Sun God Seeks...surrogate? (31 page)

“You underestimate yourself, Penelope. You were clearly born for this role. It is your destiny.”

Well, thank you, Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Do I get a blue or green light saber?

“If you leave, Kinich. After everything that’s happened, everything I’ve been through—for you—if you leave…don’t expect to get me back.”

He stared with intense, emotionally charged eyes, but did not speak.

There was a jolting knock on the bedroom door. “Guys! We need you in the living room…Cimil is back.”

***

“I’m going to kill her,” I grumbled and quickly slipped on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.

“No. That honor belongs to me,” Kinich countered.

I was about to remind him that he no longer had any powers, but thought better of it. He opened the bedroom door and charged off in the direction of the living room, and I followed close behind.

“I can’t believe the other gods don’t beat her up on a regular basis,” I said under my breath.

“We have become accustomed to her devious ways, but this is different—she abandoned her duties when we most needed her. We will not go light on her this time.”

We rounded the corner and found Cimil sitting in the armchair next to the flagstone coffee table. The other gods, Gabrán, Emma, and Brutus stood near her. From their body language—arms crossed, eyes narrowed—I surmised they were about to jump her and give her a good old-fashioned LA gang–style ass whopping.

As Kinich moved through the large, open room, Zac frowned at him then gave me a wink. I pretended not to see the gesture.

When I finally had a clear view of Cimil, I instantly knew something was wrong. She had dark circles under her eyes; her usually perfect bob was matted and unkempt. Her clothes—a plain, gray T-shirt and black leather pants—looked dirty. Definitely not her usual lively pink ensemble.

She stared straight ahead as if completely checked out. Well, that part was, I guess, pretty normal for her.

“Cimil has not spoken,” Bees instantly offered.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

The moment I spoke, Cimil’s eyes blinked and shifted toward me. “Oh. Penelope. It’s you,” her voice was muted and lacking its usual boisterous inflection.

“It’s me? It’s me? Is that all you have to say? For Christ’s sake, you drugged me! My mother has been taken by those Scabby things. And where the hell have you been?”

Cimil shrugged, “Where I always am: everywhere. Nowhere. Here and there.”

Kinich looked at me. “That means she’s been doing one of her garage sale marathons again.”

“Yep. That’s pretty much it,” she admitted.

I stepped around the coffee table. “You selfish, childish bitch!” Unexpectedly, a grapefruit-sized fireball burst from my palm and smacked Cimil squarely in the chest. The armchair, with Cimil in it, tipped backward. “Did I happen to mention that I’m now the Sun Goddess?”

A collective gasp swept across the room, then Belch rushed to Cimil’s side and poured red wine from his leather bota onto her smoking shirt.

Cimil’s tiny voice grumbled, “Of course, I know. That was the plan all along.”

“Bloody hell,” said Guy in his commanding baritone voice, “Kinich didn’t get his powers back?”

Belch plucked Cimil off the floor.

“Yes,” Cimil replied. “That is correct. Kinich is now mortal.” She attempted to smooth down her frazzled red hair and then picked up the armchair and sat back down, clasping her hands in her lap.

“So, you knew?” I asked. “You knew this would happen?”

Avoiding eye contact, she gave a nod.

Guy stepped in closer to the coffee table, looking like he was going to launch himself over at Cimil. “Then you will tell us how to restore him. Immediately! Or I swear by my brethren, Cimil, I will drag you to Mexico by your innards and shove you down that hole with Chaam.”

Kinich turned to leave.

“Wait! Where are you going?” I asked.

“To finish packing,” he replied.

I began to follow, but Zac grabbed my arm. “Let him go, Penelope,” he whispered. “You are needed here to keep the order. We cannot afford to have the gods divided by another petty spat. We must remain united.”

“Kinich, please,” I whispered.

He glanced over his shoulder, but then kept moving.

My anger won out over all other emotions. “Tell me how to fix this!” I commanded Cimil.

She shook her head. “I cannot.”

Oh, I had so had it with her cryptic bullshit and this entire chaotic circus. “Yes! You can and you will.”

Her eyes darted around the room. “No. You’re not listening. I can’t. That’s the problem.”

“Sorry?”

She wiggled in her chair. “I can’t tell you what to do.”

“But—but—you have to! This is all your fucking fault.”

