99 Gods: War

“In all these stories about magicians, their power is derived from the devil. It was long believed that the ancient university of Salamanca in Spain, founded A. D. 1240, was the chief school of magic, and had regular professors and classes in it. The devil was supposed to be the special patron of this department, and he had a curious fee for his trouble, which he collected every commencement day. The last exercise of the graduating class on that day was, to run across a certain cavern under the University. The devil was always on hand at this time, and had the privilege of grabbing at the last man of the crowd. If he caught him, as he commonly did, the soul of the unhappy student became the property of his captor. Hence arose the phrase “Devil take the hindmost”.” – P.T. Barnum, Humbugs of the World

  “Next thing you know they’re trying to steal your panties.”

  16. (John)

  John walked into Reed’s office in the CDHS, closed the door behind him and sat down. Reed stood up and smiled. “Hey, John,” he said, and stuck out his hand. “How’re you doing?”

  “Troubled,” John said. “Troubled enough to take you up on your earlier offer, my man. I need you full time.”

  “Shit,” Reed said, sitting back down and chewing on his lip. Reed Matús had ratty looking hair but otherwise appeared clean cut, a serious looking man in his late 20s, the perfect Chicago Department of Human Services operative. “When I offered my help before with the 99 Gods, you said you couldn’t protect me. Has something changed?”

  “The situation’s gotten worse, and I’m getting desperate,” John said, and went on to describe his confrontation with Dubuque, and the results of his five days of prayer that followed.

  Reed stood and gave him a hug. John let him and willed himself not to squirm, not at all comfortable with the openness of lovers of men in this modern era. Nor could he keep straight the polite term for men lovers. The language changed so quickly these days. “Jesus,” Reed said. “He turned Cosmo? I wouldn’t have thought anything short of a nuke could stop Cosmo.”

  John nodded. “If you’re in, I’ve got a trick I want to use,” John said. “It involves some people I haven’t ever told you about. They aren’t going to like my suggestion, but I think I can sell them on my idea.”

  “Let’s go, then,” Reed said. “I’ve been on pins and needles for weeks, waiting for one of the Gods to condemn us faggots to death or something equally appalling.” John didn’t think ‘faggot’ was one of the polite words, despite the fact Reed used it a lot. He shrugged and led Reed out of his office.

  Reed hadn’t bought into the God’s utopia from day one, a perfect recruit.

  Even better, he was a Telepath. A Telepath John had personally trained.

  “Like my ride?” John said. “I had it pimped. Look at the way the color changes on this thing depending on where you stand.” Reed winced and looked at John’s latest, a several year old Toyota Matrix redone with dark blue paint that had gold highlights when viewed from the rear. Reed nudged the front right wheel’s 22 inch spinning rims with his foot and made a face. John liked the tight interior and the high seat. Minivans and the larger SUVs fit his girth better, but vehicular comfort made him feel decadent and wasteful. Couldn’t have that.

  “You don’t understand us, do you?” Reed said, and climbed in. He looked at the fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. “These, for instance, don’t belong in a 21st century pimped ride.”

  “Well, I like them, and they were in my last one,” John said. He started the Matrix and drove it out of the parking garage and on to the surface streets, straight pipe muffler roaring. No sissy EVs for him! His nearest lair sat in South Bend, a house at the edge of the Notre Dame campus. He located all his lairs near major Catholic institutions, simply for the small comfort it gave him against the ravages of the modern world. “You probably want to know what’s going on, don’t you?” Given the traffic, they had at least an hour’s drive ahead of them.

  “What I’d like to know is what changed your mind about involving me,” Reed said. His voice nearly cracked as he shouted above the noise of the car. “I’m not exactly Vanessa Binglehauser, you know. She doesn’t even think I count as a Telepath.”

  John laughed, trying to put the term Telepath firmly in his mind, instead of the old term he was more familiar with, Mystic, which today referred to a different brand of abnormal human, instead of all of them. Moderns! “Nessa’s a nasty piece of work, isn’t she?” John said. Reed nodded. “I hadn’t realized you’d met.”

  “I had the dubious pleasure of meeting her in Los Angeles, before she vanished,” Reed said. Reed had the ability to pick up the emotions of those nearby, even through walls. “She tried to recruit me for some private investigator firm, and when I refused she called me every name in the book, marched me around like a puppet, then let go of my mind and apologized profusely.”

  “That’s her,” John said. “Steel yourself, my boy, I plan on contacting her not too long from now. She and Ken Bolnick are the only two full-powered Telepaths troubled enough by the 99 Gods to be working against them.”

  “You found Vanessa? Where’d she go?”

  “Alaska,” John said.

  “So, where are we going?”

  “My place, for supplies, then down to a place near the wonderful town of Green Hill, west of Lafayette.”

  John took an on-ramp on to the appropriate freeway, thanking God there hadn’t been any unavoidable innovations in driving in the past fifty years (though he was starting to get worried about the advertisements he had been seeing about self-driving vehicles). It had taken him long enough to learn how to drive the crazy things. “Have you given any thought to the little problem I dropped in your lap?” When he had turned down Reed’s initial offer of help, he had given Reed a few thought problems to chew on. Several generations back Reed would have likely been a scholar, but the brilliant and well educated had more employment opportunities these days than in times past. Not all of the brilliant became scholars. He didn’t think highly of Reed’s degree, in Hungarian literature, given that Reed had grown up speaking Hungarian as a young child. His parents had immigrated to the United States just after he turned five. Reed hadn’t appreciated the life of modern scholars, it appeared.

  “Your question about the distribution of the Territorial Gods? Yah, it’s real screwy. There’s a lot of blog speculation on the subject, but none of them…”

  “Blog?”

  “Where’ve you been the past twenty years?” Reed said. “A form of personal internet publishing.”

  “Gotcha,” John said. He had mostly accepted the internet’s existence, yet more modern magic he hadn’t taken the time to understand in detail. He tried not to let his lack of understanding keep him up late at night.

  “Anyway, no, nobody’s figured out…”

  Reed chattered on about the strange distribution of the Territorial Gods and, later, the various theories about their names. According to the Gods, the Ideological Gods numbered 33 and the Practical Gods 22. He knew of only seventeen of the Ideologicals and Practicals by name. “Remind me when we get to my home to get you to give me the names of the Ideologicals and Practicals you’ve figured out.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Reed said. He punched fake buttons on the car’s computer screen that controlled the high tech radio equipment John couldn’t make work for the life of him, something about satellites. Soon, one of the era’s appalling versions of music blasted his ears, some urban man rhyming in incomprehensible slang around a catchy beat.

  John drove on.

  Reed toured John’s South Bend home while John raided the hidden floor safe for the gold coins and silver ingots he knew the Indigo crazies preferred.

  “This place has ambience, that’s for sure,” Reed said, from another room. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen an actual claw-foot bathtub before. What a relic.”

  John’s South Bend home had been built before electrification and still smelled of c
andle smoke and coal gas, despite the fact that he had broken down and had it wired during the second World War. Reed had already frowned at John’s choices in curtains and wallpaper. “It’s a functional bathtub, very soothing,” John said, going to another safe and its contents, copies of his hand-written journals. There! These two detailed the trick he planned to use. Permission to read his journals would be worth more to the Indigo researchers than the hard currency.

