“I believe that if
life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade… And try to find somebody whose
life has given them vodka, and have a party.”
—Ron White
Shopping in
Hell was a unique experience. Occasionally, Bub took me to Lilith Enchanted, an
overpriced dress boutique. But he knew my dress size and what I liked—or
rather, what he liked and what I would tolerate—so most of the gowns I
owned arrived in fancy black boxes embossed with the boutique’s
serpent-entwined apple logo.
The other
stores and businesses were hit or miss. Mostly miss. I didn’t need any horn bling
or fancy oils for a spaded tail. No hellfire facials or talon buffing. And the
thought of drinking a smoothie that consisted of tears from seven deadly
sinners almost made me throw up in my mouth.
But Tasha
Henry couldn’t exactly meet me in Limbo City where she was still wanted for
crimes against Eternity. Her ransom deal with the Hell Committee had included
immunity and citizenship in the only afterlife they had the authority to grant
it. She also had enough coin in her coffers to keep her comfortable for a
century. Or at least a few decades, considering how quickly she appeared to be
blowing through it.
Of course,
I couldn’t bring myself to scold her for the devil-may-care spending while
admiring the new boots she’d gifted me as a peace offering.
“Those are
to say thank you for the hot tip,” Tasha explained as I zipped the leather
sheaths up my calves. “I’m not apologizing, because I’m not sorry.”
“Duly
noted.” I tried to smile but it felt more like a cringe.
Being this
big of a sucker for a sweet pair of kicks was embarrassing, but it was a vice I
shared with Tasha. She sported a matching pair of the stiletto boots in red.
Mine were an oily black that went nicely with the leather jacket I was still
wearing since I’d expected this meeting to go south before it even began. Not
so south that we’d come down to blows—we were in public, after all—but I
certainly hadn’t expected to linger long enough outside the Salome Bistro to
have brunch with the exiled reaper who’d double-crossed me.
A horned
waitress stopped at our table and began unloading a serving tray with an order
I assumed Tasha had placed before I’d arrived. “Two pomegranate mimosas with
deviled crab omelets, plus a forbidden fruit and flesh platter. Can I get you
ladies anything else?” the waitress chirped.
“I think we’re
good for now,” Tasha answered then turned back to me. “I ordered for us both
since you were running late.”
“I wasn’t
late. You were early.”
“Nuance.”
Tasha shrugged and took a sip of her mimosa. Her shoulders had gradually relaxed
after I’d accepted the boots instead of flipping over the wrought-iron table
and storming off down Gula Boulevard. And while there was certainly no honey in
her tongue, it wasn’t quite as razor-sharp as I was used to either. There was
another shoe somewhere—a figurative shoe, considering I was wearing the literal
ones—and it was sure to drop soon.
In the
meantime, I eyed the juicy spread laid out between us and tried not to drool on
myself. I’d been too uptight about our meeting to bother with breakfast, and
now it was nearly lunchtime. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have a bite or two
while I waited for the plot to thicken.
“So, what
have you been doing with yourself?” I asked as I forked a slice of bacon off
the fruit and flesh platter. “You know, besides lavishing in the spoils of your
betrayal.”
Tasha
snorted. “Betrayal implies we had some pact or sworn loyalty to one another,
which we did not.”
“There was
at least a presumed loyalty, after everything I’d done for you.” I
glared at her, unable to conceal my disgust. “It shouldn’t take a contract
signed in blood to keep friends from stabbing you in the back.”
“Friends?”
Tasha smirked. “Really? That’s what you think we are?”
“My
mistake. I guess you apologize to everyone you double-cross with designer
shoes.”
“I told
you, those are not an apology. And all you’ve done for me? Let’s not
pretend you did any of that out of the goodness of your dumb ol’ heart. You
were just placating your own guilt.”
“Like you’re
doing now?”
“Nooo.”
Tasha pointed her fork at me before stabbing it through a slice of grapefruit. “I’m
thanking you. You tracked me down and offered a helpful tip.”
“The tip
was to be spotted by the Guard so you could be recruited through official
channels.”
