“I am honored to uphold my family’s agreement with all those of power,” I replied. I smiled extra brightly, because we both knew I hadn’t really answered him. “Coffee sure smells good. Would you like me to get you a cup?”
“I do not require it.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “My treat. It will give you time to read.”
I slid out of the booth and strolled over to the barista, who was restocking the refrigerator with quarts of heavy cream.
The girl turned and gave me a quick smile. “What can I get for you?”
“I’ll take your dark roast, sixteen-ounce hot.” I glanced over at Thanatos, thinking about what kind of coffee I should bring him. “And how about a twenty-four-ounce double-double mocha caramel raspberry blended.”
“You want whip on that?”
Thanatos had slipped the papers out of the envelope and held them pinched between just his forefinger and thumb as if they were made of dirt and shame. He was so not a frou-frou drink kind of guy.
“Oh, I definitely think I do need whip. All it can hold.”
I paid and lingered while she fulfilled the order. Then I strolled back over to the booth with both coffees.
“Here you go.” I plunked the frosty cup of sugar-high whipped-cream overkill in front of him. The barista had really outdone herself and added shaved chocolate curls, a ruby-red cherry, and a bright pink straw.
Thanatos paused. His gaze flicked to the caffeinated monstrosity, flicked to my humble cup of plain black coffee, then up to my face.
“This is a beverage?”
“I am assured it is.” I sat down again and took a sip of my coffee.
He seemed to consider the situation and make a decision.
Thanatos drew the straw to his lips with one finger, and, still staring me in the eye as if this were a game of Drink-the-Poison, took a sip.
Okay. I had to admit it was all kinds of satisfying to watch Death suck on a whipped cream and coffee milkshake through a pink straw. Totally ruined that dangerous vibe he’d been throwing.
He straightened and went back to reading through the contract without comment.
“Well?” I asked after a second or two.
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Do you like it? The coffee?”
He still wasn’t looking at me. “Not at all.”
Still, at least he had tried it. It was a good sign that he might actually want to give the whole vacation thing—the actually being a mortal thing—a try.
Because vacationing for a god wasn’t quite the same as vacationing for a mortal or creature. For one thing, the god had to give up his or her power for the entire time they were in Ordinary. For another thing, while any god was vacationing and powerless, he or she would be mostly human, and therefore could be injured, and even worse: killed.
“Where will my…personal effects be stored?” he asked archly.
“Personal effects?”
“Power, Reed Daughter. Where will the power of Death be stored?” He looked over at me as if he were peering down over glasses, even though he wasn’t wearing any.
“That changes each year. One god in town has the right to keep the powers under lock for one year, then that responsibility changes to a different god.”
“And who currently is responsible for storing powers?”
I shook my head. “You either agree or disagree to the terms. I will tell you more when we’ve both signed the contract.”
I took another sip of coffee, which was throwing off a lot more steam than it should. Thanatos’s personal space was a cold one. But I refused to rub my hands over my arms even though I had goose bumps. He could give me the stink eye for as long as he wanted. I wasn’t intimidated by him or his power.
Much.
Even though a power was locked away while a deity vacationed, it didn’t mean the power wasn’t still in operation.
I’d gone fishing with Chronos when I was about eleven and asked him why the clocks didn’t stop while he stayed in Ordinary. He’d chuckled, offered up some philosophical doublespeak about time not being a linear concept, and threw in some mathematical equations that had soared right over my head.
And then, when he realized I wasn’t following his line of reason, he told me the powers of the gods continued to exist, even when the god wasn’t actively wielding the power. There wasn’t a way to turn it off. Instead, power ran on a sort of autopilot while the gods vacationed.
Sometimes that autopilot was easy and everything went as it should. Sometimes, a power left alone without god supervision caused disasters, floods, earthquakes, war, and worse.
I hoped Death had a really good autopilot set on his power.
