Divine Misfortune

10

The not-party went until three in the morning, but Teri and Phil went to bed around midnight. They didn’t get much sleep, but she awoke refreshed to the smell of frying bacon.

Phil was in the shower.

“Honey, who’s cooking?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Lucky?”

She doubted that. He didn’t seem the type.

Phil was half-right. It wasn’t their new god but one of his friends. The giant rainbow serpent puttered around their kitchen.

“Hi, Teri. I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed a couple of bucks out of your wallet and found a twenty-four-hour market. Thought I’d whip up some of my special sun god omelets. Just my way of saying thanks for letting me crash on your couch last night.”

“Yeah,” she said. “No problem.”

“It’ll just be a minute,” Quick said. “I hope you like’ em spicy. I couldn’t find any reasonably priced human flesh, so I had to substitute ham.”

“Uh-huh,” said Teri as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

“That was a joke,” said Quick. “I realize it’s not always easy to tell with gods.”

“No, that’s fine. It was funny.” She forced a smile and took a sip.

“Loosen up, Teri. I promise I’m not going to swallow you whole. I’m not that kind of god anymore. Plus, you’re Lucky’s follower, and I wouldn’t do that to a friend.”

He smiled, and it was ingratiating. Surprising, considering sharp fangs filled his maw.

Phil, toweling dry his hair, appeared at her side. “Shower is ready. What smells so good?”

“Eggs à la sun god,” she said, “minus the human flesh.”

Quick chuckled.

Teri excused herself, but she heard the shower running. The door to Lucky’s room was open a crack. He must have been an early riser. She hadn’t seen him as that type. Raccoons were nocturnal. Then again, Quick was a giant serpent monster, and he didn’t eat people. Or so he claimed.

Teri went back to the dining room. Quick urged her and Phil to have a seat as he served them breakfast.

“What’s the verdict?” asked Quick.

“A little spicy,” said Phil, “but thank you. They’re good.”

“De nada. I’ll get some milk.” Quick slithered into the kitchen.

“Why is he still here?” asked Teri.

Phil shrugged. “Lucky said he’s in a rough spot right now.”

“When I agreed to this,” she said, “I agreed to one god. One.” She held up her index finger to illustrate the point.

“He’s not really our god,” replied Phil. “It’s not like we owe him any tribute. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is that there’s a giant snake serving us breakfast.”

“A good breakfast,” said Phil.

She glared. “Doesn’t he have a human form, at least?”

“Lucky said he doesn’t like to wear it anymore.”

Before she could ask why, Quick slipped out of the kitchen and laid two tall glasses of milk before them.

Teri excused herself again. The shower wasn’t running, so she knocked on the bathroom door. “I hate to be a pest, but I really need to get ready for work.” She added a hastily mumbled, “M’lord.”

Janet opened the bathroom door. “No problem, hon. Though you can ease up on the titles. It’s your bathroom after all.”

By the time Teri took her shower, Janet had already left. Work was hectic, so they had to put off any confrontation until lunch. Teri wasn’t sure if Janet would be waiting at their usual deli table, but she was there, looking innocent.

“Hi, hon.”

Teri slammed her tray onto the table. “You had sexual intercourse with my god.”

“Yeah?” said Janet. “So?”

“Sex. With my god.”

“Is that a problem?”

Teri’s jaw dropped.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” said Janet.

Teri tried to verbalize it, but she realized she didn’t know what the problem was.

“It just seems like a bad idea,” she finally said.

“Why?”

“Because he’s my god. It could make things complicated.”

Janet laughed. “Oh, hon, you really are new to this, aren’t you? It’s not complicated. That’s one of the things I love about god sex. It’s no strings attached.”

“Wait a second.” Teri lowered her voice. “You’ve done this before.”

“Sure. All the time.”

“All the time?”

“Well, not all the time.” Janet counted off on her fingers. “Six times.”

Teri leaned forward. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I’m careful. I use protection. I don’t care if Xochipilli himself appeared to me, all oiled up and ready for a night of sensual delights, no glove, no love. That’s my policy.

“If it’ll make you feel better, I promise not to see him again,” said Janet.

“Thanks.”

Teri struggled to wrap her mind around this.

“What if he wants to see you again?”

“You don’t have to worry, hon,” said Janet. “Gods mastered the art of casual sex thousands of years ago. Lucky was a one-night thing. He said he’d call, but they never do.”

Her cell phone rang. Janet excused herself to take the call. She returned two minutes later and had a seat.

“Well… this is awkward.”

“What?” asked Teri. “What is it?”

Janet sucked on her soda with a guilty look.

“Oh no,” said Teri. “That was him. It was him, wasn’t it?”

Janet averted her eyes and nodded.

“You just said they never call. You just said that. They never call!”

“They don’t.”

Teri glared.

“They don’t. Not normally. Not ever before.” Janet smiled. “I’m just as surprised as you are.”