“That’s not
the tip I found helpful,” she answered in a smug sing-song.
“Clearly.”
I diverted my attention down at the food again, resisting the urge to grill her
for the real reason she’d called this meeting. Tasha was not the type to go out
of her way to thank anyone, let alone someone she didn’t even consider a
friend. The boots were more likely a bribe. For what was the real
question.
The answer
would come as soon as she suspected I’d let down my guard. Shoveling food into
my face seemed a sufficient tactic as any to accomplish that. The deviled crab
omelets had been a good call on Tasha’s part. I soothed the tangy burn of the
red chilies and lemon sauce with the pomegranate mimosa and hummed my
contentment.
“I’m curious,”
Tasha said casually, taking the bait—or rather, assuming I’d taken hers, “did
the council send a crochety old demon to serve the other souls tea, too?”
“Beats me,”
I lied. Maybe I wasn’t the sharpest scythe in the armory, but she wouldn’t be
getting any more helpful tips out of me any time soon. “I didn’t stick
around long enough to find out,” I explained at her skeptical scowl.
It was true
enough. Hecate’s old companion had been ready to chew the legs off a table at
the prospect of a lampad orgy waiting for her at the goddess’s grove back in
Tartarus. After a cup of Meng’s tea, with her full memories restored, I
imagined she was no better off than a cat in heat.
At least,
that’s how it had sounded the last time Hades and Persephone invited Bub and me
over for dinner. Hecate’s grove bordered their garden. Still, it was better
than having Tantalus, the cannibal king, living in their pool house.
The soul
for Jahannam hadn’t required tea. Zaynab had risen fully regressed from the
glowing lagoon on the northern Isle of Eternity—a little tidbit I hadn’t shared
with the council, though they were suspicious enough at the notion I’d found
her that way, and free-floating in the sea to boot. They hadn’t released any
details to the public, so I’d kept my mouth shut, too. I was in no hurry to
find myself on the cover of Limbo’s Laundry. Been there, done that.
“I guess
you found a place to rent in the city,” I said, prying with as much grace as Tasha
had. Her lips quirked into a dry grin.
“I found a
decent apartment in downtown Pandemonium, but I won’t be able to move in until
the first of May. For now, I’m staying at the Forks Inn.”
“The one on
the east side between the Styx and Cocytus?”
“Why? You
gonna drop by for a visit?”
“I met you
here, didn’t I?” I shrugged, only mildly disappointed I hadn’t weaseled the
finer details out of her.
I had
enough friends in Hell who could check into it if I really cared to know. But
that wasn’t my angle. I wanted Tasha to give up the goods the same way I had. I
wanted her to feel tricked. Betrayed.
It was
petty. I knew that. And I didn’t have it in me to actually use the information
to hurt her in any significant way. I just wanted her to know that I could. That
she wasn’t the only one with teeth and claws.
“Speaking
of meetings…” Tasha’s tone shifted, and I looked up. This was it. “I have an
interview at the Hellagio next week.”
“Wow.” I gaped
at her. “I mean, I figured your traitor-of-the-century prize money wouldn’t
last long, but I didn’t think you’d have to resort to cocktail waitress gigs
this soon.”
Tasha ignored
the ribbing and finished off her mimosa. “First of all, I’m applying for a dealer
position. And this is just a steppingstone. A sexy, high-heeled boot in the
door, if you will.”
“The door to
what, exactly? And why are you telling me?” I snapped, my patience finally
reaching its breaking point.
“I thought
you might put in a good word with the owner, since he’s pals with your demonic
beau.” She blinked innocently, her lips pressing together as if it were taking
all her strength not to add a resounding duh to the end of the request.
“Just
because Asmodeus owns the Hellagio doesn’t mean he has anything to do with
interviewing staff.” I shook my head. “Besides, he’s on the Hell Committee.
Their dealings with you have upset the council enough.”
“Which is precisely
why I think he’ll be interested to know about my upcoming interview.” Tasha
crossed her legs, playfully dangling one of her sinful new boots. “I think I’d
like to kick this exile experience up a notch, and I know a thing or two about
seducing demons.”