That way, even though Thanatos might stay in Ordinary for a while, it didn’t mean the world would be death-free, or suddenly suffer from massive deaths.
“This clause,” Thanatos said, breaking my reverie. “I don’t believe it will apply to me.”
“Which clause?” I knew which clause. It was the same one every god thought didn’t apply to them.
“Section six, subsection six, paragraph six.”
He didn’t read it out loud. He didn’t have to. I had it memorized.
“Yes,” I said. “In the unlikely event that you die while vacationing in Ordinary, your power will be transferred, within seven days, to one mortal who will go on to become the god of death.”
“Me, dead.” His mouth almost lifted toward a smile.
For the first time, I glimpsed a spark of something that might actually be humor kindling in his eyes.
“Wouldn’t that be something?” he mused.
“For you, maybe,” I said. “For me, it would just be a ton of paperwork, and a lot of legwork to find a mortal suitable and willing to take on your power.”
“Must they be willing?”
“One hundred percent.”
He nodded with what he might have intended to be sympathy but which only looked like gallows glee. “I am sure I will not need to inconvenience you with such a thing, Reed Daughter.”
“Delaney,” I said. “If you’re coming to town you’ll need to follow human conventions in language too. I prefer to be addressed by my given name.”
“I am aware of that. I read section twelve. But I believe those rules only apply once I have signed and am residing in your town, is that correct?”
I stifled a sigh. He was going to be a stickler for details. Of course. But outwardly, I gave him the old Reed family smile. “That’s how it works.”
“Shall we sign?”
Well. That was quick.
I fished a ballpoint pen from Joe-Boy’s mechanic shop out of my pocket and handed it to him.
He took it, careful not to let his fingers so much as brush mine, which was good. This near, his fingers gave off a chill as if they were made of dry ice.
He clicked the end of the pen with his thumb, stacked the pages so that the last was on top, and pressed the edges cleanly together.
Then he signed on the line with a flourish. As soon as he lifted the pen there was a sort of shift in the air. The temperature rose ever so slightly, the lights seemed to burn brighter.
He clicked the pen again, placed it precisely in the center of the contract, and pushed the pages across the table toward me.
Cold black eyes watched me with the silence of all the world’s graves.
I picked up the pen—which, surprisingly, wasn’t cold—and glanced at his signature. Amazing, scrolling piece of art. Beautiful, really.
I set my own name—clean, no-nonsense, and easily legible—beneath his.
The temperature rose just a bit more and I could hear the music over the shop speakers I hadn’t realized had faded. Being around Thanatos had a heck of an insulating effect on the world.
“That’s it,” I said. “Let me be the first to welcome you to Ordinary, Oregon. I do hope you’ll enjoy your vacation stay. Remember, you’ll need to choose a name you wish people to address you by. Using one that is more common among mortals makes it easier on all of us.”
“I should prefer Than,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “That’ll work. I’ll drive back to town. You can come at any time you wish, but need to stop directly at the police station so I can take care of your personal effects.”
“My power?”
“Your power. And as a quick reminder, you will follow the three basic laws: Get a job or otherwise be a contributing member of the community. Don’t kill anyone or harm through intent or neglect. And most importantly: do not procreate.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile, but compared to any other sign of amusement he’d shown, it was practically a belly laugh.
“I understand each of these requirements, Reed Daughter.”
“Delaney. Do you have any other questions?”
“Endless. But I do enjoy a good surprise.”
I wasn’t sure how it was that everything he said came out so sinister and threatening. Any other mortal would probably cower from this kind of direct contact, but I had family blood to thank for my cool head and fortitude.
I gave him a smile. “I’m sure the residents of Ordinary and the unique experience of spending a little time as a mortal will more than satisfy your need for surprises.”
“I quite look forward to it.”
“I like your attitude.” I stood with cup in one hand and envelope in the other.
“Reed Daughter?”
“Delaney,” I corrected again.
“Now perhaps you will tell me which god will be guarding over my…personal effects while I am in town.”