My mind shuffled between fear and anger. I’d hoped and prayed all along that Cimil would return, help us figure out how to fix this giant mess, and get my mother back. After all, she was the one who’d orchestrated the events that got my mom trapped in the first place—the fake medical center and treatment for her illness, the need for money that had gotten me mixed up with all of them.

“Holy shit! Did you make my mother sick? Was that part of your twisted plan?”

Her eyes lit up. “No. I would never do something so horrible. I cannot harm humans…unless your name is Gunther and sing the ‘Ding Dong Song.’ Then you’re fair game.”

I shook my finger at her. “But it’s still your fault she was captured. You have to know how to get her back!”

Cimil bobbed her head and then shook it from side to side. “Yes. No.”

“What do you mean, ‘Yes. No’?” I was going into full-blown panic mode.

Cimil stood and bit down on her lower lip. “It’s my fault! Yes. She was supposed to be rescued by Viktor—a good thing, trust me—I’ve taken that bicycle for a ride and
rarrrr!
But that went all wrong, too. It’s all one big fucking mess! Just like the time I wore the red glittery platform shoes, when I should’ve worn blue!” She threw her hands in the air. “Of course, my date changed his tie to red—gotta match—which made the bull very, very angry.” Her head sagged. “Poor, poor Estevan.
La vida es tan corta
.”

She looked up at the ceiling. “I told you! Shut it or I’ll take you down, bitch!”

All heads rotated toward the tiny black spot on the ceiling.
Oh for heaven’s sake. A fly? Not this again.

I stomped my foot. “Oh. My. God. Would you focus! Tell us how to undo this mess.”

“That’s the problem. I can’t. I can’t see a thing. It’s all gone.”

Within the span of a heartbeat, Guy was holding Cimil up in the air by her shoulders. She reminded me of a tiny rag doll about to be demoted back to a rag. “Cut the crap, Cimil. What is going on? Where the hell have you been?”

“Consulting the Book of the Oracle of Delphi, trying to understand where it all went wrong. But now the pages are blank. Blank!”

Guy asked why she, of all people, would be consulting a book that foretold the future when she had the gift of sight, but she simply mumbled something about retracing her steps. “I think it happened when I was watching that
Love Boat
marathon. I was entranced by Isaac’s pearly white smile and witty humor. I couldn’t stop watching,” she said. “That’s when I must’ve missed something I was supposed to do, a step I was supposed to take to keep everything on track—a letter I was supposed to write? Or! Maybe it was that Hungry Hungry Hippos tournament I needed to schedule. I don’t know! Then they stopped. Just”—she snapped her fingers—“like that. Every last one of them, gone! It’s been weeks now.”

“The
Love Boat
reruns?” I asked.

“No! The dead! The dead!” She began to cry, which literally freaked me out. Because if someone like Cimil was upset, that meant something bad, very, very bad, was going down.

“Mind elaborating? Some of us are new to the deity club.”

“I can’t see the future. I never have! I need
them
and they’re gone!”

Guy’s eyes went wide along with everyone else’s. “Wha-what are you saying?” He set her down.

“I lied.” She pressed her hands to the side of her face. “That’s what I’m saying. I can’t see the future—well, not the way you think. I see snippets, little clues, but they are usually meaningless.”

“Then how, how do you always known so much? For Christ’s sake, you even watch television in the future,” Zac asked.

“I am Goddess of the Underworld—not that there really is an Underworld. Although, there is the Short Hills mall near the Jersey Turnpike; they have Chanel and Dolce! That’s why the dead like to hang out there. Fashion never goes out of fashion. Yunno?”

Holy mother of broken brains, this goddess is so bat-shit crazy. How in the world did she get this job?

“No! We don’t know, Cimil! We have no clue what you’re talking about!”

Her eyes darted around the room in a paranoid manner. Then she whispered, “I look after the souls of the dead, and they see everything: future, past, present—the dead exist in the place beyond time or dimensions. Everything they knew, I knew. Everything they saw, I saw.”

Hands down, this had to be the weirdest thing I’d ever heard. In fact, if they took every episode of the
Twilight Zone
, put them in a blender and simmered them for ten hours into a condensed soup of weirdness and the unthinkable, that wouldn’t come close to competing with this funky concoction.

