Divine Misfortune

28

Though she was technically not among Syph’s followers, it took Bonnie several months to get rid of the goddess. The goddess herself didn’t bother Bonnie so much. It was the constant visits by heartbroken mortals that proved more annoying. She was sick of hearing them whine about their failed relationships. She realized that Syph would never be out of a job as long as she trafficked in emotional baggage and bad breakups. Syph realized that, too, and it was why the goddess was never going back to love. It was easier to exact vengeance, and Syph was a lazy, lazy goddess. She’d rather lounge around the apartment and exact vengeance than find a new temple and try to bring people together. It was a step up, though. At least now she wasn’t sitting around feeling sorry for herself. She was still ruining lives, but it was with a wider distribution and less damage on a per-mortal basis. It wasn’t strictly legal, but, unlike Gorgoz’s operation, it wasn’t likely to draw more than a written reprimand and a slap on the wrist from the heavens.

And it wasn’t Bonnie’s problem anymore. Even Syph couldn’t ignore an official order from the Court of Divine Affairs, one that Bonnie happily presented to the goddess in the middle of one of her consultations.

Syph read the order quietly. She cut short her session, promising to fill some poor schmuck’s car with toads, and showed the client the door.

“Bonnie, can’t we work something out?” asked Syph.

“Nope. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Syph reread the order, then crumpled it.

Bonnie showed the goddess the door.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” said Syph.

“I’ll get over it,” replied Bonnie as she slammed the door shut.

The ever-present chill in her apartment vanished. She’d been living with it so long, she’d stopped noticing. But now that it was gone, she felt cozy and warm and safe. Right now, the forces of the cosmos couldn’t give a damn about her happiness or misery. She was just a speck of dust in charge of her own life again. And that wasn’t such a bad place to be.

The phone rang. It was Walter. He apologized for breaking up with her and asked if she wanted to get together for dinner.

She told him no.

With Syph gone, Bonnie realized that she hadn’t ever really liked Walter. She’d just stayed with him because it’d been easier than breaking up. But now the breaking up was done, and she might as well take advantage of it. She went to the window, opened the curtains. The sky was gray, a combination of smog and clouds. But it was just the weather. It had nothing to do with her.

She smiled.

Everything was going to be just fine.

Teri opened the second can of banana-and-chocolate soda of the day. She sniffed it, scrunching her nose.

“I can’t believe he likes this stuff.” She poured the soda into the bowl held by the ceramic raccoon. The altar accepted the offering, drinking down the beverage with a loud slurp.

“I guess there’s no accounting for taste,” said Phil. “We’re almost out. I checked the supermarkets, but they say it’s no longer being made. Guess we’ll have to figure out something else once we open the last case.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” said Teri. “He’ll probably let us slide for a while.” She crushed the can. “He better.”

Phil took her in his arms. “You’re not still mad, are you?” I’m over it.

He squeezed her shoulders and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not completely over it,” she said. “He did nearly get us killed. That’s a lot to forgive.” She shrugged. “But nobody’s perfect, and he is our god. He did come through for us in the end. And it doesn’t hurt that we’ve recovered enough loose change this month to pay our mortgage, all for the price of a few cans of soda.”

Lucky had offered to release them, free and clear, from any obligation. They’d considered it. Said they’d let him know in a few days. Lucky gave them their space, didn’t rush anything. Days became weeks. And weeks became three months. They still hadn’t made up their minds when a package arrived, along with a note.

A little pizza goes a long way, it read. Your friend, Lucky.

The small, easily-ignored altar now sat in the corner of the kitchen. Every day they’d put an offering of food in the bowl, watch it disappear, and collect the good fortune that came their way. It wasn’t much. Nothing as dramatic or noticeable as having Lucky living in their home. But it made things easier.

“By the way, my sister called. She’s coming for a visit,” said Teri. “You might want to throw something extra-special in the bowl.”

“I don’t think that warrants divine intervention,” he replied.

“Did I mention she’s bringing the kids?” She paused dramatically. “All the kids.”

Phil searched through the cabinets, looking for something special to offer to their god.

“We still have soda left,” she said.

“I think this calls for more than that. Last time, the youngest one almost burned down the house.”

“You’re exaggerating. He was going through his pyromania phase. It’s perfectly natural.”

“Maybe so,” said Phil, “but I still don’t see why your sister gave him matches.”

“She didn’t want to stifle him.”

He kept searching.

“Anchovies are on the top shelf,” she said.

“Thanks.” He found the tin and put it next to the altar so he wouldn’t forget.

“We’re going to be late.”

They jumped into their car and gave the charm instructions to take them to the party. The gathering was small, a mix of mortals and fantastic creatures with a couple of gods as well. Quick greeted them at the door.

“Hola, guys. You made it!” Quick peeked behind Phil’s back. “Is that for me? I told you not to bring anything.”

“Just a housewarming gift,” said Teri.

“Nice place, by the way,” said Phil as he handed over the box. “Sorry we didn’t have time to wrap it.”

“Pictionary. Just what I wanted.”

“Hope you like it,” said Teri.

“Like it? I love it. It’s not a party without Pictionary.” Quick handed off the box to a passing shadow.

“Oooh,” said Ogbunabali, god of death, “Pictionary.”

Quick threw his wings around them. “I’m really glad you guys could make it.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” said Teri.

“Ah, I love you guys. You know that. Oh, and I wanted to thank you for referring me to that agency.”

“So it’s working out?”

“So far, so good. It’s a smaller outfit, not-for-profit. They offer favor for needy families. The tribute isn’t all that great, but it’s good work. And just what I needed to get into the game again.”

He showed them to a table spread with food and slithered away.

Teri nibbled on a crab puff. “It’s funny.”

“No good?” asked Phil.

She chuckled. “Wasn’t talking about the puff. It’s just… well, I never thought we’d be hobnobbing with gods. And liking it.”

“Still feel like you’re selling out?” he asked.

“A little bit.” Teri leaned over to give him a kiss. “But I’ll get over it.”

A god of smoke roiled up to them. “Are you Teri and Phil?”

They nodded.

“We’re trying to get a game of Trivial Pursuit going. But Quick says he’ll only play if you two are on his team.”

The smoke deity pointed to Quick. The rainbow serpent waved them over.

“Wow. Trivial Pursuit,” whispered Teri into Phil’s ear. “These guys really know how to party.”

“Could be worse,” he whispered back. “It could be charades.”

“Thank Heaven for small miracles.”

Smiling, she looped her arm in his and joined the gods around the coffee table.