“What did he mean by old habits? If I am this god of war and I crave the blood of my enemies like others crave, say, coffee—just thinking off the top of my head—why would righting a wrongful death be forbidden? Wouldn’t that be a step in the right direction? I can see war being forbidden, or starting a revolution, or … whatever else war gods do, but righting a wrong?”
Dr. Mayfield sat on Spock, a logical armchair that cattycornered Captain Kirk, taking notes. I hadn’t seen her since I’d left her with Logan, the mischievous Native American vampire. She’d checked on her sister, traveled the world a bit, and now worked as a psychiatrist for the departed. And, apparently, for me.
“It makes no sense,” I continued. “But this bottle of tequila sure does.”
I turned it upside down and let the liquid scorch my throat. I’d never really understood why people drank when they were miserable. It only made matters worse in the long run. But for some reason, tequila seemed like the answer.
Surely, I was meant for more. And why would I agree to have my data banks deleted?
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked me. She had a blunt force trauma who needed her to analyze his recurring nightmare tugging on her shirtsleeve. My time had been up half an hour ago, anyway.
I nodded. “I’m glad you’re still working.”
She closed her notebook. “Me, too. I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”
I saluted her with the near-empty bottle as she vanished. Then I took out the pendant, the god glass, and held it in my hand. Rubbed the glass cover. Studied the intricate design.
If I couldn’t save people in this world, how could I save any in the next? The next being a hell dimension created by Jehovah for His rebellious brother, Rey’azikeen. My husband.
Two questions arose immediately when I’d first come upon this information: First, what kind of god builds a hell dimension for the sole purpose of imprisoning His brother? Second, what the hell did Reyes do that was so bad his own Brother built a hell dimension just for him? It was kind of like his very own Holiday Inn, only without the pool or room service.
Then again, what did I know? It could have been created with all kinds of luxuries. All kinds of amenities to make the long, lonely hours of an eternity in solitary confinement more bearable.
But my gut reaction to the words hell and dimension would suggest otherwise.
I ran my fingers along the warm surface of the pendant. I used to think that it was always warm because I carried it in my pocket, against the heat of my body. I later came to realize its warmth was probably more a product of what it housed. Maybe all hell dimensions were hot. I would think there would be a need for a cold one, or perhaps a really humid one, just to add a little variety.
The image of the little girl Eidolon had killed, so utterly terrified and unable to even move, flashed in my mind again. But Jose Cuervo came to the rescue. He was such a great guy.
I realized Reyes had been watching me spill my guts to Dr. Mayfield and get wasted at the same time from the comfort of Captain Kirk. He’d been drinking, too, but his tastes were a little more uptown. He was probably drinking scotch or bourbon or some other drink that sounded sexy when it rolled off the tongue.
I was pouting. I’d refused to take the comfort any of our furniture had to offer. Instead, we sat in a corner, Jose and I, brushing up on our bladder-capacity skills. So far, so good.
I stopped studying the pendant and studied my husband instead. Studied how he always folded his shirtsleeves in the evenings, or pushed them up, depending on the shirt, to expose his forearms. He did it on purpose. He had to know what his forearms did to me. And his biceps. And his shoulders. And pretty much every other part of him.
He sat, bathed in fire. His legs outstretched. His shirt and jeans unbuttoned. Boots thrown under the coffee table.
Just when I was going to give in, to throw in the towel and seek out the porcelain pot, Reyes spoke. “Send me.”
“Okay, but I don’t know how that’s going to help. It’s my bladder that needs emptying.”
He didn’t look at me when he said it. He was busy studying the fire while I was busy studying him. “Send me inside. I was born and raised in a hell dimension. I can go in and bring them back.”
The god glass? Was he honestly suggesting I send him into the very dimension for which the god glass had been created?
“No.” I rose and stumbled to the bathroom. Not because I was drunk but because I had a cramp in my left butt cheek. I always forgot to stay hydrated when fighting evil gods and arguing with arrogant angels.
Then again, all angels were arrogant. I was 99 percent certain.