  “What’s with the plumbing? Wait, don’t tell me, the house didn’t have indoor plumbing when it was built, did it?” Reed said.

  “I had the plumbing added in the teens.” John wandered over to the bathroom, following Reed’s voice.

  “Which teens?” Reed said. He took in the sights, including the pull-chain water closet in a far corner of the bathroom. He closely inspected the plumbing around the tub.

  “That’s called an English Telephone Faucet,” John said. “This doohickey on top serves as the shower head.” Reed picked up the shower head and connecting hose, which did look vaguely telephone like, and held it above his head.

  “Whole ‘nother world,” Reed said, softly.

  “Almost there,” John said. “Just past this big yellow-painted farmhouse on the left, the road goes up a steep grade for a quarter mile, and we turn right. We need to look for a white arrow on an orange background.”

  “You know, this four wheeled motorcycle of yours does have GPS,” Reed said.

  “Never learned how to use it.” He wasn’t even sure if ‘GPS’ was the automatic map or the indecipherable side and rear camera system.

  John made the right turn. A half mile down the pothole-infested road, with forest on the right and corn fields on the left, he saw the temporary sign made from two poles, with the white arrow on orange fabric stretched between. An artfully pruned set of seemingly untamed bushes hid a narrow driveway, into what appeared to be a closed in forest. As they passed, the sign flipped itself over.

  “That’s strange,” Reed said.

  “These people believe in security.” John turned right and into the narrow driveway, a barely visible grassy path, and made an immediate left turn, down a short but steep embankment, into the trees, and then another right, following the now better maintained crushed limestone driveway as it wound through the forest, invisible from the road.

  Ahead of them, an automatic gate rolled open, a heavy thing more reminiscent of government installations than a farm. However, the people who lived here didn’t do much farming, save what was involved with testing their farm robots.

  The living quarters hid under the forest canopy, a collection of nine small houses and one large warehouse-sized building that doubled as a workshop and central meeting area. Two armed guards appeared from disguised concrete-reinforced bunkers as the automatic gate rolled shut behind them.

  “Mr. Lorenzi and friend,” John said, after rolling down his window. The visored guard paused and waved them through.

  “Is that a Calder?” Reed asked, looking at a crazy piece of modern art to the left of the parking lot.

  “No, it’s a gun blind,” John said.

  “Damn,” Reed said. “What sort of flaming nutbars are we getting involved with, anyway? You do know that those guards were toting wearable computers, and they checked you on some sort of visual database, don’t you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” John said. “They are paranoid here, though, and have every right to be.”

  “Glad to see you again, Joe,” John said, reaching up to shake the man’s hand.

  “Jurgen and Epharis are waiting for you inside,” Joe said, his voice one of the deepest basses John had encountered in years. Joe was an older man, about sixty. “They aren’t happy with your request.”

  Which is why they sent Joe out here as a test. They didn’t trust Telepaths.

  “As I’ve explained, Reed here has had my training. You don’t need to worry about him accidentally walking off with any of you.”

  “Hooking us?” Joe said, as he led them into the trees, toward one of the small houses. “We’re more worried about who might be following you. Your fracas isn’t anything we want to get involved with.”

  John nodded, and let Joe lead them on.

  “How much have you told your pet Telepath?” Jurgen said, his words angry and forceful. He topped John’s bald head by a good foot and a half, with bristly short black hair and a full beard. His elegant wife, Epharis, paced the eclectically decorated living room, nervous, eyes never leaving Reed.

  “Nothing,” John said.

  The thrum of distant engines gently shook John’s feet; the Loweszki compound was a marvel of misdirection, with a huge two-level basement complex dug into the ground under the barnlike workroom. Keeping the basements dry was a continual chore.

  “You ever heard of the Indigo research group, kid?” Jurgen said, to Reed.

  “So that’s what this place is,” Reed said. “I’ve never met any of you before, but I know what Seers, Sybils, Mystics, Skeptics and Witches are.”

  “We don’t use the term ‘witch’ anymore,” Epharis said, gently. She was a tall young round-faced woman with shiny black hair, though still short compared to her towering husband. “We prefer the term ‘Communicant’, and what we practice is The Craft.”

  “The names are always changing,” John said. Jurgen gently cleared his throat.

  “This is one of several Indigo HQs,” Jurgen said. “We aren’t normal humans, and we can defend ourselves arcanely, if we need to.”

  Reed smiled at Jurgen’s gruff attack. “Believe what you will,” Reed said, apparently not in a backing down mood. “I know you’ve been expanding for a generation, incorporating other lost souls of your type from their failed organizations into yours, and I know that what you’re doing is unique, blending together different training regimes and blending the innate with the trained.”

  “So, Telepaths do use a different terminology,” Epharis said. “We’ve never met any willing to talk civil.” She paused. “Let me guess. I’m innate, and most of the rest of us count to you as trained, and probably count to you as normal humans.”

  Reed nodded.

  “So, what are you trying to sell us on, John?” Epharis said. She paced around behind him, and he carefully kept his eyes on Jurgen. “You never come calling without trouble nipping at your heels.”

  “You can’t avoid the 99 Gods by hiding,” John said. “Too many of them don’t like mortals with abnormal powers, and I’m afraid the number is going to keep growing. There’s already some hunting going on of us unnaturals, and some have already been captured and killed. And the hunters won’t care whether you’re unnatural because you were born that way or because you trained up normal human capabilities, either. I’m here to start doing something about this; in specific, I’m interested in using a trick to learn about my potential allies.”

  Epharis stopped, and she and Jurgen stared at each other. Jurgen waved his hands in the air, and took several steps back, to the side of a high-backed chair, where he leaned, frowning behind his black beard.

  “Your comments aren’t news to me,” Epharis said. “You were attacked, personally, then? I know you, John, and you wouldn’t be saying any such thing if this wasn’t personal.” He and Epharis went way back, to when she was an abnormally powerful witch-child, before the forming of the Indigo. She understood why he had to check up on her regularly; although what she did as a witch wasn’t magic, enough of her kind did go bad if they began to mess with the wrong things. She was one of the few who thought him too passive, too willing to let potential trouble sort itself out on its own.

  “Dubuque killed me, but he didn’t finish the job,” John said.

  “He should have tried harder, then.” John turned his head to the unexpected flat nasal voice, and spotted a beefy young man with a chiseled movie-star face, dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, walking in on their private meeting. He looked
distracted, eyes focused on nobody in the room.

  “Grover, what in God’s name are you doing here?” John asked. Grover March, one of the original Indigo members, normally hung out with the Anime Café crew in Athens, Georgia. At least when he was sane enough for his keepers to let him out of his rubber room. Here was the last place John expected to see Grover, as Grover didn’t get along with Jurgen.

  John sympathized; he also found the people who lived in Loweszki’s compound far easier to deal with than the Anime Café group.

  “We’re targets,” Grover said. “Why should we cooperate and be predictable?” Grover didn’t like John, his dislike powered by his paranoid fears.

  “You?” Reed said, loud, backing away from Grover as he emerged from the shadows. “Get that thing away from me!”

  “See, Grover? They’re all crazy about you being here,” Jurgen said, chuckling.

  “Ga ga gaah,” Reed said, sputtering and falling ignominiously backwards. “I’m serious! He goes, or I go.”

