes gone, I endured interruption after interruption. And this morning was no different.
“Hey, gorgeous girl,” I said to a departed Rottweiler named Artemis.
She joined me most mornings to chase streams of water as they splashed on the rock walls and tile floor. Sadly, every time she found a new source of entertainment, she’d almost knock me over to get to it. Walls, she could go through. Me, not so much. I’d hoped she would learn that someday, but it had been several months since she officially became my guardian, and the situation looked grim.
She licked the wall—or tried to—and did her darnedest to catch a thin stream of water in her mouth. She barked at it, stopped just long enough to let me scratch her ears, then went back to licking the tile floor. I could only hope George, the shower, would forgive us for violating him so.
But Artemis wasn’t my only visitor. I heard a soft, lilting voice come from my living room.
The Trouble With Twelfth Grave Page 3