Divine Misfortune (2010) (22 page)

He transformed into a swarm of butterflies and flew away, disappearing into the bustling hallways. Lucky and Quick pressed
against the walls to avoid the crowds of phantasms and props being wheeled past.

Lucky pulled out the driver’s license and stared at it.

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind,” said Quick.

“No, I guess I’m still in.”

Lucky pocketed the license and glanced around the maze of corridors. “Do you know the way out of this place?”

“I was hoping you did.”

Lucky pointed down a random hall. “That way then.”

“Do you know that’s the right way?” asked Quick.

“Hey, I’m a god of fortune. Odds have gotta be pretty good.”

There was a line to Bonnie’s apartment. When she tried to enter, a man grabbed her by the arm.

“Hey. No cuts.”

“I live here,” said Bonnie.

“Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, right!” She pulled from his grasp and pushed her way inside.

“You just made the list!” He pulled out a notepad and pen. “What’s your name?”

She pushed her way past the crowd, squeezing past the door-jamb. People threw her dirty looks, but she was in no mood to explain
herself.

Her apartment was jammed. She had to fight every step of the way, but she was pissed off enough that she had no trouble throwing
elbows. After she bit someone who got too grabby, no one else dared stand in her way.

The line ended in her kitchenette. Syph sat at the table, drinking tea with a woman whose hair was too blond and skin too
bronze, making her look like a middle-aged Barbie doll who had invested just enough in plastic surgery to almost look human
but who was an operation away from crossing the point of no return.

“This is my turn!” said the woman.

“This is my kitchen,” grunted Bonnie. “What the hell is going on here?”

“I’ll explain in a moment,” said Syph. “We’re almost done.”

The woman flashed a condescending smile as Syph continued.

“Mortal, your story has moved my heart. Your ex-husband and his new wife shall be smote with boils that shall exude a foul
stench. In return, you shall offer tribute of animal sacrifice and self-flagellation.”

“Yes, about that,” said the woman. “I’m not really big on animal sacrifice.”

“It doesn’t have to be a cute animal. It can be a snake or a frog or some other loathsome thing.”

“I like snakes.”

“You like snakes?”

The woman nodded slightly as if admitting a crime.

“Who likes snakes?” Syph glanced at Bonnie and repeated the question. “Who likes snakes?”

“I can take ’em or leave ’em,” replied Bonnie.

“I’d rather not kill any animals,” said the woman softly, “if it’s all the same to you.”

Syph said, “Is self-flagellation acceptable then? Because I’m not doing this for fun. I have to expect some compensation.
Boils aren’t as easy as you might think.”

“That involves a whip or something, right?”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“I don’t have a whip.”

“Buy one,” said Syph. “I’m sure they still sell them.”

“You could probably make one out of a jump rope,” suggested Bonnie as she searched through her fridge for something to drink.

“I was hoping I could just offer you some cash,” said the woman, pulling a thick wad of bills from her purse. “How about a
thousand dollars? Would that be enough?”

“Sold,” said Bonnie, snatching the money.

“Hey, that’s my tribute,” said Syph.

“Well, if you’re going to rent out my place as your temple, I think I should get something for it.” Bonnie peeled five hundred
dollars off, stuck it in her pocket, and gave the rest to the goddess.

“Very well. This tribute is acceptable. However, in addition to this, I shall require you to slam your hand in your car door.
Do this, and I shall be pleased. But the boils will only last two weeks. I’m not running a charity.”

“Yes, goddess. You are as wise and beautiful as you are—”

“Yes, yes.” Syph waved her away. “Go on then before I change my mind.”

The woman left. Bonnie stepped in front of the man next in line. “One second, please.”

The man was about to protest when Syph said, “It’s all right. She’s the… head priestess.”

“Yes,” agreed Bonnie. “Private church business. So back off for a minute.”

The man relented. Bonnie exercised her priestly authority and pushed the line back as far as the crowd would allow so she
could talk to Syph in semi-privacy.

She had a seat at the table. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m getting over it,” said Syph. “Wasn’t that your suggestion?”

“So you’re ruining other people’s lives now? That’s your way of moving on?”

