“Brutus can handle himself, sister,” said Votan. “Do not fret.”
Colel frowned. “But, brother, I really think—”
“No. You will not go after him. And I’m certain your chosen mate would agree.” Brutus was actually Colel’s mate, but so was Rys, the florist. It was highly unusual for the Universe to offer two males to one female, but these days, anything was possible. The Universe was off her rocker, doing all sorts of crazy things. Though humans remained unaware, subconsciously they had begun behaving erratically, too—hoarding toilet paper and locking themselves indoors for months at a time. Very strange behavior. It is as if they think they’re the ones with the plague.
In any case, things would only get worse until this disaster ended. As for Colel, she had chosen Rys over Brutus. It broke the poor chap’s heart, which was one more reason Votan did not want Colel traipsing after the man. Brutus was likely somewhere in the jungle, getting Colel out of his system with a hundred very randy, cock-starved females.
Votan sighed. I bet he’s having the time of his life… Wish I’d gone with him. Not that he’d ever be unfaithful to his wife, Emma, but the frequent sex in their relationship had been replaced by parenting. They never got time alone, and when they were together, Emma was too tired. Now he relied entirely on fantasies to get by. Yes, porn. And to be ravaged by such strong, savage women. “Mmmm…”
“Votan! Really? Are you getting a boner right in the middle of our meeting?” Colel barked. “I swear—you and your lust for war never cease to amazzze me.”
Votan cleared his throat and glanced down at the tent in his black leather pants. “I was-I was…yes. Getting a war boner,” he lied. “Now may we get on with our important meeting?”
“Is it important? Really?” Cimil, the Goddess of the Underworld, cackled from the back of the room in her fold-out chair. She was the only one not seated at the table. Mostly because everyone was pissed at her, but also because she said the table clashed with her outfit. At present, she had a huge pregnant belly and was wearing a Hefty bag with a red bow that matched her flaming red hair. Very unusual outfit, even for her. But no one asked because no one cared. Just Cimil being Cimil.
“I think you’re all spinning your wheels,” Cimil added.
“What is that supposed to mean?” griped Votan.
“Only that you all think you’re in control. You think you have a say in how this story ends.” She cackled again.
“Cimiiil,” growled Votan, “if you are keeping something from us—”
“Nope. Nope. Not me.” Cimil began twiddling her fingers.
Belch stepped in. “Sister, please. If you have information that could help us stop the plague affecting thousands of immortals and prevent millions of humans from dying by their hands, then you have to tell us. My mate is human. Her daughter is human. I do not want anything to happen to them.”
Cimil clamped her red lips shut and stared blankly. Whatever she knew, Cimil wasn’t about to share it.
This calls for some threats. Luckily, as God of Death and War, Votan was skilled at such things. “Tell us what you know, Cimil, or we’ll call you-know-who,” he warned.
“Who?” asked Cimil, clapping excitedly. “Please say naked clowns.”
Votan rolled his eyes. “The mermen.” The mermen hated Cimil with a passion and were still unaware that she had gotten free from her watery prison at the bottom of the ocean. Considering that they’d put her there as punishment for orchestrating the death of several of their men, they would not be happy when they found out.
“Nice try, brother,” Cimil threw back. “We all know the mermen have their flippers full at present. Their unmated members have turned evil, too.”
It was true. Roen, their leader, was doing his best to round them up unharmed with hopes that the gods would soon find a cure. “Maybe so, but trust me when I say, sister, that if they found out you were free, they would take every captured evil merman and set them on your doorstep. Not even your children could fight them off.” And Cimil’s four children were probably the most vicious, heartless creatures on the planet. He couldn’t imagine how terrible this next batch would be.
Cimil stuck out her tongue. “You’re all about as much fun as an ingrown toenail. And may I remind you that if the mermen discover I am free, they will not only seek to destroy me, but declare war on all the gods once this whole fiesta of violencia is finito.”
“Yes,” Votan growled. “And they will lose. Then you will be responsible for their extinction, so I recommend, for once in your sorry abomination of an existence, that you play nice and use your powers for good.” He exhaled with a grunt. “Now, use your gifts and tell us what you know!”
As Goddess of the Underworld, Cimil could speak to the dead, who resided on another plane where time ceased to exist. The dead from the past and future mingled in one enormous party until they either moved on to rejoin the Universe’s cosmic soup or they decided to return for another ride on the merry-go-round of life. Cimil’s power gave her the ability to listen to the billions of voices and filter that noise to form a picture of the future. Or was it the past? Because to the dead of the future, the here and now was the past? So confusing.
Cimil leaned back in her chair and made little circles over her enormous belly. “Here’s the thing. I have been trying to use my powers, but the dead aren’t making any sense. I think my increased hormone levels are interfering. That, or I have gas. Or they’re all mad at me, too—I kinda cleaned them out during poker the other ni—”
“Cimil! What did you hear? What are they saying?” asked Votan.
“I keep hearing them say, ‘The beginning is the end.’” Cimil shrugged.
“Isn’t the saying supposed to be, ‘The end is just another beginning’?” Votan asked.
“Yes. That’s why it think my little dumplings are making my signals wonky. And then, last night, I had some of the dead over for stripe poker and—”
“You mean strip poker?” Colel inquired.
“No. Stripe poker. You play with a zebra, and every time you lose a hand, the zebra must remove a stripe.”
Everyone, including Votan, blinked at Cimil.
“What? Haven’t you played before?” Cimil asked, sounding shocked.
“No. Absolutely not,” Votan stated.
“Your loss. Anyway, there I was, winning my fourth hand, my zebra up ten stripes, when all of a sudden, the dead started screaming.”
“What were they saying?” Belch asked, leaning forward in his leather exec chair.
Cimil’s voice got quiet. “Twinkies.”
Votan frowned. “Twinkies? They said Twinkies?”
“No. I’m hungry. Got any Twinkies?” Cimil got up from her chair and walked out of the room.
No one said a word.
After several moments, Votan pushed back in his chair. “Well, that was predictably fruitless.” All she did was throw kerosene on an already confusing bonfire of challenges. To sum it all up: They had an immortal plague that was a threat to billions of mortals, Zac was nowhere to be found, no one had heard a peep from Brutus, the mermen were going to lose their shit when they found out Cimil was free, humans were going nutso, and, on top of all that, the dead were freaking out, but they didn’t know why.