“Tack was a
hellfire addict living in the slums of Limbo City,” I said, biting back the
observation that he hadn’t required seduction so much as the promise of drugs. “Asmodeus
is a prince of Hell. One of these things is not like the other.”
Tasha
bristled at my mention of Tack, but she didn’t come to his defense as she had
in the past. “If a slouch like you can entice Beelzebub, I’ll take my chances.”
Her stony gaze bore into mine. “I just need you to make sure Asmodeus knows
about the interview.”
“And why
should I? It’s not like you and I are friends,” I reminded her.
“But we’re
something, aren’t we, precious?” She cocked her head. “You brought me supplies
on the mortal side, and I haven’t told a soul—or otherwise. I hate to imagine
what anyone of importance might make of such a revelation.”
“You wouldn’t,”
I hissed, my poker face cracking without warning. Tasha’s dimples twitched. The
tick highlighted her satisfaction. She was winning this twisted little game,
and she knew it. I sucked in a sharp breath and tried to regain my composure,
though the fire in my blood was having none of it. “Good luck proving it,” I
added in a calm if quivering voice.
“How much
evidence do you think the council would require?” Tasha whispered as she leaned
closer. “I sure hope you have that fancy skeleton coin of yours in a good
hiding place.”
I swallowed
the insult bubbling in my throat and instead knocked over my mimosa, sending
the sticky juice in a straight line across the tabletop where it dripped off
the edge and into Tasha’s lap. She swore and snatched a napkin, attempting to
save her miniskirt from further damage.
“Welp, it’s
been a blast catching up.” I snagged another piece of bacon and stood, shoving
it into my mouth before grabbing my old boots abandoned under the table. “I’ll
let Asmodeus know about your little interview.”
“I knew you’d
come to your senses.” Tasha gave me a smug grin, managing to savor her victory
even with a wet crotch.
“I doubt he’ll
show,” I said. “And even if he does, you’re not really his type.”
“You think
Jenni Fang is the only one who can pull off cool, militant indifference with
panache?” Tasha’s smile widened. “You haven’t met every version of me yet,
precious.”
Asmodeus
had been courting Jenni Fang for years, but she never had time for him or
anyone else. Tasha had been present for the early days of his pining, which I
supposed was a factor in her scheme. There were plenty of rich demons in Hell,
but only one involved with the reaper who had been willing to sacrifice Tasha
to the council.
Maybe Tasha
and I weren’t friends, but whatever we were, I was glad it was enough to keep
her attentions away from my demon. Not that she was Bub’s type either, but I
really didn’t want the headache and paperwork that was sure to rain from the
heavens if I had to put the vixen out of her misery for crossing that line.
I licked my
fingers clean and fished a coin out of my pocket. “I’m keeping the boots,” I
said in lieu of a proper farewell. “I’d say you owe me at least that
much.”
Tasha
snorted. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I rolled my
coin and left her gloating face and the remnants of brunch behind. Along with
my dignity.
Chapter 2
While Tasha’s
backstabbing had cost me a hefty payout from the Hell Committee, I did receive
a nice bonus from Khadija’s camp for delivering Zaynab. Not that I’d found a
spare second to spend any of it. This was my first day off in over two months.
As captain
of the newly reinstated Special Ops Unit, there was more pressure to perform.
Though, so far, we’d only been tasked with helping Arden and the Posy Unit
catch up on their massive backlog. Since I was also expected to continue
identifying original believers, more and more high-risk souls were finding
their way onto my list, too.
The final
moments that had once been a rare, morbid treat had become a never-ending game
of hurry up and wait. Heart attacks were nowhere near as entertaining as killer
clowns, but my apprentices were good sports about the new arrangement. I
supposed the fatter paychecks helped.
Kevin and
Eliza had saved enough coin for a romantic getaway in the faerie glades of
Summerland. We were all taking a much-needed breather this weekend. It was just
a shame that mine had kicked off with Tasha’s blackmail brunch.