  Interesting. John walked forward and put himself between Reed and Grover. As he suspected, March didn’t remember Reed. “So, when did you two meet?”

  “Awwwmaahgaawd, you brought a Telepath here,” Grover said, eyes now wild. As he spoke, to John half the room seemed to vanish. Grover’s half. “Are you crazy?”

  “Desperate, Grover,” John said. “You probably don’t want to be here for what we’re going to try, son.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Grover said, turning and sticking a thick finger on Jurgen’s chest. “I got the hell out of Georgia to avoid this idiocy, and, dammit, this is worse than Lara and Jan getting palzy walzy with Atlanta. Telepaths!”

  “There’s only one of him, and John’s assured us he’s well trained and safe,” Jurgen said. “I don’t get any feeling of danger from him, either.”

  Jurgen was what the Indigo termed an inseer, someone able to consciously access his subconscious mind, to pick up subconscious cues and the normally filtered-out arcane information the Indigo claimed all humans possessed. His wasn’t a born talent, but one that had taken about a decade to train. Jurgen’s inseeing ability was dwarfed by his real talent – he was a rich and successful inventor.

  “Fine,” Grover said, his voice rising in tone and more nasal. Still not meeting anyone’s gaze, Grover turned and stalked out of the living room, slamming the door to some nether room in the house behind him. Grover’s null-zone vanished with him.

  “Thanks,” Reed said.

  “Someday, I’ve got to hear the story about how you two met,” John said. Reed shook his head, and Epharis came over to study the Telepath close up, kneeling beside him.

  “Grover got startled and skepticked him but good,” Epharis said, to John, who winced. Grover was able to disrupt both magic and telepathy when his disbelief spiked. She turned to Reed. “Mr. Matús, it’s okay, he’s gone. You can relax, now.” And there went the herb satchel from Epharis’s hand to between Reed’s feet, typical witch…um…Communicant sleight of hand trick.

  Reed relaxed.

  Epharis nodded. “We can work together,” she said.

  “But I haven’t told you yet what I wanted,” John said.

  “We haven’t agreed upon a price,” Jurgen said, simultaneously.

  “I’m bored,” Epharis said, which John translated as ‘enough of this damned tippy toeing around’. “I accept the gold and silver bullion payment in Mr. Lorenzi’s satchel, as will you once you count it. Let’s just get on with this.” Meaning that as a Sybil, in John’s terms, she had seen the future. Sort of.

  Jurgen sighed and shook his head. He, at least, was used to such craziness.

  “A bathtub?” Reed said. Not even a proper bathtub with claw feet, but a modern thing surrounded by a couple of walls and a toilet.

  Epharis shrugged. “I know, it’s not a mystically impressive scry bowl, but for what Mr. Lorenzi wants I need size, not ambience.”

  He turned to John. “So, what are we scrying for? Can I watch?”

  “Not only can you watch, but you’ll be able to pick up their emotions with your empathic sense.”

  “Freaky.” He took the opportunity to climb on the toilet to give himself a viewing point.

  “We’re scrying for allies with power and declared enemies with power,” John said. He had explained the procedure to Epharis. This was new for her, this level of combining abilities between Telepaths, Sybils and Seers. To complete the sacred triangle, John had asked for and received permission to involve the Indigo’s best local Seer, a nervous looking man in his thirties named Gwydion Peters. As expected, he described himself in Indigo terms, calling his trained trick remote viewing, and didn’t think of himself as a Seer. Gwydion spoke with an Aussie accent and was clearly a newcomer. “Allies first. You get me?”

  “Aren’t you afraid of being attacked?” Reed said. He paled at John’s comment about enemies.

  “If we’re attacked, we run,” John said.

  “Hush for a moment, please,” Epharis said.

  Epharis shut off the water, said a short prayer to the Goddess, and sprinkled some of her herbs on the bathtub water. The air filled with scents that triggered John’s ancient memories, of many a scry bowl in the past.

  The surface of the water darkened.

  “Breathe on the water, Mr. Lorenzi,” Epharis said, whispering.

  John did as she asked. Faces appeared in the water.

  “We can speak, can’t we?” Reed asked, his voice a very quiet whisper.

  “Yes, of course,” John said.

  “Is this real?”

  “It’s real to us, but you couldn’t take a picture of it,” Epharis said. “Each of us will see something different, because this…oh. With a Telepath involved, we’ll each be seeing the same thing, won’t we?”

  “The benefit of having a Telepath around,” John said, studying the bathtub water. “Hmm. That’s Nessa and Ken.”

  They lay together, asleep on a bed, spooning each other. “Sleeping in the daytime and married,” Reed said.

  Behind them, Jurgen hissed. With his height, he managed a good view even from the back of the small crowd around the bathtub. He wasn’t used to Telepaths and how they could move beyond the utterly subtle to the somewhat overt.

  “Married?” John said.

  “Yes.”

  “Now that’s interesting,” John said. Last he had checked Ken had been married to someone else. “Veddy veddy interesting.”

  Both Mr. Peters and Reed gave him pointed looks. He must have let slip something archaic. “They’re exhausted, half insane and half terrified,” Reed said, worry in his voice. Anything that could terrify Nessa and Ken would be able to scare Reed almost to death. John sympathized with a grunt.

  “They ran into a God,” Mr. Peters said, his voice high pitched from incipient panic. He, too, must have a bad history with Telepaths. “It’s all through their minds and experiences.” Hmm. Peters was indeed a top-end Seer. Seers gained insights, and at times stray thoughts, across great distances, as opposed to the Sybils, who gained them across time. There were differences and details between the talents of each individual Seer and Sybil, but the simple explanation kept things easy for John to remember.

  “I’m not sure which one, but considering they’re down in the Keys, it was mostly likely Miami,” John said. “I’d pity Miami, but he’s one of the bad ones I’m most worried about.”

  “Ken and, uh, Nessa are that strong?” Reed said.

  “Yes.”

  “Those two scare the crap out of me, especially if they’re working together, not separately,” Epharis said. Everyone in the bathroom grunted agreement.

  “Understandable, as they wouldn’t sign on for my training, and never learned how to internalize their pneuma. In your terminology, they could hook you by accident in an instant with their Telepathic auras,” John said. “All of you.”

  “Vanessa was traine
d in the manner you describe,” Epharis said, almost as if she was speaking from experience. John shuddered at the thought. “I have no idea if she kept those skills after she became Nessa.”

  “Later,” John said. Ignoring the Indigo’s crazy pronouncements was a learned and necessary talent. He moved his gaze to a different part of the scry surface. “Atlanta, Portland, and two God-enhanced mortals. The two Gods are not physically together, but they each have the other’s hopped up mortal.” There was another God off to the side.

  “How are you picking up on that, Mr. Lorenzi?” Epharis asked.

  John shrugged.

  “So your so-called oath-blocked magic does react to my Craft,” Epharis said. “Someday Jurgen and I might want to run some experiments on you, about this. It isn’t what I would have predicted, based on our current hypothesis network.”

  John didn’t answer. Pigs would need to fly before he would let these crazies experiment on him. Their whole ‘codify the supernatural’ project bothered him a lot.

  “Is it safe for me to pick up their emotions?” Reed asked.

  “I’d stay away from the Gods if I were you,” John said. “The hopped up mortals should be fine.”

  “Okay,” Reed said. “The guy’s wary, at a military level. The woman is… Hell!”

