A. Lee Martinez - Divine Misfortune

Copyright 2010 by A. Lee Martinez

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Orbit

Hachette Book Group

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First eBook Edition: March 2010

Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group. The Orbit name and logo are trademarks of Little, Brown Book Group Limited.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-0-316-07216-8

By A. Lee Martinez

Gils All Fright Diner

In the Company of Ogres

A Nameless Witch

The Automatic Detective

Too Many Curses

Monster

Divine Misfortune

To Mom and the DFWWW, for all the usual reasons.

To Sally, just because I know shell be really, really excited to be mentioned in a dedication, and anyone who can put up with me for this long deserves some kind of acknowledgment.

To World of Warcraft. For the Horde!

To me, because its been a while since Ive dedicated a book to myself, and damn it, Ive earned it with this one.

And to Squirrel Girl, greatest superhero ever. And, yes, she did defeat Thanos single-handedly. Its in continuity. Deal with it.

Hello. My name is Anubis. I like long walks on the beach, carrying departed souls into the underworld, and the cinema of Mr. Woody Allen.

Wincing, Teri pushed the PAUSE button. Oh, ick.

What? Whats wrong with this one? After an hour of watching Internet videos, Phils patience was wearing thin. It seemed no god would be good enough for his wife.

Look at him, she said. Hes got a dog head.

Jackal, corrected Phil. Its a jackal head.

She frowned. Eww. Thats even worse.

How is that worse?

She shrugged. I dont know. It just is. I mean, dogs are nice, at least. But jackals who has anything nice to say about them?

He isnt a jackal, honey, he said, with an edge on the term of endearment. He just has a jackal head. He loved his wife dearly, but she was making this difficult. If it had been up to him, hed just pick one. Any old low-maintenance god wouldve worked.

But what about that cinema of Mr. Woody Allen line?

You like Woody Allen, countered Phil.

Yes, I like him. But who says cinema?

Now youre just nitpicking.

But its important. The words someone chooses say a lot about them. And people who say cinema are pretentious.

He rolled his eyes. Hes a god. Hes allowed to be pretentious.

Not my god. No, thank you.

Phil scrolled through Anubiss profile. Hes a pretty good find. I think we should sign up with him while we can.

Teri looked at him coldly. She didnt use the look a lot, but it meant there was no changing her mind. He didnt feel like fighting about it anyway. There were plenty of other gods. Somewhere in the hundreds of listed profiles, there had to be one she couldnt find anything wrong with.

She was right. It wasnt a decision to be taken lightly. The string of events that had led him to peruse the digital pages of Pantheon.com, the Internets second-largest deity matching service, hadnt made him forget that.

First had been the promotion. Another one passing him over. The fourth opening in as many months. Instead, that kiss-ass Bob had taken Phils step up the corporate ladder. Phil had been practicing his brownnosing and was damn good at it. Better than Bob. So good in fact that Phil had actually swallowed his outrage and walked up to Bobs new corner office to congratulate his new boss.

Hed found Bob, chanting in Sumerian, hunched over a small altar.

Hey, Phil. Bob, his face covered in black and red paint, smiled.

Hello, sir, replied Phil, trying his damnedest not to sound annoyed. Didnt mean to interrupt. Ill come back later.

Oh, please. Dont worry about it. He made a casual sweeping gesture at the altar. Five minutes wont kill the old boy.

Phil leaned in against the doorway, perched on the edge of Bobs corner office with its plush carpeting and obnoxiously large desk clearly made from some rare and expensive wood that Phil couldnt recognize but still resented. He tried not to notice the lovely view of the park just below.

Something I can do for you? asked Bob.

Just wanted to say congratulations. You deserve it.

Thanks. Honestly, Im surprised you didnt get it. I thought for sure that fatted calf I offered ol Baal here wasnt going to be enough. What did you offer?

Nothing.

Ah, that explains it. You know, it never hurts to stain the sacrificial altar now and then. Keeps the boys upstairs happy.

I dont have one. Phil crossed his arms tight enough to cut off the circulation. An old boy, I mean.

Really? A curious expression crossed Bobs face, as if Phil had just admitted to being a cross-dressing jewel thief clown in his spare time. You really should get one. Theyre an absolute necessity. I dont see how anyone gets along without some upstairs help.

That alone wasnt enough to push Phil into the decision.

On the car ride home, distracted by his worries, hed been in a minor fender bender. The damage wasnt serious, just a dented bumper and an ugly scrape to his paint job. But the other drivers car didnt have a scratch.

The other driver pulled out a special knife and ran it across his palm, drawing some blood to offer to his god as he incanted, Blessed be Marduk, who keeps my insurance premiums down.

Phil arrived home. As he pulled into the driveway, the first thing he noticed (the first thing he always noticed) was his lawn. It taunted him, a symbol of his promising life, once green and flourishing, now greenish and wilted. He watered and fertilized it. Had even brought in a specialist. But it was dying, and there was no way to stop it. He took comfort in the fact that nobody else in the neighborhood could get their grass to grow either. There was something in the soil, a lingering curse laid by Coyote on this spot of land for the injustices the Native Americans had suffered at the hands of the Europeans. The natives got smallpox, and the suburbs got yellowed grass. A light punishment for stealing a continent, Phil had to admit, but still annoying.

Except his next-door neighbor Ellen had a lush green lawn today.

Phil didnt have to guess what had happened. The four-foot-high faux granite goddess statue told him everything he needed to know.

Ellens car pulled into her own driveway, and she noticed Phil eyeing the lawn.

Pretty cool, huh?

He stifled a scream. I thought you already had a god. That weird one. The one with the horns and the nine arms.

Oh, sure. Thats still working out for me, but hes a jealous old goat, she said. But he doesnt do lawns. So I just hired an outside service. They stick up the statue, offer the tribute, and my god doesnt get jealous and smite me dead. Its a win-win. Ellen knelt down and ran her hand across her lawn in an almost obscene manner. That Demeter sure knows how to handle crabgrass, doesnt she?

And that was that. The next day Phil went online and signed up on Pantheon.com.

Teri was against the idea at first.

You knew I didnt want any gods before we were married, she said. We had a long talk about this.