There were several moments of angry grumblings among the gods.

“Cimil,” Guy finally said, “make no mistake, you will be punished for your deception when we are through with this crisis.”

“Don’t you get it?” Cimil howled. “There is no after. It’s over! Over! If the dead have moved on it’s because this world is going to end! The blank pages in the Book of the Oracle confirms it. There is no future. We lose the Great War!

I heard the simultaneous mental
click!
of everyone in the room.

Oh. No. Oh oh oh…no.

“You mean, it really is the end of the world?”

She covered her face with her hands. “Damn that stupid
Love Boat
and Isaac’s glorious Afro!”

CHAPTER 35

The gods scrambled back to the summit room. Gabrán followed with his cell phone glued to his ear, issuing some kind of “code red.” Guy called Niccolo and did the same.

Sweet. Thank you,
Love Boat
and Cimil.

I shook my head. “Be right there. I need to catch my breath.”
Or jump off a bridge. Or binge on egg rolls. Something to pull me back into the gravitational pull of planet Earth.

I sank down on the couch next to Cimil, who’d returned to her semi-comatose state.

“Well, I certainly didn’t see that one coming,” I said.

“Nobody ever expects the Spanish Inquisition,” she mumbled.

Huh?
I mentally sighed.
Whatever. Doesn’t matter.

What did matter was figuring out what to do next. The funny thing about finding out the world is really, truly going to end is that your priorities suddenly shift in ways you wouldn’t expect. For example, now more than ever, I needed to find my mother. If it was the last thing I did, I’d find her. I’d hug her, and tell her I loved her.

I also wanted to see my friends again—Anne and Jess. I hadn’t called or spoken with them in over a week, but I wanted to thank them for everything they had ever done. I couldn’t count the number of times they’d come to my psychological rescue in one way or another after my mother got sick. They were like my personal angels. How could I have taken them for granted?

Then there was Kinich. I still couldn’t believe he was leaving. Did he truly care so little about me? Was I simply the object of his sexual fantasies, but nothing more?

I didn’t want to accept it. I was too smart to give my heart away to someone like that. Wasn’t I? There had to be a reason he was so hell-bent on leaving. But maybe I wanted to think that because it tasted less bitter going down.

Cimil looked at me and placed her hand on top of my stomach. “I’m sorry, Penelope. I know this can’t be easy. But the baby won’t suffer when the time comes. I promise.”

Oh good. That’s nice to hear
—“What?”

She cocked one brow. “Baby. As in yours.”

“Mine?” I sat up straight.

“Uh, yaaah. Don’t you remember what I told you in the cab?”

My brain began to sift through the wild memories.

Hmm. First there was her wild jibber jabber about everything going wrong. Then there was something about how she hated champagne because the bubbles tickled her nose and how she’d bought an original 1980s Atari set still in its box at some garage sale. Then we were attacked by that Maaskab and a few nasty vampires.

“No. Not exactly,” I replied.

“I said, ‘Congratulations on the baby.’ Don’t you remember?”

“No. Not exactly.”

“Oh. Maybe I forgot.” She scratched her head.

She had to be joking. “But…but—I took a test; it was negative. I saw it!”

“Nope. I tossed yours in the trash when I cleaned your place. Did you like the air freshener I used to get rid of the Scabby smell? It’s new! I call it…” She waved her hand through the air like a magician doing an amazing trick. “Sun God! The Odor of a Thousand Suns.” She scratched her chin. “Or, did I use my new fav perfume, that cat urine cleaner? Hmmm. Can’t remember.”

“Cimil, focus!”

“What?” she responded defensively.

She must’ve been confused—a state she seemed to be chronically afflicted with. “If it wasn’t my pregnancy test, then whose?”

Her gaze fluttered toward the ceiling for a moment. “Oh, I know! It was mine! And boy, let me tell you…I was worried. Those clowns and I had one crazy night after my party. Just say ‘no’ to tequila and animal tranquilizers, if ya know what I mean.”

Shock waves barreled down. The entire time, I’d been reliving memories of my night with Kinich? They weren’t simply dreams? I mean, I knew it was a possibility, but now…now it felt all too real. Or surreal. “But I—but I…This can’t be right. I mean, wouldn’t I have known if we slept together?” I certainly felt the effects after our little episode in the shower.