After leaving Pandemonium, I dropped by the
harbor in Limbo City and changed back into my old boots in my private cabin on
the ship. The skeleton coin Tasha had mentioned was stashed in a hidden
compartment in the heel of my left boot. Not that I expected I’d have to use it
anytime soon, but one could never be too careful. Besides, I wasn’t up for
breaking in a new pair of shoes today. Not with the evening I had ahead of me.
Bub and I
were going to a party tonight. In Duat.
Okay, party
was maybe an understatement. Navigium Isidis was a major festival celebrating
Isis and her past influence over the Mediterranean Sea. The ancient holiday was
technically a Roman invention, introduced in Egypt during the Ptolemaic Period,
but it had survived into the sixth century on the mortal side. After which, it
became an exclusive event in Duat.
Not just
anyone could celebrate with the old gods and their most venerated believers.
So, naturally, I was suspicious when an invitation from Isis landed in my
mailbox.
Just
because the council hadn’t outed me to the public, didn’t mean word about my
lingering talent wasn’t circulating among the subcommittees. The
under-the-table bribes to give certain souls priority had been proof enough of
that. I assumed anything out of the ordinary was similarly linked to the
revelation.
My first
instinct was to politely refuse Isis’s invite. I didn’t have a great track
record with Egyptian deities, and I still walked the other way any time I
spotted Horus. But now that the Egyptian afterlife had merged with Summerland,
they seemed more laid back and less calculating. Though they still fiercely
clung to their ceremonies and festivals, even the Hellenized ones.
Like many other
deities of the ancient world, the major players of the Egyptian faith had been
adopted by the neopagans. Their modern holidays were rooted in Celtic
tradition, but they’d invited all the old gods to the party, no matter their
origin. Like the Catholics and their saints, there were different favorites
from coven to coven.
Isis was among
the popular goddesses de jour, though she was no stranger to foreign
temples and pantheons. Still, Eternity-side, she preferred Egyptian traditions
to the modern melting pot influence that many of the old gods had leaned into.
Zeus, on
the other hand, hosted lavish parties on Mt. Olympus for all the neopagan
holidays. He didn’t hold as much clout with the mortals these days, but many of
his children were altar staples. Especially Athena, who resented the
inconvenience of having to leave her boutique in Limbo City to appease the
souls of Summerland.
Of course,
now that Athena was on the Afterlife Council, she had even less time for her
business. She’d been forced to make Artemis a partner, merging the huntress
goddess’s line of leather capes, beaded quivers, and woodland apparel in with the
ballgowns and clubwear.
The
enchanted dummies that modeled the merchandise had to be upgraded with archery
safety protocols after one shot a customer in the ass with an arrow. I hadn’t
been back to the shop since the news hit the cover of Limbo Weekly, but I needed
a dress for tonight that didn’t look as if it had been forged in hellfire and
made for sinning. So, I was taking my chances.
As I
descended the ramp from my ship to the dock, a cold wind pressed down on me, tearing
my attention up at a dark silhouette in the sky. The wings were too large to
belong to a nephilim, but Gabriel was off on some pilgrimage with Peter in the
Jerusalem Mountains along the outskirts of Heaven. I didn’t expect him back for
at least another week.
“Great,” I
grumbled and shielded my eyes with one hand as Maalik dropped onto the pier,
black robe billowing at his ankles. His wings folded sharply against his back,
matching his sanctimonious scowl.
“You’re
being careless,” he accused without greeting or context.
“And you’re
being a pain in my ass,” I countered. “But what’s new?”
Maalik grunted
at the insult, but he fell in step beside me as I stalked off down the pier. “You
were seen with Tasha Henry in Pandemonium this morning,” he said under his
breath. His gaze swept the harbor, taking in the scattered storks and dockworkers.
“That was
fast.” I shot him a sideways glare. “Are you spying on me, Councilor?”
“Don’t be
ridiculous.” His cheeks flushed, though admitting something was absurd wasn’t
the same thing as denying it. “The Hell Committee is keeping a close eye on Ms.
Henry. They’ve agreed to report her to the Afterlife Council the second she
steps out of their territory.”
