“Minky! You evil fuck! Get back here!”
CHAPTER THREE
Sedona, Arizona.
“Has anyone heard from Brutus?” Votan, God of Death and War, sat at the head of the long rectangular table in the great meeting hall of the gods’ newly renovated headquarters that also served as a military base for their human army. Yes, human. It was a well-known fact that fourteen gods could hardly keep an eye on billions of people; therefore, they recruited people to join the Uchben (their official name) to serve as their eyes and ears—teachers, lawyers, doctors, soldiers. To be an Uchben was a great honor and came with wonderful medical benefits. Also, a 401k. And those who proved themselves invaluable were given something even more valuable: the light of the gods. Immortality.
Brutus was one such man, soon to be promoted and in command of the god’s Uchben army. His current boss, Gabrán—a very cantankerous, very ancient Scot—was set to retire. Everyone knew that Brutus secretly looked up to the man and thought of him like a father. He’d taught Brutus everything he knew about leading battles, sword fighting, and killing Maaskab, those evil Mayan priests. But Gabrán had finally had enough of apocalypses and planned to rebuild his family’s castle and raise pumpkins.
Maybe my family and I should join him. Votan, too, had grown weary of fighting wars. Honestly, he would rather spend his days with his wife and children. Teaching them about war. Telling stories about war. Watching movies about war. Basically, anything having to do with war except for fighting in them.
Votan looked around the room at the faces of his brethren. Each sat around the stone table carved with intricate symbols depicting the individual gods and their multitude of individual powers: war, happiness, time travel, sunshine, love, fertility, drumming, math, garage sale hunting, decoupage—you name it, one of the gods had a power for it.
However, only ten of the fourteen deities were present at the moment. Zac, God of Temptation, was missing, and three others were locked up—the Goddess of Fertility, the God of Eclipses, and K’ak. No one really knew what K’ak did, so no title for him. And no freedom. As of today, all unmated immortals were to be confined due to a plague that only affected them. Luckily for everyone, the recent renovations here in Sedona included a brand-new, very large prison. And expanded spa, bowling alley, underground shopping mall, and a food court. Stupid! But most of the ladies, including Votan’s wife, had insisted that building a prison and command center alone would only serve his “pigheaded, male ego” that lived for war. Their soldiers needed entertainment and downtime, too.
Ha. Well, who’s pigheaded now? The brand-new prison was the only thing keeping humans safe. Something was causing unmated immortals to “flip,” turning them into evil killers. Sort of like in those human zombie movies, except this disease had a cure: being mated. Or was it love? It’s kind of romantic, really.
Votan shuddered at having such a mushy, unmanly thought.
“No. No word from Brutus,” said Belch, the God of Wine and Decapitation. Belch’s true name was Acan, but since he’d spent tens of thousands of years pantsless and drunk, the Belch name kind of stuck. Now he spent his days sober and with his mate, Margarita, who ran a chain of fitness clubs. And he wore pants. Also, he looked pretty damned good. Gone was the giant beer belly, replaced with the muscles of a warrior.
As it should be. The gods were meant to be worshipped—beautiful, tall, exotic. Yes, some had black hair, like he did. Some had golden locks. But they all had varying hues of tanned skin. They were an amalgamation of every race, so that when a human gazed upon them, they saw something of themselves reflected back. Except much hotter, of course. They were deities, after all. Thus the turquoise eyes—a telltale sign of their immortality.
“So, brother, what is the plan?” Belch asked. “Do we send a team after Brutus? Do we focus on the singles mixer in the prison?”
“No,” interjected Chaam, the God of Male Virility, who sat opposite Votan at the end of the long table. As brothers, they looked much alike, with long blue-black hair, their height measuring almost seven feet. “We must use our resources to round up the single immortals first—especially the vampires, who pose the biggest threat to humans. Then we worry about finding mates for them.”
Votan rubbed his forehead with worry. The gods had fought many wars throughout the centuries, but never anything like this. How does one fight an enemy who is temporarily evil? Those who were flipping to the evil side were their brothers and sisters of the immortal world. They could be cured by simply finding love. Easier said than done.
Bottom line, the immortal community—vampires, demigods, incubi, mermen, and all the rest—was predominantly male. That included their immortal soldiers. Add it all together, and they needed to find women. Fast.
Brutus had been tasked with locating a tribe of female warriors rumored to live deep in the Amazon jungle. Nevertheless, even if Brutus succeeded in bringing them back, one hundred females weren’t enough. And that’s assuming they choose mates from our very fine selection of rabid, incarcerated men.
The Goddess of Forgetfulness, aka “Forgetty,” was helping by entering all the singles into a giant immortal dating website that their brother Zac was supposed to be curating. Unfortunately, Zac had disappeared, likely grieving over the loss of his human mate, Tula. Such a shame. Tula had been a truly good person. In any case, the website was proving too slow, and dozens of immortals were flipping every minute. Simply put, they were out of time.
“I should not have sent Brutus on such an important mission alone,” Votan mumbled. “The only choice we have is to do as Chaam suggests and shift our limited resources to rounding up the rest of the unmated immortals. Hopefully before they have flipped, to lessen our casualties.” Votan sighed with grief, knowing they had but a few hundred mated couples among tens of thousands of singles, and very few on their side were trained soldiers. “I’m sorry. I wish I had another solution.”
“Do not despair, brother,” said Colel, the Mistress of Bees—a blonde, statuesque goddess who wore a white silk toga and her trademark beehive hat. “You are doing your very best, and azzz you know, we are quite lazy when it comes to war, so our expectations are super low.” Everyone around the table muttered in agreement. “But perhaps you are right. Brutus should not have gone alone. I will take my soldiers and track him down.” One of her “soldiers” flew from the hole in her hat and started buzzing around her face. “Stop it, Chuck! I know you’re supposed to bee on vacation, but this izzz important!”
Votan resisted rolling his eyes. As God of War (and Death) it was his job to lead during such calamitous times, but trying to orchestrate a simple meeting with his brethren felt like herding leprechauns—basically a circus comprised of very small-minded beings who were easily distracted by anything shiny. “We cannot spare you, Colel. We need every mated deity helping with the roundup. Even if some of our soldiers have been given immortality, they can still be killed. You cannot.” If a deity’s body was destroyed, they simply went and got another. Everyone else—vampires, demigods, and were-penguins alike—died if their bodies were destroyed.
“But I worry something has happened to Brutus,” Colel argued, swatting at that bee, who continued buzzing angrily in her face.