“Whatever. It’s not important,” said Teri. “What did you tell him? I hope you came up with a good excuse.”

Janet chewed her lip.

“You told him you couldn’t see him again, right?” asked Teri. “Right?”

“About that…”

“You agreed to go out with him again?”

Janet nodded. Once. She slurped her empty soda.

“I don’t believe you. You promised you wouldn’t see him anymore. You promised.”

“And I meant it,” said Janet, “but I thought about it. Wouldn’t it be better for me to go out with him one or two times more and let him get bored with me rather than risk insulting him? Look what happened to you yesterday. I couldn’t be responsible for another curse of lousy luck again, could I?”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with me,” said Teri. “If you’d been thinking about me you wouldn’t have slept with Lucky in the first place.”

“Hey, now. Let’s not start saying things we could end up regretting. In fact-and I wasn’t going to tell you this-I slept with Lucky to put him in a better mood after you insulted him. You really should be thanking me. I don’t think some gratitude is uncalled-for.”

Teri and Janet locked stares.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” said Teri.

“Okay, so it’s bullshit. You got me, hon. But the way I see it we have two choices now. I can either call Lucky back and tell him that I have to wash my hair and hope that there’s no wrath, either intended or incidental, raining down on our heads. Or I can go out with him for another date or two and let him get bored.” She pulled out her cell. “He’s your god. I’ll go with whatever you decide.”

Teri silently mulled it over as they finished their lunch and rode the elevator back to work.

“All right, you can go out with him again. I guess.”

“Great. You won’t regret it. I’ll show him a good time, put him in a fantastic mood, and before you know it, you’ll be covered in fortune and prosperity.”

“Just make sure it’s not too good a time,” said Teri. “We want him to get bored, remember?”

“So we’re cool then?”

“Yes, we’re cool.”

The door opened, and they prepared to part ways to their different departments.

“When you were sleeping with my god,” asked Teri, “did he keep the raccoon head the whole time?”

Janet grinned slyly.

“You know what?” Teri waved her hands to silence Janet. “Forget I asked.”

The gods lounged on the couch, watching telenovelas.

“I’m confused,” said Lucky. “Is the dude with the eye patch a bad guy or not?”

“He’s a cop,” replied Quick.

“And that hot hostage in the low-cut dress is his wife?”

“Right, but he’s undercover, so he can’t let the other bank robbers figure that out.” Quick scratched his head. “Or maybe he has amnesia and doesn’t remember either. I’m not sure.”

“Amnesia. Where do they come up with this stuff?”

He held up his soda can, and Quick tapped it with his glass of tomato juice.

“Do you think I made a mistake with Janet?” asked Lucky. “I probably should’ve waited a couple of days before calling.”

“Three days,” said Quick. “Calling the next day can be construed as a bit needy. Two days after is okay. But three days means you’re interested but not desperate.”

Lucky chugged his soda.

“Three days, huh?”

“Just what I’ve heard through the grapevine. Last time I went on a date it was still acceptable to send out warriors to abduct a virgin.”

“Simpler times,” said Lucky.

They clanked their glasses together again.

“You think I came across as needy then?” asked Lucky.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Crap.”

“I like the new followers, by the way,” said Quick. “Good folks. Though I don’t think Teri likes either of us very much.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Lucky. “She’s won’t be the first reluctant mortal I’ve had to win over.”

“So are you going to tell them?”

“Tell them what?”

Quick ruffled his feathers. “They really should know.”

“I don’t think it’s important. I’m sure it’s all water under the bridge by now.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“I have hundreds of followers. There’s nothing very special about these two.”

“Except you’re living here. To an outside observer with a grudge, that might make them seem important.”

“Well, of course, they’re special,” said Lucky. “All my followers are special. But I lived with Tom for years and nothing happened. And Rebecca before that. And Gary before that. It’s been just over a hundred years since the last… incident.”

“You’ve been hanging around with mortals too long, Lucky. A hundred years is a blink of an eye. But the world of mortals changes faster than ever. It’s not so easy for a god to lay low anymore. How did Teri and Phil find you?”

“Internet,” said Lucky.

“The information age,” said Quick. “If he wants to find you, all he has to do is click a few buttons.”

“He doesn’t operate that way. I doubt he even knows what a computer is. He never could adapt. Stupid bastard got left behind in the Middle Ages. Did I ever tell you that during our last civil conversation, he predicted the longbow was just a fad.”

They chuckled.

“I’m not saying he’s the smartest god,” said Quick, “but you have to admit he’s persistent. And he knows how to hold a grudge. And he may not have adapted to the new world, but that just means he’s more dangerous.”

“No, it just means that he’s faded into obscurity. Most of his power disappeared with the last of the Philistines.”

Quick said, “Just because he went underground, that doesn’t mean he disappeared. Or that there aren’t plenty of mortals out there willing to follow him.”

“Mortal losers,” mumbled Lucky, “following a loser god. Do you know that he’s still using transfigured souls as personal agents? Who does that anymore?”