“She’s in
no hurry to do that,” I said, sparing him another scornful glance. “She only
wanted to apologize for the trouble she’s caused me. I didn’t see the harm in
meeting with her, and I wasn’t aware of any law on the books forbidding it.”
“You know
there isn’t.” He fluttered a few steps ahead to cut off my path, forcing me to
stop. “It will still look bad for you when the council finds out.”
“What can
they do?” I snapped, though my head was already filling with a million
miserable answers. “They need me—and not just to track down more original
believers. The soul market is swamped.”
“That’s
true enough, but you should still be careful. Drawing the council’s attention
has never worked out well for you. I thought you’d appreciate the warning.”
“I do.” I
sighed and gritted my teeth.
Maalik and
I would never be friends, but there was a bridge between us that I didn’t have
it in me to burn. I couldn’t imagine that he still carried a torch for me after
all these years, which could only mean his kindness was meant to chisel away at
his lingering guilt. New shoes were nice, but sound advice regarding the
council was nothing to sneeze at.
“Thank you,”
I said, awkwardly biting off the words.
“You’re
welcome.” Maalik dipped his chin in a stiff nod. Then his wings spread wide,
stirring up another brisk wind as he darted back into the sky.
I had to
assume he didn’t know about my invitation to Isis’s party. It wasn’t like Maalik
to pass up any opportunity to patronize, however well intentioned. Of course, I
already knew what he’d have to say about me attending a high-profile event at
which reapers were not typically welcome.
It wasn’t
that I wanted to go. Cordelia had convinced me.
The leader
of the Woke Souls on the Isles of Eternity was adamant that I was a deity. That
I deserved to walk among the gods, however new my spiritual transformation.
I couldn’t
even wrap my mind around the idea of laying claim to the islands off the coast
of Limbo City where half the landmarks were named after me. Which was probably
for the best, considering the council had shot down Cordelia’s initial motion
to name me as the territory’s official deity. She wanted to try again—after building
a stronger platform.
Unfortunately,
this platform required a little participation on my part.
I knew
squat about politics, and even less about being a goddess. I’d enjoyed a decade
of relative peace by not rocking the boat, and I wasn’t about to upset things
for a fancy title I didn’t want or need. The Woke Souls were the ones who
wanted legitimacy. And as their involuntary liberator, they had certain… expectations
of me.
I wouldn’t
start a war to force Eternity to recognize me as the islands’ patron goddess.
But refusing comradery from other deities who could help the cause would be
seen as a slap in the face to the souls who revered me. Cordelia had said as
much in her tearful plea that I accept the invitation and go as a
representative of the Isles of Eternity. My island nation.
My
island nation.
There was
no way I could say that to Isis or any of the other gods without feeling like a
total hack. But I’d let Cordelia guilt me into filling out the RSVP card, and
now there was no backing out. The best I could hope for was to go unnoticed by
anyone important and get the hell out of there before an opportunity to shove
my foot in my mouth presented itself.
The first
step of that plan involved a proper dress. I needed something that would blend
in. Though it had to be flashy enough that I’d look like goddess material if
someone snapped a picture and it ended up in the news. Cordelia’s occasional
visits to Limbo City for council meetings took her past plenty of newsstands.
With
visions of fashion faux paus and rogue mannequin arrows flitting through my
mind, I headed for the dock entrance. The lunch rush hadn’t begun just yet, so
the travel booth on Market Street was empty. I plunked a coin in and selected
the destination closest to Athena’s Boutique.
If I were
very lucky, Arachne would be on duty, and the goddesses would be out.
Navigating deities was tiresome, and I was sure to have my fill of it tonight.
Chapter 3
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
—Emily Brontë
White was not
my color. I’d brushed off Arachne’s rude assessment at the store, chalking it
up to her black-on-black goth tendencies, but she wasn’t lying. My wardrobe
consisted primarily of dark leathers and denims, punctuated by pops of bold hues.
Honestly, I was too pale to pull off a lighter palette. But since all the
ladies in Duat would be wearing white, it was my best shot at going unnoticed.
