64
“Maggie. Maggie! Darling! Nobody, not even the loveliest goddess, ever learned anything with her mouth open.”
“You are insolent beyond all tolerance, Garrett.”
“Yeah. Show me where I’ve got a lot to lose. I’m not on anybody’s side. Never have been. But I can’t make any of you gods accept that. I don’t care any more about your survival than you do about mine. Since everything I do offends somebody, why should I worry about it? Come on and join the Garrett zoo.”
Dean forced the door open wider as we mounted the steps, but he did not look at us. His whole attention was on the shadows in the hallway. I told him, “You want to drool, you ought to see Star.”
Magodor spat, “She’s a moron.”
“It isn’t her mind that precipitates salivation.”
“I am aware of how males see these things.”
On my other hand, Adeth seemed to regain the lost spark of life. Suddenly Dean could see her.
He did not lose interest in the owl girls, but he was distracted. A redhead will do that to the most stouthearted of men.
I said, “Sometimes daydreams come true.” He would recognize Adeth as a close approximation of my perfect fantasy woman. “And some nightmares do, too.” Because Magodor suddenly chose to materialize in one of her more unpleasant forms.
Dean said, “I’ll make tea,” and headed for the kitchen.
I returned to the door long enough to get the Goddamn Parrot inside. He was perched on the railing out there, reciting poetry. I have trouble enough with the neighbors.
Magodor eyed Adeth warily but behaved herself. I guided them into the Dead Man’s room, though I had no idea what good this would do.
Cat was there already, a recovered Fourteen in her lap, shaking. Magodor seemed surprised. “Who is she?” The cherub she recognized, at least by tribe.
The Dead Man touched me weakly. Bring the Shayir girls, Garrett. Ladies, if you please, a little less intense.
Like the Loghyr said, what good is nerve if you don’t use it?
I went to the small front room. The owl girls cowered in a corner, too frightened to try a getaway. Maggie must be a real smouldering bitch.
Guess you don’t pick up a nickname like The Destroyer because you fudge at marbles.
“Come with me, girls. Calmly. No need to be scared. We’re just going to talk.”
One—Dimna, I think—tried to run. I caught her, held on, patted her back. She settled right down. I opened an arm, and the other came for a hug. They really were simple.
The followers of the Shayir pantheon must have been pretty simple themselves.
Hell, I think No-Neck said they were lowest common denominator back when we were field-testing the Weider product. Or was that the Dead Man? Did it matter?
“It’ll be all right,” I promised the girls. I didn’t mind seeing Imar and Lang plop back into the Black Lake of Whatsis, but to condemn similarly these two would be too cruel. The world could use more happy gods and goddesses.
I yelled, “Dean! Bring beer for me.”
Dean came from the kitchen as I held the Dead Man’s door for the girls. He had a big pot of tea, several mugs, and all the side stuff. The water must have been on. My beer was there. With backup. He told me, “I thought you might need fortification.” He could not keep his eyes off the girls. His tray started to shake.
“That’s an understatement.”
Dean started to ask something but then saw Magodor trying to intimidate everyone with one of her nastier looks.
“Maggie, knock it off!” I snapped before I thought. “No wonder you guys worked your way down to the strong end of the Street. You had a stupid boss, yeah, but I haven’t seen much to recommend the rest of you, either. Cat! Stop shaking. That cup belonged to my mother. It’s about the last thing of hers I have left.”
The Dead Man managed to slide in, What are you doing?