Petty Pewter Gods

67

We do not know that Imara was lost.

"Doesn't matter, though. If we've guessed right."

No.

"You feel Magodor?" Old sweet and deadly had vanished while I was getting Cat settled.

She is all around us. I have a better sense of her inner being now that she is not incarnate.

"For some reason that don't sound good."

He avoided the implicit question about the nature of the soul of a goddess. Such a goddess! She is troubled. There has been no response to her messages. She fears they were intercepted.

It could not have been more than ten minutes, but, "Shit!" I don't swear a lot, but I don't make last stands against hordes of male-bashing goddesses very often, either. And that is what I expected. All Imara's pals would turn up to put the last seal on their triumph. "It was nice knowing you, Old Bones. Once in a while. We'd better get Dean out of here." I didn't see any reason for them to be after him. He didn't know anything.

Make haste.

I went into the kitchen. Dean was boiling water for more tea. But it was just boiling. He was terrified, trying to cope by working to rote. "Go to one of your nieces' places, Dean. Now. Don't stop to pack. Don't stop to do anything. Just put the pot down and get out."

He looked at me, jaw frozen. He must have overheard and guessed enough.

Too bad. He'd been a religious man.

"Now, Dean. There's no time for anything else." I gripped his shoulder, shook him gently. His eyes un-glazed. He moved, but without much speed. "Hurry!"

There were people in the street when I let him out, but only the most daring souls. There was a crackling sense of expectancy out there. I saw no sign of the Adeth golem.

Mrs. Cardonlos seemed positively orgiastic, so eager was she for the gathering shitfall to head my way. Someday I need to take time out to figure why she has so much bile for me.

I waved, tossed her a kiss.

That will help.

"Nothing will help. Might as well have fun with her." Considering what could be headed our way, Mrs. Cardonlos' displeasure wasn't particularly worrisome.

The light began to take on a strange quality. It went to a dark butter tone and on to butterscotch.

"What's happening, Old Bones?"

Magodor is forming herself into a protective dome.

Sweet, sweet Maggie. I never had a bad thought about you, darling.

She was just in time. As Mrs. Cardonlos began to glower nervously at whatever she saw from her vantage, and as the handful of folks in the street hastened to correct their error, a lightning bolt struck from the cloudless sky. It ricocheted, crisped down the street scant yards from my irksome neighbor, spent itself on the lightning rod of a small apartment building.

Its sparkle had not yet died when a humping lump of darkness appeared, coming down Macunado. Nog is inescapable. Just in case I had forgotten.

"Gods damn."

Easy.

"He's not alone." All the Shayir females except Black Mona accompanied him, as did that flutter of black leaves. Quilraq had not been lost at Bohdan Zhibak. I chuckled. Today Mrs. Cardonlos could see them, too.

Lila and Dimna got through.

I glanced down Macunado's slight grade. Dean was still visible, but he was wasting no time. I wished he would turn into a side street and get out of sight.

He staggered as something flashed past. An instant later, Jorken materialized in the middle of Macunado. He trailed a mist that gathered itself to become Star. She certainly bugged Mrs. Cardonlos' eyes.

The Godoroth and Shayir ignored one another. The air crackled as Magodor communicated with everyone. My head began to hurt.

"Old Bones, how come Star and the Shayir girls are here? Weren't they part of Imara's plot?"

Another lightning bolt ricocheted and racketed around.

In Star's case, Imara probably was not willing to trust so shallow a mind. With regard to the Shayir, the question deserves close scrutiny. Obviously, Lang was slated for disposal. Black Mona remained loyal and shared his fate. Therefore one or more of...

Whatever he sent I repeated aloud. As I said "Therefore... " small hell broke loose. Paving geysered amidst the Shayir. A frosty brick fell at my feet. One female surrendered immediately. I got the feeling, on that level where pain was gnawing its way into my head, that she accepted Magodor's accusations and wanted to change sides. She was a spring-type goddess, into renewal and that sort of thing.

Another, darker sort ran for it. Nog whooped, Nog is inescapable and took off after her. I sensed an old animosity.

Minutes of quiet followed. There was nobody in the street but gods. Each time I glanced in a new direction, I saw that more had appeared. I didn't recognize many, but I was pleased. Somewhere, somehow, Lila, Dimna, Fourteen, and now Jorken were getting the message out. The owl girls must really have been concentrating.

A fusilade of lightning ripped the neighborhood. Not one bolt did any damage.

"Maggie, Maggie, I love you," I said. "Just keep going this way. Passive and controlled."

Apparently she did understand that this was no time to let herself be provoked into drawing energy from the other side. And I could sense that she was trying to get that message across to the gathering crowd.

Gargoyles settled onto neighboring rooftops. Things with no name floated on the wind. Shapes almost human gathered in the street. Shapes not human moved among them, some bigger than mammoths.

Mrs. Cardonlos saw them all. Nothing was going to intimidate her into going inside.

A massive bombardment began. The temperature dropped swiftly. The wind rose. Clouds formed. Rain fell. Soon it became sleet.

And then it stopped, sharp and sudden as a knife slash.

The sun came out. Shadows scampered across the city.

Word had reached the big guys in the high end of the Dream Quarter. The air throbbed with their irritation. Their hands moved. Messages went out like puffy cloudlets, spinning off truths to Adeth's dupes. Wherever they fell, something happened. Each happening I sensed as a slight turning of the tide.

Those top guys were near Three-O.

A wobbling lump rolled into sight. Triumphantly, it announced, Nog is inescapable.

Good old Nog. I hoped he didn't think he still had a contract on me.

The pain.

Damned right, the pain. There was pain enough for seven hells.

Cat came outside. She stared in awe. Gods filled the street. They perched on rooftops and flew through the air and clung to balconies. They wore every size and shape ever conjured by the imagination of man. And they kept coming, most now females who seemed chagrined and eager to make amends.

There was one truly huge difference between here and the Haunted Circle, where they'd all been farther away. Here they smelled. Awful. Apparently not many ever bathed their physical avatars.

"All-smelling" isn't usually listed among the divine attributes, is it?

The pain began fading. The really big guys started going back to their cribbage games or whatever filled their time. The sense was that it was all over but the weeping. Only a handful of villains were unaccounted for. Hardly any of those would dare be so recidivist as to actually stick to a plot to bring the Great Old Ones across.

I even spotted Imara amidst the crowd, looking seriously sheepish as she came toward the house.

I nudged Cat, pointed. "All's well that ends well."