  The woman turned from what she was doing, paperwork at a desk, looked at Reed and John, smiled, and waved her hand. Her picture and Atlanta’s picture vanished.

  “We’ve been rumbled,” John said.

  “Do we need to run?” Jurgen and Gwydion said, together.

  “No,” Epharis said. “Hush, you two.”

  “She picked us up and scanned us back,” Reed said. “She’s trouble. She’s in Vanessa’s league.”

  “Oh ho. I’ve met her before,” John said. “You’re right that she’s trouble. She’s got a genius level intellect, I think.”

  Reed grunted. “Before she blocked us, I got the feeling of exhaustion and, well, arcane practice.”

  “Atlanta’s training her in divine tricks.”

  “So, oh stupendous and glorious Hammer of Witches, what does it all mean?” Reed said. “What’s with the two Territorial Gods being our allies against the other Gods? Have you already made a deal with them?”

  “No. Along with the woman with Atlanta, who’s named Dana, I’ve also dealt with Portland. Separately,” John said. “Portland viewed me with suspicion, as she managed to suss out the fact I’ve got wieldable magic.” He paused and studied the scry bowl.

  “I’m not sure I like the implications of you having Gods on your side,” Epharis said. “That implies sides or factions among the Gods. A divine civil war would be apocalyptic and Armageddon-ish, and could explain some of the worst of my premonitions.”

  “Well, I don’t like the idea that Atlanta’s my ally. I’d thought her one of my enemies. She’s been killing thugs in job lots.”

  “Huh,” Epharis said. “Okay, here’s my price to you for involving me in this: don’t mess with Atlanta as an enemy unless we give the word. Our Georgia people are attempting to befriend her, and making progress.”

  “Delectable,” John said, unconvinced. “I’ll agree.”

  “How about the last one, there?” Reed said. “She looks familiar. Who is she?”

  “That’s Celebrity, one of the Practical Gods,” Jurgen said, from the back of the bathroom.

  “It’s her divine power making you think she’s familiar,” Epharis said. “She’s not one of the public ones.”

  “Now wait just a second,” Reed said. “What’s up with a God with a name like that not being out in public?”

  “She must be an airhead,” John said. “Doesn’t she look like an airhead to you?” Celebrity had blonde frizzy hair, big wide-open eyes, overly reddened lips and a bright smile on her face. She yammered with a group of women, mortals who would occasionally pop into the scry tub ‘picture’ for a moment before fading.

  “John, John, John,” Reed said, and shook his head. “Your old prejudices are showing.”

  “Perhaps,” John said, growling. All his prejudices were old. How could they be otherwise? “But why else would she be an ally?”

  Epharis snorted. “Old man, you’re just upset because your only divine allies are woman Gods.”

  “Yes,” John said. “Profoundly disturbed. Worried that we could scry out so few allies.” His distant backers, The Ecumenist Order, hadn’t shown up and he had expected his religious sponsors to be on his side. Nor had any of the other known Telepaths shown. Surely Joan D’Ark would be opposing the Gods; no matter what, they had to be impinging on what she thought of as her turf. Worse, One Mind, a cooperative multigenerational group of Telepaths located in interior China, hadn’t shown. He had been counting on them. “I assumed you blocked all your people, Epharis?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “I’m picking up something from Celebrity,” Reed said.

  “Do tell.”

  “She doesn’t like being a God,” Reed said.

  Typical. “As I said, she’s an airhead.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Reed said. “We’ll need to talk to her.”

  “Fine, that’s your job,” John said. Hollywood culture disgusted him. He would rather have Hollywood as his enemy than fine upstanding Gods like Dubuque after him. “Next, we need to see who our powered enemies are.”

  Epharis dropped different herbs into the scrying bathtub, and their shared hallucination changed.

  The tub filled with thousands of faces.

  “Sheee-it,” Reed said. “We baaaad.”

  “We dehhhhhhd,” Jurgen said.

  John only nodded.

  17. (Atlanta)

  “It’s good you came to visit me,” Boise said. “I hope you don’t mind the rustic surroundings. I’ve found my need for creature comforts to be an atavism. As a somewhat divine being neither rain, snow, cold or heat bother me. Why then bother with shelter?”

  Atlanta didn’t quite believe Boise. She and Dana had found him within a hundred miles of his namesake city, in the Boise National Forest. She doubted he had been here long; for one thing, the closest Idaho village on the maps was named ‘Atlanta’. That couldn’t be a coincidence. The terrain here gave her the creeps: large lumpy mountains covered with tall narrow pine trees, grassy valleys below, and no feeling of people or civilization. Being out here brought out the Marine in her. A place like this invited snipers and roadside IEDs.

  “Just habit, I guess,” Atlanta said. “I…”

  Boise floated cross-legged, three feet above the overlook he now called home. Pine trees towered to the rear over the rocky meadow, and too damned many critters made small noises under the brush. “No need to give me the talk,” Boise said. “I’ve been eavesdropping on you. You’re an incredible bundle of contradictions, you know.”

  Atlanta glowered.

  “Glad it isn’t just me,” Dana said. She had taken an instant liking to the crusty old God.

  Atlanta glowered some more.

  “I’d think the prophet in the wilderness shtick would invite worshippers,” Atlanta said. Boise had been a typical ugly old white guy, but he had let his white hair and beard grow long. Well, more like ten years’ worth of long rather than the few weeks he had been doing the prophet in the wilds shtick. He had been clean-shaven during Apotheosis.

  “I give them boils if they even think about worshipping me,” Boise said. “No worthy God among us will accept worshippers of any variety, and those who do will cull themselves out of the pot.”

  Atlanta raised an eyebrow.

  “Come, sit down, both of you,” Boise said. “The rock’s quite comfortable here, nice and warm in the noonday sun.”

  “You’re implying the Gods are mortal, Boise?” Dana asked. Dana hadn’t heard Montreal’s talk on the subject.

  “We’re immortal if we take care of ourselves. But God – the real thing, n
ot us twerps – is a jealous God. Those of us who allow worshippers will face God’s wrath, sooner rather than later.” He smiled at Dana. “It’s possible your companion is God’s wrath, so I’d watch your Ps and Qs, Dana.”

  “You approve of what I do?” Atlanta asked. No roadside bombs yet, although some bird somewhere decided to trill happily and loudly. Idiot bird.

  “Well, then, now that’s a different question, isn’t it,” Boise said. “I’m not sure I can say whether I approve or not. It’s not something I would do. I do approve of your grand tour, though. You do show more initiative than most. I’m not sure you need to be so showy about those you pass ultimate judgment upon.” He meant the few Atlanta had decorated the light posts with, like the career murderer in the city of Montreal.

  “It’s a warning to others.”

  “Your actions coarsen society,” Boise said. He had fleas. Real ones. That took the scruffy prophet in the wilderness way too far, Atlanta decided. “I don’t think society needs any help with that.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Atlanta said. She originally feared all the Gods would be against her, and the only people supporting her thug killings would be the hard-nosed mortals. She had found, though, that she didn’t care what the mortals thought as much as she once had – point to Montreal – and she did care more about what the other Gods thought. Probably something their creators built into her. Enough of the Gods she met approved tacitly of the thug killing, but none thought her post-mortem displays appropriate. She found herself persuaded. “Do you have any opinions on the course chosen by the Seven Suits and Miami?”