“How do you know that?”

Lucky gritted his teeth.

“I might have run into one.”

Quick turned off the television.

“No shit?”

“Just one,” added Lucky hastily. “It wasn’t even a big one. And I smote it. End of story.”

“They deserve to know. For their own safety.”

“They’re not in any danger. Anyway, aren’t mortals supposed to die in service of their god? Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?”

Quick squinted hard at Lucky.

“Don’t blame me.” Lucky picked up a magazine and pretended to read it. “Blame the system.”

The serpent god drained the last of his tomato juice and slithered into the kitchen to refill it. Lucky thumbed through the magazine until Quick returned. He turned on the television, and neither of them said anything until the show ended.

“I used to think like you,” said Quick. “I used to think mortals were disposable commodities, to be used and discarded at my whim. You lose a couple, you gain a couple. What did one or a hundred or even a thousand here or there really mean in the end?”

“Hey now,” said Lucky. “I’m not advocating strapping anyone onto an altar and cutting out their still-beating heart.”

Quick shot him a dirty look. “That’s not fair. That was a different time.”

Lucky shrugged. “I’m just making the observation. That’s all.”

“I never asked them to do that,” said Quick. “They just started doing it on their own.”

“You didn’t stop them, though, did you?”

“No, I didn’t stop them. I should’ve, but I didn’t.”

Lucky tossed aside the magazine. “Aw, crap, Quick. I’m sorry. That was a cheap shot.”

“No, you’re right. I wanted the blood. I didn’t ask for it, but when they offered it, I didn’t complain.”

“Different time. Like you said.”

“Did you ever wonder how a handful of conquistadors managed to topple an empire? How I let that happen?”

“You always said you were on vacation when that business went down. By the time you came back, it was already over.”

“Come on now. What kind of god would I be if I didn’t check in on my followers now and then?” Quick blew a raspberry. “That story was bull, and you always knew it. Everyone always knew it. We just play along because if there’s one thing we gods excel at it’s avoiding responsibility.”

Lucky said, “Mortals kill each other. It’s not our job to solve all their problems.”

“Bullshit!” roared Quick. A clap of thunder shook the house. His glass of tomato juice spilled across the carpet, and the sofa fell over, sending Lucky sprawling.

Quick transformed into his human shape. He stood twelve feet tall and had to hunch under the ceiling. Symbols in fresh blood were painted on his flesh. In one hand, he held an onyx spear. In the other, he dangled a collection of skulls. He bared his pointed teeth and glared with bloodshot, raging eyes.

“Take it easy, buddy,” said Lucky.

Quick glowered. “I saw it happening. I knew what was going on.” He lowered his head and wiped a tear from his cheek. “I watched them die.

“They prayed for my intervention. But I thought, screw’em. Not my problem. If they couldn’t take care of a handful of Spaniards with blunderbusses then why the hell should I bother? Let the weaker followers perish so that the stronger should thrive. And if I lost them all, so what? I’d just start again. There were always more mortals, more followers. So I stood by and did nothing. Nada. I just let them die. They offered rivers of blood in tribute that I gladly accepted, but when it came time to do my part, I just walked away.”

Quick shrank into human proportions, and helped Lucky right the sofa.

“But you want to know the worst part about it?” asked Quick. “The worst part is that after it was all over, I still didn’t care. Do you want to know when I started caring?”

“No,” said Lucky.

“It was about fifteen years later. I had a handful of followers, but nothing to get excited about. I couldn’t figure it out. Here I was, the grand and revered Quetzalcoatl, and I was mostly forgotten. A few hundred thousand dead mortals didn’t mean much to me, but they sure as hell made an impression on any potential followers. Guess they decided that if ol’ Quick wasn’t powerful enough to save an empire, they’d be better off looking for divine intervention somewhere else. And damned if I didn’t agree after I had a century to think about it.”

He transformed into his slouching serpent form.

“By then it was too late, of course. I’d blown my reputation. I’d lost all credibility. End of story. Game over.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Quick. You’ll get back on your feet… er, tail.”

“No, I’m finished. Just an old used-up god, a remnant from a different era, more of a novelty than a deity. Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Lucky.”

Quick sighed and ran his tail around the tomato juice stain. “Teri is not going to be happy about that.”

“I’ll tell her I did it,” said Lucky. “It’ll be easier for her to take.”

“Thanks.”

Lucky slapped Quick on the shoulder. “I get what you’re saying about Phil and Teri.”

“So you’re going to tell them?”

“I’ll let them know. When the time is right.”

Quick shot Lucky a glare.

“I need some time to show them the benefits of my company. You can’t expect me to spring this other teeny little mostly unimportant detail on them out of nowhere, can you?”

“No, I guess not,” agreed Quick. “But you should tell them. And tell them soon.”

“Oh, absolutely. Next week or the week after that. A month at the very most. In the meantime, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

With a sigh, Quick slipped off the sofa and slithered away.