Divine Misfortune

The rabid creature backed away.

Lucky clapped his paws, and a crate fell out of the sky. It missed the squirrel by several yards, striking a car and crushing its roof. The crate burst apart, sending shards of wood and jelly beans flying like shrapnel. Phil was fortunate enough not to have anything hard hit him, but he was pelted with candy.

Lucky clapped again. A recliner plummeted like a bomb. His aim was better but still off by a few feet.

“Damn it.”

The squirrel bolted in the opposite direction. With each clap of his paws, Lucky dropped miscellaneous bombs of divine wrath. He smashed a sportscar with a refrigerator and pulverized a pickup engine with a bathtub. An anvil missed both the cars and the squirrel, but it did leave a big dent in the pavement.

“Aw, screw it.” Lucky reverted to his casual raccoon shape. He snapped his fingers, and a midsize boat found its target. The boat wasn’t quite a yacht, but it was large enough to pulverize the animal and several automobiles.

The god scratched his head. “I guess it’s true what they say. If you don’t keep up the smiting practice, you get rusty.”

Phil gawked at the debris littering the parking lot.

Lucky scooped up a handful of jelly beans and popped a couple in his mouth. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

“Are you sure? They’re pretty good if you pick out the gravel.

He noticed Phil’s stu

“You okay, buddy? That squirrel didn’t hurt you, did it?”

Phil held up his wounded finger.

“We better get a Band-Aid on that. Maybe some antiseptic. Just because you’re hanging out with a god of good fortune, that doesn’t mean we can’t use a little common sense, right?”

Phil nodded. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” said Lucky. “Feral squirrel. See them all the time in the city.” He rocked back and forth on his toes and heels. “Hey, whatever it was, it’s dead now, right? It’ll never nip another finger again, and that’s a promise. I smote it good. Just consider it one of the many fine services I offer my followers. Now aren’t you glad I’m around?”

Onlookers were gathering to view the damage.

“This scene is getting crowded. Do you want to get out of here?”

“But what about all the cars you destroyed?”

“Not our problem.” Lucky enveloped them in the globe of light. “According to the Divine Intervention Concordant of 1845, a god or goddess is not responsible for any incidental damages resulting from the execution of his or her wrathful obligations. The squirrel bit you. I exacted my rightful divine retribution. It’s as simple as that. Now let’s bolt before things get complicated.”

They lifted into the air. Phil surveyed the shattered remains of the boat.

“Why did it attack me?” he wondered aloud.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, kid. As long as I’m around, everything will be turning up roses from now on.”

“But-”

“Do you like burritos, Phil?” asked Lucky.

Phil lost his train of thought. “What?”

“Burritos? Not a big fan, myself, to be honest, but sometimes, I still get a hankering. I think tonight is a burrito night. What do you think?”

Lucky smiled, and a warm, comforting feeling passed over Phil.

“Uh, yeah, burritos sound good.”

Lucky snapped his fingers. “Excellente.”

“Excellente,” agreed Phil in a bit of a fog.

6

By noon, Teri had ripped her skirt, gotten several runs in her stockings, and broken a heel, and there was a wrinkle in her collar that refused to go away. Her computer had eaten her presentation, and she’d lost the index card with her backup notes and the backup backup notes. And she was fairly certain she was coming down with a cold, too.

When lunch rolled around, she was all too eager to get out of the office. She usually ate at the deli tucked in the building’s ground floor. Teri found her regular table and sat quietly. She wasn’t moving unless she absolutely had to.

A tall brunette sashayed her way to the table and had a seat. “Geez, hon, looks like you’ve had better days.”

“You have no idea.”

“You stay here,” said Janet. “I’ll go and order for the both of us.”

“Thanks.”

When Janet returned with her tray, Teri’s iced tea tipped. The lid popped off, and tea spilled across the table. She pushed away from the table to avoid getting splashed. Her chair tilted, and only Janet’s quick hand on Teri’s sleeve stopped her from falling.

Janet offered to buy Teri another drink, but Teri turned her down. Instead, she took a bite of her soggy sandwich, chewing very slowly to avoid biting her tongue.

Janet’s sandwich had somehow escaped the flood. “I don’t know, hon. Maybe Phil’s right. Maybe you should get a god.”

“We have one.”

“Oh, really?” Janet raised an eyebrow. “Is he hot? Or is he even a he? Did you go the goddess route?”

“No, he’s a he.”

“Cool. So is he hot?”

“He’s a raccoon.”

“Like with the striped tail and the cute little paws?”

Teri nodded.

“Very retro.”

“Well, he does seem to like Hawaiian shirts,” replied Teri. “The kind that were in fashion… actually I don’t think they were ever in fashion.”

“Kitschy. And a bit surprising. I always pictured you as more of a traditional gal. Well, actually, I thought you’d talk yourself out of it at the last minute.”

“I wish I had.”

“Not going so well, is it? What’s his gig?”

“His what?”

“His schtick. His game,” said Janet. “His specialty?”

“Good fortune.” Teri’s sandwich dripped cold tea and mayo on her blouse. It was already ruined, so she didn’t think much of it.

“Looks like he’s broken.”

Teri shrugged. “I think it’s my fault. He wanted to move in, and I wasn’t crazy about the idea. I think he picked up on that.”

“He wanted to move in?”

“He says it’s part of his personal touch,” said Teri.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know.” Teri added more napkins to her improvised dam on the table. “I keep going back and forth on this.”

“You really need to make up your mind,” said Janet.

“I know.”

“And if you ask me, you already made up your mind when you signed up, right? Too late to back out now.”

“I guess you’re right. But I circulated a petition to keep a temple of Athena off my college campus. I marched for the Deity Restriction Act. Hell, my generation was going to change things. We were going to break the chains of thousands of years of divine codependence.”

“Hate to break it to you, but that movement died a long time ago.”

“I know.” Teri sighed. “Did you know that according to the latest polls active tribute has risen by 20 percent in the last ten years?”

“Can’t say that I did,” Janet replied.

Teri set down her soggy sandwich. Her appetite was gone. “You don’t think I’m compromising my ideals?”

“Oh, you’re selling out, all right. If it makes you feel any better, I thought about getting some of that divine favor once myself. I even answered an ad in a newspaper.”

“How’d that work out?” asked Teri with mild interest.

“Didn’t. Turns out that AFG stands for African fertility goddess. Said she could guarantee me fifty kids.” Janet shuddered. “I like rugrats, but not that much.”

Teri lost her appetite.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” said Janet. “You’re compromising your principles a little. That’s just the way it works. This is real life, after all. It’s great to be a college kid with ideals, but you have to live, right?”

“Yes.” Teri sounded unconvinced.

“It’s not like you chose a big god, is it? It’s not like you’re sacrificing bulls or giving up eating dairy or anything weird like that, right?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“He just wants to live with you. So let him live with you. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Now you sound like Phil.”