  “Well, you are direct, now aren’t you,” Boise said. He held humor in his eyes.

  “Only when she’s getting pressed,” Dana said. “Which is most of the time.”

  Boise turned his likely artificially wizened face to the sun. “Trouble, thy name is woman. Don’t take this wrong, but…” here it comes, Atlanta decided “I could be convinced the Angelic Host made a mistake by making so many woman Gods. It does make me wonder whether they told us the complete truth about their plans for us. North American Goddesses and European Goddesses? I can see reasons for them, even though there are so few important women in religious history.” About sixty percent of the North American and European Gods were women, Atlanta knew. She didn’t care a fig about religious history. “But they also made a few Goddesses in the Middle East. This was stupid on their part. Nobody’s going to listen to those Goddesses. The simple existence of so-called Islamic Goddesses has already caused problems among the Islamic Gods, who find they are being ignored simply because there are women among their ranks.”

  “You’re a bit of a sexist yourself, Pops,” Dana said. Boise laughed. “Besides, don’t they call themselves Djinni, not Gods?”

  “Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” Boise said. He tossed a small rock across the meadow and hit a pine tree about four hundred feet away, a scraped area in the center of the trunk, about three feet off the ground. Not the first time he had tossed a rock at the tree. He eyed Dana. “You want to know a secret?”

  “What?” Dana said.

  “You’re impossible.”

  Atlanta smiled. “I believe the verdict’s unanimous.” Dana glowered at both of them.

  “I’m not talking about her personality,” Boise said, a smile itching around his moustache and beard. “Working from first principles, we Gods shouldn’t be able to loan our willpower so simply to others. It should take a lot more work and be far more indirect, or involve actual objects.”

  “Then your theory’s wrong,” Dana said.

  “Certainly. But how? I’m positive I identified the right first principles behind us. The only implication is that there’s more than us in the picture. Other actors who work at the same level of power we do, actors far beyond your mystically sensitive friends, Atlanta, and the crazy Telepaths. Somehow, the capabilities of these unknowns are interacting with ours, making certain things easier and, most likely, certain other things more difficult. Only…where are they? Who are they? Why don’t we know about them? What’s their game? Why didn’t the Angelic Host tell us about them?”

  “The Host did say you weren’t alone,” Dana said. Boise nodded. “I may have met one of these peers of yours, though,” Dana said. Boise raised a bushy eyebrow. “A John Lorenzi, a self-style magician hunter. He had God-like power, but it was different.”

  “I heard he’s a fraud and a poser.”

  “If you trust my borrowed tricks, he’s far more than a poser.”

  “Oh now that’s very interesting,” Boise said. “So my logic was right and we do have peers, eh?” He licked his lips and spat. “As usual, disturbing news.”

  “What’s your angle, Boise?” Atlanta asked. “Your goals?”

  “Well, I’m after the sinners too,” Boise said. “I don’t know yet how I’m going to bother them, but it won’t be killing. Especially since I’m after the oath breakers, false witnesses, people who use their political power to arrange for sexual partners, and that crowd. Right now, I’m compiling a list.” He tapped his forehead.

  “The more power mortals hold, the cleaner they need to be, and it’s our job to keep them clean,” Atlanta said. “Sounds good to me. Mind if I join you, back down south, once you decide your angle and your selection criteria?”

  “No, I don’t mind at all,” Boise said.

  “You’re both appalling,” Dana said. “What about the right to privacy?”

  “What right to privacy?”

  “How can we be anything but the slaves of you Gods if you don’t respect our right to privacy?” Dana said.

  “I call myself a prophet, but there’s no getting around the fact God has loaned us some of His power and some of His divine prestige, and the fact He’s expecting us to use it for good, Dana,” Boise said. “To better humanity. That’s a higher calling than laws.”

  “I can understand the point of stopping violent criminals, but oath breakers? That’s not even against the law,” Dana said. “I think what you’re doing is wrong. Inhuman.”

  “Well, tough,” Boise said. “Portland may have given you power, but you’ve still got the mortal attitudes and outlooks. Civilization is based on oaths, overt and implied. In my mind, the backstabbers of the world don’t have any right to privacy at all.” He turned to Atlanta. “You need to make sure the rest of us can tell you and Miami apart, my dear. The others? Let’s see what happens. I’m not as worried about them as you are.”

  “You’re not joining us? You’re not going to help us even against the Suits, despite what they’re doing to some of the businesses in your territory?” Atlanta said. “They shut down a Fortune 50 corporation right in your backyard, Hernandez Industries, for no known reason. If we Territorials aren’t careful, the Seven Suits are going to destroy American capitalism right before our eyes!”

  “I’m not going to do a thing,” Boise said. “I’ve had no contact with the Suits, nor do I wish it. I know my limits, and nothing in my shop teacher and wrestling coach background gives me any knowledge of big business or finance.

  “Now off with you. I’ve got sinners to identify.”

  Dubuque’s headquarters bothered Atlanta as she and Dana approached. It felt off. She examined it closely and realized the building, and most everything inside, were divine creations. Damn. His ease at such reality creation bothered Atlanta; that willpower skill still gave her fits. A lone divine flunky stepped forward to greet them after they landed, a good-looking young blond man in his twenties, borged up with a cheap Vietnamese wearable computer that hung too much behind the ubiquitous fake glasses.

  “For such a publicly active God, this place feels as quiet as a tomb,” Dana said.

  “That’s Living Saint, ma’am,” Dubuque’s flunky said.

  “Right,” Dana said. Atlanta eyeballed Dana and she did not, thankfully, roll her eyes.

  Dana
was right. Dubuque’s place had at best a skeleton staff, only four. No media presence, either, which was new.

  Perhaps the media had become jaded with the Gods. That would be just like them.

  She and Dana followed the young man inside, then into a courtyard in the back. Shrubs, flowerbeds, and fountains in the shape of angels surrounded a shallow reflecting pool. The reception felt vaguely reminiscent of Miami’s greeting, save that instead of hedonistically enjoying himself, Dubuque meditated in prayer.

  With a nod he opened his eyes and stared at the two of them. He didn’t stand. He glowed with his Mission. His Congregation and Rapture were far higher than Atlanta’s, his presence as always a slap to her face. He had bothered her the first time they met during Apotheosis. Not only did he play The Man, he wore it like a second skin.

  “Atlanta,” he said. Without warmth.

  “Dubuque,” she responded, equally warm. She introduced Dana and after Dubuque ignored her introduction she started her presentation.

  Dubuque sighed theatrically, stood and waved his hands. “Now, none of that,” he said, hostile, interrupting Atlanta before she got ten words in. “There will come a time where we’ll be able to talk about such problematic issues, but not today.”

  Atlanta kept her expression flat, emotionless. “I see.” She and Dubuque had had several short and pointed conversations during Apotheosis. Their first conversation came after a derogatory comment of his about the responsibility of people, including soldiers, to oppose needless wars. She had pointed out to him that as a serving officer, rules and regulations kept her from speaking out politically. She had learned, then, that Dubuque had been a very active anti-war protester during his mortal life. Apparently the fool thought war was proper only when fighting off homeland invasions or something similar.