A perplexed expression crossed Syph’s face. “I am the goddess of heartbreak and tragedy. This
is
my job. What else would you expect of me?”

Bonnie had to admit that she hadn’t thought about it. She had noticed that the overwhelming dread and misery she’d felt the
past several days had faded. Probably because the goddess was no longer focusing all her influence on a single mortal. Syph
had plenty of targets to aim her misery at now.

It left Bonnie with a bit of a dilemma. If she discouraged Syph from exacting revenge in the name of wronged mortals, then
Bonnie was bringing all that down upon her head. But if she didn’t, she was allowing Syph to hurt people. And it was even
more complicated than that. Bonnie wasn’t certain this operation was even legal. She wasn’t up on the latest smiting regulations.

“Does it have to be so high-profile?” asked Bonnie.

“Things got a little out of hand,” admitted Syph, “but I’m trying to make up for lost time. I have a lot of wrath to dispense.”

“You’re not killing people.” Bonnie leaned closer and whispered. “You’re not, right?”

“Don’t be silly. That’s against the law. And it’s far too light a punishment for those who transgress against the sacred gifts
of love.”

She laughed. It wasn’t much, but it was the first genuine moment of joy Bonnie had seen from the goddess. Syph was still colorless,
still radiated a noticeable chill, and charged the air with a hint of gloom. But the goddess’s tepid tea wasn’t frozen in
a solid block of ice, and things weren’t spontaneously breaking or bursting into flame in the kitchen. That had to be a good
thing.

“How was your day?” asked Syph, interrupting Bonnie’s train of thought.

“Not good. I went to talk to your raccoon god.”

Syph rasped, “You did what?”

“Calm down. He wasn’t there. So I talked to his followers. Nice people. Anyway, then a couple of idiots with guns barged in
and tried to offer us up as a blood sacrifice to their god. Yada yada yada. They ended up shot. I got out of there after the
cops showed up. By the way, you’re on notice with Divine Affairs. Filed a complaint since they were there.”

Bonnie realized the dangers of taunting a goddess, but she didn’t care. Maybe it was because she felt so damn good all of
a sudden with that terrible burden of the goddess of heartbreak taken off her shoulders. Not entirely removed, but a good
portion off in other places, doing nasty things to people who weren’t her. Now it wasn’t despair that gripped her, but a cheery
malaise. The term might have seemed like a paradox a few hours ago, but everything was relative.

Syph said, “So these two men… did they happen to mention the name of their god?”

“Gorgoz. Why? Ever heard of him?”

“No. Can’t say the name rings a bell.”

The impatient grumbling from the crowd had been growing steadily louder.

“We both know I can’t throw you out of here,” said Bonnie. “So feel free to hold court here until Divine Affairs gets off
their butts and takes care of this. I’m going to get something to eat, maybe see a movie. When I get back, it’d be nice if
this was wrapped up for the night.”

She half-expected to be blasted to dust by the wrathful goddess, but Syph merely nodded. “Of course.”

“We’ll work out the scheduling arrangements in more detail later,” said Bonnie.

Syph gave another slight nod. But this one warned Bonnie against pushing her luck.

“I’ll be home late. Have fun helping people fulfill their spiteful natures.”

Syph raised her teacup. “I always do.”

Teri wasn’t any good at waiting. It had been one of the things Phil liked about her. While he had been trying to figure the
best way to ask her out on their first date, she’d shown up at his dorm room with an order of Chinese food and a DVD of
Logan’s Run.
He hadn’t fallen in love with her at just that moment, but he had started down the path. Later, after he’d learned that she’d
done some research to know that Chinese food and sci-fi were the key to his heart and that she didn’t like Chinese food or
Michael York, Phil knew he’d end up marrying her. That was the way she was. She wasn’t the kind of person to wait around for
someone else to do what she could do perfectly well on her own. Most of the time that worked in her favor.

Not today. They were marked for death by a mad god, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it except wait in their
house and hope either Divine Affairs or Lucky solved the problem.

Teri read a book, watched some television, read another book, and did some light chores. She vacuumed. Twice. She washed the
dishes by hand even though they had a dishwasher. And she dusted every nook and cranny. When she tried to go out in the backyard,
Phil stopped her.

