Divine Misfortune

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 gri

“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.”