  The second conversation had taken place after the Host gave the Gods the commandment against national wars, an ‘I told you so’ conversation. Atlanta, still taken aback by the neutering of her chosen mortal profession, had apologized for her earlier catty remarks and admitted that ending war, in this way, was a good thing.

  Her last conversation with him had been during their last meeting during Apotheosis. They had clashed over the lack of moral limitations the Angelic Host had placed on them, which had suited Atlanta just fine and which had greatly bothered Dubuque. Boise had ruined everyone’s mood by pointing out how the lack of limitations had to be a test, a test that if a God failed, he or she would be sent back to God Almighty. Both she and Dubuque had ended up on the same side in that argument, both expressing the idea that the Gods shouldn’t allow themselves to be frozen into inaction because of the obvious need for caution.

  Dubuque’s hostility vanished as she watched him stretch muscles he didn’t possess. Currents of willpower flowed around him, reminding Atlanta of warm sunlight and cool mountain breezes. The splash of the fountains became music.

  “So, Miss Ravencraft, you represent an intriguing path I hadn’t before considered,” Dubuque said, turning to Dana as he stood. He smiled ear to ear, and in an instant, his boundless enthusiasm returned. “I congratulate you on your success at becoming the first powered mortal backed by a Living Saint.”

  “Thank you,” Dana said. “Thank Portland, as well. She did all the hard work, figuring out how to make this work.”

  “I will thank her when next we meet,” Dubuque said, bouncing on his heels. “What are you planning to do with this loaned power, if I may ask?” Sunlight streamed now through the clouds above, a minor miracle of Dubuque’s will. Atlanta couldn’t help herself, and she smiled at Dana and Dubuque. With such an infectious good nature, she could see how he had already become one of the leading Territorial Gods. She felt herself slide in sync with Dubuque’s unstated Mission, simply from its power.

  “You may,” Dana said, laughing. “I’m currently serving as Atlanta’s chief of staff, helping her in any way I can. In the long run, what I want to do is help make the world a better place. Help the poor fend for themselves, things like that.”

  You rightly feared any God with a Mission more powerful than yours, her instincts reminded Atlanta. He’s messing with your mind. He’s attacking! You have to defend yourself!

  Atlanta ignored her instincts, leaning forward to see how Dubuque would respond to Dana’s answer. Despite her rational analysis, she couldn’t sense any willpower in use.

  “Excellent!” Dubuque said. “A worthy goal, one I’m working on myself. So, are you Portland’s one and only?”

  “No, she has several more, but they’re in training,” Dana said. “Portland’s cautious, afraid of what large numbers of borrowed-willpower beings might do to society.”

  “Of course, of course!” Dubuque said. “With all the power we have, all of us Living Saints have to be careful about what we do.”

  Atlanta relaxed, relieved that Dubuque hadn’t attacked them physically or verbally. Despite her doubts about Dubuque’s power, she found herself attracted to the pale bastard. If they could work out their personal issues, she could easily see herself hitching herself to his wagon.

  Besides, if someone like him could attract her interest as a leader, she could see how he could attract followers and converts by job lots. Which would be a good thing, for all the Gods.

  “Unfortunately, duty calls and I have to go,” Dubuque said. “It was nice meeting you, Dana, and seeing you again, Atlanta.”

  Dismissed, they left.

  “That didn’t work at all well,” Dana said as they walked out the double front doors of Dubuque’s estate. “Despite the positive attention I got.”

  Atlanta nodded. “Dubuque and I had issues during Apotheosis, about war, but I’d thought I’d straightened that all out.”

  “Uh huh,” Dana said. “Unfortunately, I suspect he’s anti-violence as well as anti-war.”

  Atlanta sighed. “A refrain we’ve been hearing over and over again. Well, those other Gods will just have to get used to the differences between us.”

  “I think you’re going to have to convince them,” Dana said. She smiled and batted Atlanta’s shoulder. “You can start by convincing me.”

  “Later,” she said, taking off into the air, with Dana. “Dubuque’s too important to give up on. By dint of his Mission strength and his public activities, he’s made himself our putative boss, like it or not. We’ve got to find some way of giving Dubuque our presentation about the Seven Suits and the rest of the problems, and I think I know how we can do it.”

  Dana snorted and frowned. “I thought we were going back home?”

  “Nope. We’re going to visit Phoenix. I’ve got a new plan.”

  18. (John)

  “Let’s find out if this works,” Reed said. “John, are you there?”

  “Yes,” John said. Reed had outfitted John with some damned bit of wearable computer tech Reed cattily called an iPatch, which John suspected wasn’t its real name. This Gadget Age monstrosity was a set of fake plastic-rimmed eyeglasses, and Reed had it set up so John could, if he flicked his eyes just so, see out of Reed’s eyes, as well as out of Jurgen’s eyes, back in the Lowezski compound. With their equivalent gadgets. Epharis and Gwydion, using Reed’s knowledge and linkage to Nessa, were keeping track of the peripatetic duo using their tricks. “Don’t worry so much, bro. You’ll do fine.”

  They had split up, John wanting nothing to do with Celebrity and Reed not wanting anything to do with Nessa and Ken. That left Reed on an airplane to Los Angeles and John, Epharis and Gwydion attempting to figure out a place where John could meet up with the two Telepaths. The Telepaths’ protections kept Epharis from reading their plans, or Gwydion from hearing their voices, at least most of the time. The two had risen at sunset and taken off in their rental car back up the coast toward the city of Miami. Had they become vampires, perchance?

  He wondered if they had targeted the God Miami. He got himself on a plane flight to Miami; helping them
defend themselves from a God sounded like a perfect introduction.

  While he squirmed in the too-small first class seat high above America, Nessa and Ken boarded a plane to Kansas City. “They’re sneering at me, John,” Epharis said. “My Craft tricks can’t cope with Telepaths.” No, his luck hadn’t changed one iota.

  “Ma’am, I’d like to talk with you for a moment. Business,” Reed said.

  John had watched through the awkward device as Reed tracked down Celebrity and crashed the party she attended. Based on what he overheard, John figured out Celebrity had an idea about something called a ‘reality teevee show’ about one of the 99 Gods, presumably Celebrity herself. She bent the ear of a ‘teevee producer’ named Sven on the subject, captivating him with her vile womanly charms. Despite all of John’s reassurances, he didn’t know whether Reed’s crazy gadget would hold up against aggressive God scrutiny. So far so good, but only because Celebrity hadn’t attempted to interfere yet.

  Celebrity looked Reed over, speared John’s eyes for a moment, and he felt an impossible stirring in his loins. Celebrity had caught him out. John decided he had been wise to let Reed handle this one.

  Watching over Reed’s shoulder gave John something to do on the plane flight from Miami to Kansas City. He still hadn’t figured out the two Telepaths’ goals or objectives. Why Kansas City? What were those two crazies up to this time?

  “Well, sure!” Celebrity said, fluffing her frizzy blonde hair and giving Reed a large-toothed smile. She led Reed out to a balcony, perhaps ten stories above ground level, and closed the sliding glass door behind them. Her voice deepened and her ditzy demeanor vanished. “Okay, who are you, what are you and what do you want?” Celebrity said.

  “My name is Reed Matús, and I work with a magician hunter named John Lorenzi,” Reed said. “We picked up on your grave worries about the other 99 Gods, which we share.”