“Sure: Raven.”
One perfectly manicured eyebrow lifted. “The trickster?”
“The glassblower. You should stop in his shop sometime. He holds glass-float-making classes on Saturday afternoons. Calls it: ‘Blow Your Own Balls’.”
A slight frown tucked lines between his eyebrows. “Humor?”
“He thinks it is.” I grinned. It was going to be fun to see how this very serious, very dark god managed life once he was more or less just another ordinary human like the rest of us.
“See you around, Than.”
“Farewell, Reed Daughter.”
I raised one hand over my shoulder and waved with two fingers.
Just because god power didn’t affect me like other mortals didn’t mean that I liked to be in the company of it for long. And not for the reason most people thought. God power didn’t repel me, it made me yearn a bit. Made me itch.
My father had said it was a sort of a tuning fork reaction. When I got around god power, it resonated through me like a perfect pitch. There was a reason for that.
There was only one Reed family member at a time who could act as the bridge for god power. Only one Reed who could transfer it into safekeeping, whether that meant in storage when the gods vacationed in town, or giving it to a mortal when an original god somehow got themselves killed.
That second reason—death of a god—was something I hoped I’d never have to deal with.
I headed toward the cashier counter to check for mail.
It was something Great-Great-Grandma had set into place before telephones were invented. The family story was that it all happened during a time when Mercury—messenger to the gods—wanted to stay in Ordinary. Unlike some other gods, Mercury’s power didn’t really have an autopilot and didn’t operate if he wasn’t wielding it.
The gods were more than a little upset when they’d found out their messenger boy was going to take a few years off. Typical of powerful deities, they started a war over it.
Great-Great-Grandma came up with a solution that allowed the war to be resolved peacefully.
A message drop was established outside Ordinary so that the deities outside town could send notes to the deities inside town. That drop was now here in the casino.
I drove up once a week and gathered the notes, then delivered them to the vacationing deities. I’d been here last Friday and didn’t really expect anything new to be waiting now, since it was only Monday.
I handed the cashier a key that would open the contents in a safe they kept in the back.
She glanced at it and pressed a button under the counter. A young man strolled through the door behind the cashier, took the key, and slipped back through the door again.
I stepped to one side and waited. The casino traffic was starting to pick up.
The young man came back and handed me a single white business envelope.
“Thanks,” I said.
He nodded and I turned to leave.
I checked the name on the envelope and nearly stopped cold. One name was typed across the front of it: D
ELANEY
.
There was no one else in town named Delaney. This had to be for me.
This was highly unusual. Gods didn’t send me notes. They called, I answered, they signed contracts—or didn’t—and that was that.
Why would someone send me a note here?
I thought about opening it, but didn’t want to mess with something godly near mortals who were just out to play a game of bingo or two.
Better to put some distance between me and those who could be harmed or affected by it.
I walked out of the building like nothing was bothering me. Kept an eye out for trouble. Didn’t see anything but mortals walking into the place, flat gray sky above, and cars rolling past on the highway.
As soon as I got in the Jeep, I took a closer look at the envelope. White, unremarkable. It was the kind that business letters were mailed in. The seal at the back was pointed and not self-moistening.
There was no stamp, not that I would expect one, and no other indentation or mark on it. I tipped it up to the light, shined my flashlight behind it.
It was security lined, but I could tell that it held a piece of folded paper. My name wasn’t computer printed. Each letter left a small indent in the envelope.
So an actual typewriter had been used to address it. That might narrow down who the sender was a bit, but not by much.
I flipped open my pocket Leatherman, sliced the side edge, and drew out the paper. It was folded in thirds.
In the center of the sheet of paper was one line:
Tonight. One will fall.
“What the actual hell,” I breathed. Dread and fear clenched my stomach and my heartbeat picked up the pace. Was this a warning? A threat? Was this the bad feeling Jean had been sensing?
What did it even mean? One what would fall tonight?