“Why? It should be part of the protective shrine, right? It’s part of the house.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe.”

“What’s going to happen? I’m going to get smote in my own backyard?”

“It could happen,” he said. “Maybe.”

She flopped down next to him on the couch.

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I really hate this.”

He put his arm around her. “I know.”

“We’re almost out of toilet paper,” she said.

“Maybe you could call Janet. She could bring us some.”

“I can’t do that. What if that puts her in danger?”

“It’s probably not dangerous, honey.”

“Then why didn’t you suggest any of your friends do it?”

“Janet is dating Lucky. It stands to reason that she’s already a bit of a target in this mess. And since she is dating a god
of good fortune, I have to assume she’s well protected.”

“I hate it when you make sense when I’m pissed off.”

“I know you do. That’s why I try not to make it a habit.”

She kissed him, tousled his hair. Then went and made the phone call.

Janet arrived two hours later with several bags of supplies. She had to unload them all from her car herself since Teri and
Phil couldn’t safely step beyond the threshold of their front door. Teri and Janet unpacked the groceries. Phil stayed in
the living room, playing video games. He would’ve helped, but he knew Teri needed time to vent.

“Ta-da.” Janet made a sweeping supermodel gesture at a brand-new twenty-four-pack of toilet paper.

“Damn,” said Teri, “just how long do you think we’re going to be stuck in here?”

“I just assumed better safe than sorry.”

“Jeez, there has to be three cubic feet of Hot Pockets here.”

“Sorry about that,” said Janet. “But I wasn’t really sure if you liked to cook or not. So how are you holding up?”

“How do you think I’m holding up? Your boyfriend totally screwed us over.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Janet.

“He’s not? Then I suppose that necklace is just something you had laying around.”

Janet ran her fingers over the raccoon-headed emblem. “Okay, so maybe he’s more than just a fling. But I wouldn’t go so far
as to call him my boyfriend.”

Teri smirked. “If that makes you feel better.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What do you think I mean by that?” Teri opened the freezer and began theorizing on the complex geometric principles necessary
to fit all the frozen meals in the limited space available.

“Oh, no,” said Janet. “You don’t get away with that. Not when I risked life and limb to bring you the creature comforts.”

Teri, wryly grinning, withdrew a jar of spaghetti sauce from a bag. It would’ve been nicer if Janet had remembered to bring
some spaghetti to go with it.

“I’m a terrible bomb shelter shopper. I admit it. Happy?” said Janet. “But you’ve been against me dating your god from the
start. So why are you acting all smug about it now?”

Teri extracted a tinfoil lump from the freezer. She couldn’t remember what it was, though it didn’t smell quite right. Like
year-old meatloaf or halibut gone bad or maybe stale melted plastic. She pondered peeling back the foil and revealing the
mystery, but decided her sanity wasn’t in a state for any more surprises. She threw it in the garbage.

“Go ahead,” said Janet.

The mystery foil had derailed Teri’s train of thought. It took her a few seconds to catch up to the conversation.

“You’re just dying to tell me I told you so,” said Janet. “So do it already.”

Teri laughed. “Damn, you really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“I was wrong,” said Teri, “about you and Lucky.”

“You’re saying it’s a good idea now?”

“Oh, hell, no. Terrible idea. Horrible idea. Gods and mortals should not date. That’s just obvious.”

Teri paused, holding up a six-pack of off-brand banana-and-chocolate soda pop.

“It’s delicious,” said Janet.

“Then you take it.”

“Maybe I will.” Janet grabbed the pack, peeled off a can, and popped it open. After taking a sip, she calmly walked over to
the sink and spit it out. She stuck her tongue under the running faucet. “Well, it sounded good. But I just thought it was
worth trying.” She stuck out her tongue. “Got any crackers?”

“Uh-hmm.” Teri smirked again.

“You don’t wear smug well,” said Janet.

“I think you wear everything well, honey,” said Phil as he entered the kitchen.

“Thank you, baby. Here, have a Hot Pocket.”

“You’re too good to me,” he said.

“I know.”

Janet and Teri put the conversation on hold until Phil had zapped his snack in the microwave and returned to the living room.