  “Okay,” Celebrity said. “I’ve heard of Mr. Lorenzi, but I thought he supported the actions of the 99 Gods.”

  “The actions of some of the 99 Gods changed his mind.”

  Celebrity backed away from Reed and went to lean on the balcony railing. She smiled at him and angled a hip. “I’m one of the 99 Gods.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Reed said. John shook his head, not sure Reed needed to be so polite to the bimbo. “Nor are you the only God who believes there are problems with the lot of you.”

  “But I don’t have any problems with the other Gods,” Celebrity said. “My problem is with the so-called ‘Angelic Host’ who created us. Considering what happened to me, I don’t think they are who they said they are.”

  John sat up straighter and began to pay more attention to the conversation. He hadn’t expected Celebrity’s comment. Perhaps Epharis’s scry hadn’t worked. Either that, or his subconscious thought opposing the 99 Gods meant opposing their angelic creators as well. Satan get behind me!

  Perhaps Dubuque had been right about John’s side of the fight. That stray thought left a bad taste in John’s mouth.

  “That’s new information to me,” Reed said, nervous. “I’m mortal, please.” A plea.

  John didn’t know what Celebrity did to Reed to invite his comment. “I’m convinced of that now,” Celebrity said. “You have native powers. Yes?”

  Reed nodded. “I’m a Telepath. There aren’t very many of us, and I’m not among the powerful. I can, though, pick up emotions.”

  Celebrity nodded. “A Telepath, eh?” she said, with a ‘look what just crawled up to the kitchen counter’ expression on her face. “We’re not allies.”

  “Perhaps,” Reed said. “Why are you opposed to the Angelic Host?”

  “Couple of things,” Celebrity said. “First, they grabbed me out of my Tesla Roadster, which then crashed and burned. I was married, dammit, and my family now thinks I’m dead. Second, they completely nuked my career. I was in the process of shooting a movie, which folded, and if I reappear I’m going to get my cosmetically altered ass sued off my well-sculpted body. The Angelic Host should have never grabbed me in such a fashion if they had any respect for mortal life. Third, there’s the fact they said this 99 God business is some sort of test for humanity, which implies we’re being judged, and I don’t have the slightest interest in being judged by those clumsy oafs. If they’re so disinterested in mortal life and its intricacies, I’m terrified they’re going to trivially mess up their judgment.”

  Celebrity’s logic didn’t impress John. She might not be a total airhead, but he had to agree with the dangers she listed. Humanity as a whole had a history of failing such tests.

  “Uh, okay,” Reed said. “I think we’re on the same page. We’re worried that some of the people the, um, Angelic Host chose to be Gods are not good choices. Evil, or easily led into becoming evil. One of our prospective allies is also worried about the effect being worshipped is having on some of the 99 Gods.” Portland. The Indigo group had forced John to give his tale of his encounter with Portland.

  “I hadn’t thought much about the possibility that some of the choices for Gods might be suspect,” Celebrity said. “This would fit with the rest of the bungling of our makers. Worship, though? I thought that was obvious, even for a former non-religious-but-spiritually-enlightened type like myself. I mean, we all know God’s the jealous type and the so-called angels said God backed their actions. Having people worship us wouldn’t be right.”

  “Some of the other 99 Gods appear to have ignored the obvious,” Reed said.

  “Well, geez,” Celebrity said. “That’s stupid. Of course, as an established actress, I know full well about the problems of being worshipped. Last thing anyone needs is a bunch of people obsessing over you. Next thing you know they’re trying to steal your panties.”

  Panties. Panties!

  “So, can we count on your help?” Reed said.

  “Uh, Reed, I’m an actress,” Celebrity said, with a half-smile. “As a Practical God, I’m stuck with the enhancements the Angelic Host gave me, which revolve around my practical specialty. I don’t possess the breadth of tricks of the Territorial Gods and I don’t even understand what the Ideological Gods can do. I’m not sure what help I’d be.”

  John smiled at this new tidbit of information. He chalked one up on Reed’s ledger for being willing to brace Celebrity.

  “What can you do? You said you were an established actress. Who were you?” Reed asked.

  “Well,” Celebrity said. “This is who I was.” Her body’s shape altered. John didn’t recognize her by name, but he was sure he had seen her pouty lips and ample bosom somewhere. Her native dark hair and more serious face gave her more substance, in John’s opinion.

  She changed shape twice more before settling back on the blonde ditz. “Easy shape changes, sex appeal, and verbal charisma better than the average God. Nothing else.”

  Reed paced the balcony, dodging clay pots overflowing with flowers. “Celebrity, ma’am, I don’t think you need to worry about not being a help to us.”

  “Suggest something,” Celebrity said.

  “You did high end charity work before Apotheosis, influencing the rich and powerful,” Reed said. He certainly recognized who she had been. “Well, some of the rich and powerful are worried about the 99 Gods and their backers. We’d like you to talk to them. Help coordinate their activities.”

  John bit his lip. He wouldn’t have picked that idea, but he decided to let Reed run with it. Reed trusted her, which meant he liked what he sensed of Celebrity’s emotions. He hoped Reed hadn’t been unduly influenced by Celebrity’s divine charisma.

  “I could do that,” Celebrity said. “It would be a hell of a lot more interesting than trying to resuscitate my career and trying to ignore how fucking alone I am. Hell, I could even take you shopping without the usual man-woman problems!” She stuck out her hand and Reed took it, smiling.

  Save us, John thought. Just save us.

&n
bsp; John parked his rental car outside of the suburban estate and waited beside it for Ken and Nessa to finish. They did as he predicted and came out empty handed. They too had thought of the idea of going to the rich and powerful for help, but in their case, their appeal hadn’t succeeded.

  He had expected their failure. Telepaths didn’t inspire trust, not in the slightest. They inspired pee-your-britches terror most of the time, even when they were trying to be friendly.

  “Over here, you two huggy-bunnies,” John said, pasting as true a smile on his face as possible. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

  They walked over to him, stony faced and radiating unhappiness. He had parked behind their rental car, so they didn’t have much choice as to where they walked.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, asshole?” Nessa said. She wore dark sunglasses and looked unkempt, wasted and ugly. He hadn’t seen her in years, and the years hadn’t been kind. She looked hard and scarred enough to strop a straight razor. “Stay out of our business and we’ll stay out of yours.”

  “Why, Vanessa, you are more…” He had been about to say ‘more beautiful than ever’, but she interrupted and shook her fist in his face.

  “My name’s Nessa, you prick. Get the fuck out of my sight!”

  Her mind beat on his, incredible agony. He fought himself for control and managed to keep his feet from running away from him. She hadn’t grown any less powerful than he remembered from a decade or so ago in Los Angeles. Or less hostile.

  “I know that, and apologize. Old habit, and as you know, all my habits are old,” John said.

  Nessa put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “Bastard,” she said. “Besides, it was self-defense. You going to disallow us self-defense now?”

  “No,” John said. “Your self-defense actions aren’t why I’m here.”

  “Okay, so why are you here, Lorenzi?” Ken asked.

  “I’m looking for allies,” John said. “The 99 Gods are enough of a hazard to trigger my mission, and I must oppose them.”

  “Your mission?” Nessa said, sneering at him. “Your crazy magic is the last thing I want to get involved with. I don’t need you. Scram. Go away.”