“Hell have
mercy.”
Okay. Maybe
not entirely unnoticed.
Bub made an
appreciative noise low in his throat as he appeared behind me in the reflection
of the full-length mirror in our bedroom. His hands settled on either side of
my waist over the thick gold belt I’d picked up from a vendor at the harbor
market. The buckle was decorated with a fat ruby and emerald scarab. It was a
cheesy costume piece, but it worked for the theme of the night.
Bub’s
fingers ventured south, sliding over my hips until they reached the high thigh
slits in my gown. A ripple of anticipation warmed my skin.
“We can’t
be late,” I insisted, reading his mind as his eyes drank me in. “I don’t want
to draw attention.”
“Darling,
you’d have to arrive in a sealed box. It’s the curse of being stunning, I’m
afraid.” He tilted his chin, admiring his freshly shaven face.
“Are we
still talking about me?” I smirked and twisted my head to drop a kiss on his
smooth throat. The beard had been fun, but this look was considerably more
kissable.
Bub ignored
my teasing and took a step back, letting his hands drop away so he could
straighten the cuffs of his dusty blue suit jacket. “We look fit to crash a
wedding, don’t we?”
“They could
stick us on top of the cake.” My stomach grumbled at the thought of icing. I’d
been too nervous to eat dinner, but there was sure to be celebratory sweets at
the party. Maybe I’d finally relax once we got there and be able to enjoy a
snack. If nothing else, there were plenty of goodies left in the latest basket
Hecate had dropped off.
I was still
getting used to calling the goddess of ghosts and crossroads my friend. After
we’d collected an original believer for Tartarus, I had assumed she’d slink
back to her secluded corner of the underworld and forget I existed. In a
million years, I never would have anticipated her showing up on my front porch
bearing gifts. After an awkward hour of small talk and stuffing our faces with
wine and cheese, I hadn’t expected her to return the following week for more,
let alone every week since.
The small
talk was becoming less uncomfortable. We were a work in progress, though I often
wondered if her visits had more to do with taking a break from her amorous new
guest than nurturing friendship.
Thinking of
friendly goddesses and ulterior motives, I wondered what Isis had in store for
me. It was too much to hope this was simply an effort to diversify Duat’s
ceremonies. They were still adapting as a new province of Summerland, but that
integration concerned souls, not reapers.
What did
she stand to gain by inviting me? I hated not knowing, and in my experience,
surprises from the gods were rarely the nice kind.
I readjusted
the golden bangles on my wrists and checked the laces on my sandals. The small
clutch that matched my belt had enough room for a tube of lipstick, a spare
coin, and a can of angelica mace. But something was missing. I was sure of it.
Or maybe
that was just my hunger and anxiety conspiring with my better judgement.
“Are you
ready, my lover goddess?” Bub turned toward the bedroom door, then did a double
take at my wide-eyed expression in the mirror.
“You
shouldn’t call me that. Especially not in public.”
“Darling,
all of Eternity is aware we’re lovers.”
I grabbed
my hips with both hands. “You know that’s not the word I’m protesting.”
Bub crossed
the room to stand behind me again. “You’ve always been a goddess to me.”
“But it’s
becoming too literal. The council might take it as a challenge to their
authority. I’m not ready for that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”
“You saved
Eternity from absolute ruin—and on more than one occasion,” Bub reminded me.
His hands cupped my shoulders, gently squeezing. “Just because the pompous
twats on the council don’t want to admit it, doesn’t make it any less true. You
are a goddess, with or without
any formal declaration from on high.”
“I don’t need
their recognition.” My cheeks flushed as the idea. As if I were a child waiting
for a pat on the head. “This isn’t about me—”
“I know, I
know.” Bub rolled his eyes. “Your pet souls want validity.”
“Oh god,
don’t call them that.” I cringed and shot him a dirty look.
“Well, what
would you prefer I call them? They are yours to name as you choose, after all.
Lanians? Lananites? Lanatics?”
“Please,
stop.” I groaned and covered my face with both hands. “They already have a
name. Woke Souls. Let’s leave well enough alone, shall we?”