  Ken relaxed, so he waited. Nessa unballed her fists and turned to the side. “I apologize,” she said, as John expected. “I’m not anyone to complain about hypocrisy. You want allies? Well, we’re looking for allies as well.”

  “Good,” John said. She had been like this the last time they had met, all bluster and rough edges. And apologies. He had hoped she had recovered, but apparently not, or at least not fully. “Wonderful. So, what I’d like you two to do is…”

  Nessa turned back, teeth clenched. “I didn’t say we’d follow your orders.” Her voice held a glacier of ice. So much for letting her verbally abuse him until she calmed down and apologized.

  “Why not?” John said, and smiled at her. “I’ve got centuries of experience, ample resources, and the knowledge you need. I’m…”

  “Forget it,” Nessa said. “If you want to ally with us, you do so as our follower.” Ken put his hand on Nessa’s shoulder and stepped forward.

  “You can’t be serious,” John said.

  “Lorenzi, you don’t understand the modern world,” Ken said. “That’s obvious from the other times we’ve dealt with each other. It would be crazy for us to follow your lead. You’d just get us killed.”

  “Well, I’m not following you,” John said. They were serious about this. He bit his cheek for a moment to bleed off anger. “You’re kids.”

  Ken shook his head. “I’m over forty years old. I haven’t been a kid in a very long time. The fact you think we’re kids shows the problems we have with you.”

  “I can support you so you don’t need to go scheming for money,” John said. “That’s not your strength.”

  “I’m sure we can find someone to back us, even if it takes us a few tries,” Ken said.

  “By the time you find someone able to face down people like you two, it would be too late.” He paused, searching for the right words. “Besides, how long will you be able to restrain yourselves from meddling with some normal’s mind and stealing the money?” John said. “Which would get me annoyed with you, if you recall our previous conversations. Which God did you confront? Miami?”

  “I was right,” Nessa said, to Ken. “He’s been spying on us.” She turned to John. “No way are we letting you own us.”

  “I’ll give you the money, dammit!” John said. These two Telepaths hadn’t gotten any easier to deal with over the years. “The 99 Gods problem is a serious one. You two whippersnappers don’t stand a chance. The Gods are improving, and quickly. They’ve got a lot of room to grow and they weren’t created with their skills mastered. Eventually, they’re going to get powerful enough to swat you like flies, and neither of you have much room for improvement with your tricks. They don’t work that way.”

  “Says you,” Ken said.

  “Says me, who’s dealt with hundreds of powerful Telepaths in my long career.”

  “So what does your cabal of religious hermits who set you on your anti-magician path say about the Gods?” Ken said.

  He had mentioned his origins to them before, to get them to behave. “Truthfully, I don’t know,” John said, letting his real worries show through. “They vanished. It could be the Ecumenists disbanded or passed on. When they set me on my way, centuries ago, they said someday a miracle was coming that would obviate all magic, allowing me to retire. When the 99 Gods first appeared, I’d thought the Gods were the miracle, but because of their actions I’ve changed my mind. It’s possible they also thought the Gods were the answer they’d been promised, and they disbanded. It’s something I need to look into.”

  “We do need the backing,” Ken said, giving his partner a sidelong glance. Nessa hissed. “We’re not working for you, though, Lorenzi. We’ll take the donation.”

  “I still don’t trust him,” Nessa said. “I don’t want his filthy money.”

  “Think of it as a bargain,” John said. “You agree not to pester rich people and go to work on what you want to work on with this problem, and I’ll back you monetarily.”

  Ken and Nessa looked at each other. “Fuck you,” Nessa said. “No deal.”

  “I’ll agree to listen to what you suggest,” John said. These two idiots would get themselves killed no matter what he did. This wasn’t worth the time or the effort.

  Nessa snorted. “I heard that last bit in your mind.”

  “Prove me wrong,” John said.

  “Fuck you,” Ken said. Metal groaned and concrete grumbled nearby, from Ken’s anger, his subconscious telekinesis letting loose.

  Ken backed away, but Nessa stayed. She chewed on her lip for a moment, and reached into the obscure attached purse she wore around her waist. She brought out lipstick and offered it to John. “Let’s make a deal. You buy this from us. You go away. That I can live with.”

  John wondered if this was another piece of Nessa’s insanity showing through, but he changed his mind when Epharis and Jurgen started screaming at him through the screwy iPatch about the contents of the lipstick case.

  “What’s inside that?”

  “Take it. Look at it,” Nessa said. “Consider it a test of your honor. We want half a million dollars for it.”

  John grabbed the lipstick, tense and angry at the insult. ‘A test of your honor’ indeed! The instant he touched the lipstick, his unconscious magic staged an earthquake in his mind. He froze in place, feeling all the years of his old and out of shape mortal body.

  “I must apologize to you both,” John said. “I appear to have underestimated you.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ken said.

  John sighed. “You did good, taking this piece of Miami from him in combat. The half a million is yours.”

  “Okay, a million then,” Nessa sai
d.

  John exhaled slowly and counted to ten. “You try my patience.”

  “You try ours,” Ken said. He turned to his wife. “Nessa, I think we’ve screwed with him enough.”

  “Alright, fine, Ken,” Nessa said. “You deal with the fucking financial details. I’m going to go talk to the dogs and cats.” She stalked off, radiating anger, got in their rental car, and lay down in the back seat.

  “Stress from dealing with the Gods?” John said.

  “Oh, and certain old farts who are too big for their ample britches,” Ken said. He took a deep breath and lowered his head to John’s level, and his voice to a whisper. “You’re in grave danger, John. You’re not going to last more than another week or two. The only way you’re going to survive is to forget your mission and free your magic. Become a true magician again.”

  John shivered. He knew about Ken’s hunches, and how often they turned out to be correct. “You can’t be serious. If I free my magic, I’ll become evil. An enemy. Becoming a magician again will destroy my soul.”

  “I know, but think,” Ken said. “Either you choose to become a freed magician, and fight the bad Gods, or some bad God is going to grab you, take over your mind, and force you to become their flunky freed magician. No matter what happens, you’re going to be a freed magician. It’s inevitable.”

  John’s stomach sank, and he again wished his body had been younger when this crisis came. “I’ll pray. That’s all I can promise.”

  “I understand. I’d rather you were evil and on our side than opposing us.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” John said. “Evil corrupted magicians aren’t on anyone’s side, often not even their own.”

  “That’s not a worry. You’ve lived for over a thousand years, a thousand years of fighting off the voices I keep hearing you complain about,” Ken said, and he smiled. “You’re far too strong for the voices to corrupt you and turn you insane. The evil? Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, I’m not sure I’ll care, or even be able to tell the difference.”

  John nodded. Ken wasn’t a nice guy, although he did try. “As I said, I will pray.” He chewed on his snowy moustache for a moment. “My ample gut tells me you’re right, though.”

  “Good. Don’t tell Nessa until afterwards,” Ken said. John nodded, and refrained from saying he was old, not stupid. “Now, what I want is money in the bank, in our names, no strings, so we can move it…”

  John’s mind negotiated on automatic as he repressed Ken’s comments about becoming a magician, and he examined what he had in his hand: a piece of a God. By extrapolation, a distant piece of God Almighty himself.

  Beautiful. Captivating. Dangerous.

  But what could he do with a piece of a God? The possibilities seemed endless, and fatal.