Bub
snorted. “We’re going to have to work on that modesty of yours. Humble is not a
trait meant for goddesses.”
“Says who?
Maybe that will be my claim to fame. Lana Harvey, goddess of confusion and
humility, who occasionally parties with the faithless.”
“Formerly
faithless,” he corrected. “They certainly believe in something—or rather, someone—now,
don’t they?”
“But why?”
I pouted. “Even if the council does recognize me as their official deity, I no
longer control the throne’s power. There’s no better or worse place I can send
them for good or bad deeds. The isles are theirs to do with as they please.
They don’t need me. There’s nothing more I can do for them.”
“Maybe it’s
not about doing more.”
“Then what?”
“Have you
considered this may be a matter of maintenance?” Bub arched a brow. “You did
save them from a miserable fate. They may fear your disinterest puts them at risk
for being cast back into the sea if the council turns on them. A patron goddess
would serve as another veil of protection.”
“Like I
stand a chance against the council.” I scoffed.
“You’ve
thwarted their plans before,” Bub said. “You raised islands and woke sleeping
souls. Are you really prepared to let some jealous, crusty old gods erase those
accomplishments?”
It was a
fair question, but I didn’t have an answer.
Rolling
over and playing dead was the smarter, easier option. Besides, it was hard to
miss something if you never really considered it yours in the first place.
Though, somewhere along the way, I supposed I had begun to consider the
isles and the Woke Souls mine. And they certainly considered me theirs.
They’d even
built me a home on the northern island, in the clearing surrounded by the
Harvian Wood. I stayed there whenever I visited. Bub and I hadn’t talked about
it, but I was sure one of his winged spies had overheard Cordelia’s invitation
to live with them permanently. I’d told her that I would think about it. At the
time, I had been high on the bliss of their company and a rejuvenating bath in
the magical lagoon that was also my namesake.
Bub’s warm
breath caressed my neck. “Don’t misunderstand, dearest. Of course I selfishly
want you all to myself. But I’m a seasoned demon, and I know how these things
unfold. I will always be here to stand by your side, as long as you allow it—”
I twisted
around and touched a finger to his lips, ending the speech before it reduced me
to tears. “I will always allow it.” There
was no doubt about that. I pulled my hand away and kissed him. Just a chaste
brush of lips. Once, twice. If I covered him in lipstick, we’d be late for
sure. “You know,” I whispered against his mouth, “standing by my side is nice
and all, but I’ll allow a lot more than that when we get home tonight.”
“Is that
so?” Bub’s lips curled into a small grin.
“Absolutely.”
I stole one last kiss then turned back to the mirror to resume my fretting over
what I’d forgotten. “And the sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave,” I
said, forcing a polite smile at myself. I didn’t buy the sincerity of it any
more than I was sure Isis would.
But a
promise was a promise. Cordelia would be crushed if I bailed now. She’d
constructed a fantasy world in her mind, an Eternity where the veteran
goddesses accepted me as one of their own and told me the secret ingredient for
securing a proper myth and afterlife.
If such a
thing existed, I was sure none of the goddesses had any intention of sharing
the knowledge with me. But Cordelia was right about one thing. Isis definitely
wouldn’t teach me the secret deity handshake if I insulted her by refusing to
go to her fancy-pants party.
I was
prepared to return without said handshake or secret sauce recipe. I was just
hoping my attendance would at least buy enough good will with Cordelia and the
Woke Souls that they’d allow me to bring Bub the next time I visited. It was a
long shot, but they had to know there would be no permanent move for me without
my demon consort. And though Bub was at the top of that wish list, my
hellhounds, running water, and a proper dock pier were close behind.
But this
was all theoretical. For now.
At the
moment, my biggest concern was Isis’s motive for inviting me to her party.
Goddesses always had their reasons. This was going to cost me something. I just
didn’t know what yet.
“If you’re
not up for this, you don’t have to go tonight,” Bub said, squeezing my
shoulders again.
I sighed and
grabbed my clutch off the dresser. “Yeah, unfortunately, I do.”
