Goddess of Forgetfulness Page 13

  The two looked at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  Acan, who wore his light brown hair in a man bun tonight, shrugged his bare shoulders.

  Forgetty could only surmise he was nude on the other side of the makeshift bar. Lucky him to have found a mate who rolled with his eccentricities.

  “It’s just…you never drink that,” he said. “And tonight, it’s not your perfect drink.”

  Ah, yes. As God of Wine, he could look at anyone and know what beverage perfectly complemented their life in that exact moment.

  “Yeah, well,” she said, “it’s what I drink at every summit. You just don’t remember.”

  He frowned with those turquoise eyes—same as hers and all the other gods’. “Not true. I remember every drink you’ve had since birth—wine, wine, wine, wine, wine—okay, a few thousand years of wine since that’s all there was—followed by a lot of beer, then pulque, tequila, hard cider, the first form of vodka, fermented mangos, figs, pears, and jellybean liqueur. Oh, let us not forget the birth of the grain alcohols, in which case your favorites were whiskey, grog, and—”

  “Okay.” Forgetty held out her palm. “How do you know all that? Did you write it down?”

  Acan looked at Margarita, a blonde with radiant skin and a killer body, wearing Spandex running pants and a tank.

  The two of them shook their heads, clearly confused.

  “I don’t know what you mean, sister,” Acan said. “Why wouldn’t I remember your bar list? It is my gift, as you well know.”

  Forgetty stepped back, nearly tripping on the back of her flip-flop. “I-I don’t understand.” How could he possibly remember such details?

  “Hey, Forgetty. How you been since the incident?” said her sister Ixy—the one in the sundress, her long dark hair braided down her back.

  “Sorry?” Forgetty said.

  Ixy leaned forward. “You know,” she pointed at Acan, “when Belchy-boy there lost his shit and treated us all like bowling balls at his personal alley.”

  Forgetty slowly shook her head from side to side. “How do you remember that—I mean, the part where I’m in it?” she whispered.

  Confusion sparked in Ixy’s turquoise eyes. “How could I not? Hey, are you feeling all right?”

  What was happening? It was like some bizarre episode of Black Mirror, where some alternate reality had taken hold. Only it’s missing the psycho, knife-toting Rumba. And in this episode, everyone suddenly remembered her with a level of detail she’d never experienced.

  “Everyone,” called out Cimil, clanking her cocktail glass with a pen.

  Jeez. What the hell is on the front of her shirt? The tee had a picture of a bunch of dead dolphins or sharks or something, hanging by their tails on a dock, while she gave the hang loose sign with her hand. The caption said, “Don’t mess with a mess.” Roberto wore a strange white samurai robe. They were both nuts.

  “It’s time to get this shit-show on the road,” said Cimil, placing her hand in the crook of Roberto’s arm.

  Forgetty slowly raised her hand. “Shouldn’t the others leave? Because only those with a vote can be present. It’s the law.” Forgetty didn’t want Roberto stepping in when it came time to argue her case and expose Cimil. She already had an uphill battle simply to convince a majority of fourteen gods to side with her.

  “She is correct,” said Penelope, the Spanish-looking brunette with long silky hair, her full face displayed on the tablet. “As Ruler of the House of Gods, I must ask those in the room without a vote to leave unless they are pertinent to the topic of discussion, in which case, they may wait outside until they are summoned.”

  With a jerk of Cimil’s head, Roberto reluctantly turned to leave.

  As she slid into her foldout chair, Forgetty noted that Roberto had weapons under his robe. Cimil’s up to something. She always is. But tonight, Forgetty would remind everyone how Cimil had betrayed them a thousand times, hurt them in unthinkable ways. And they call Távas evil.

  The room cleared of nonessential mates, and Penelope cleared her throat. “I hereby call this emergency summit to order. Present are thirteen of the fourteen gods. Missing is Zac, God of Temptation. Meeting has been called by Cimil, the Goddess of—”

  “I, too, called this meeting.” Forgetty raised her hand. “Cimil just beat me to it.”

  Cimil didn’t react.

  “And your emergency?” Penelope asked.

  Those seated at the table turned to look at Forgetty with curiosity.

  What in the world? They weren’t just looking at her; they saw her. Really saw her. Fucking hell. This is strange.

  “Well, sweetie?” prodded Penelope. “What is it? You never ask for anything, so it must be important.”

  Unused to being treated like a real deity, Forgetty gave her head a little shake before lifting her chin. Here we go. “The Universe has chosen the King of the Maaskab as my mate. He’s thwarted my transition to evil, which has saved billions of humans from immeasurable suffering. As a reward for his actions, I am here to petition for his immortal soul.”

  A unified gasp exploded from every mouth in and out of the room, followed by a loud cough from Cimil. “Hack-hack. Looney alert.”

  Oh, bring it, you wacko, garage-sale demon! ’Cause it’s on! Forgetty scowled at Cimil, who sat directly across the table. “Why don’t you shut your lie hole, skank.”

  “My, my. Such aggressiveness,” Cimil mock whined. “But what can we expect from someone mated to a Maaskab, a man who has sworn to end us all?”

  There. Right there. That’s the backstabbing Cimil everyone needs to see.

  “Fuck you, sister,” Forgetty spat. “I’ve stood by you for longer than even I can remember. But tonight that ends. It ended the moment you told me that I was unlovable, undeserving of a mate and destined for eternity to be a spinster. What you’ve done was downright unforgiveable. Especially since I’ve been nothing but good to you.”

  Cimil chuckled and then made a circle around her temple. “Crazy talk. Never mind her.”

  “No!” Forgetty slammed her fist onto the table, nostrils flared. “I’ve suffered immeasurably. And just when I couldn’t take any more, I bellied up to the bar and asked for another sour serving.” Forgetty looked around the table at the astonished faces. “I. Have. Given. Everything. To you, to this world, and to my job. I never expected a mate or love or even the simple kindnesses bestowed upon familiar strangers, such as cool birthday cards with sparkly unicorns or pink fuzzy slippers from Santa. But to be betrayed by my own sister?” Her fists clenched. “I expected you, Cimil, at the very fucking least, to have my motherfucking back.”

  Cimil’s jaw remained poised, as did the rest of her traitorous body. “Well, wasn’t that a colorful, expletive-filled speech?” She began to clap and chuckle, looking around the room for support.

  It didn’t come.

  Meanwhile, Forgetty’s veins flowed with liquid fire. “Your time of reckoning is here, sister. You’ve pulled the wool over our eyes long enough, and you’ve used your otherworldly charms to blind us for the last time.” Forgetty stood, digging her fingernails into the plastic table. “As for why you’ve brought us here and your supposed emergency, I couldn’t give a million expletives about a single syllable, let alone an entire word, coming from your lying mouth. I vote to remove Cimil from the agenda along with her from our lives.”

  Cimil rose in indignation. “I have done nothing but serve and ensure this world continues.”

  Coughs of protest erupted around the table.

  “There. You see?” said Forgetty. “They know. And so do I.”

  “You’re creating a drama mountain out of a drama molehill,” Cimil said. “And boohoo. So I didn’t tell you that Ta’as is your mate.”

  “Távas,” Forgetty corrected.

  Cimil flared her nostrils. “I like to say it with a twang, and the last time I checked, twanging was still a god’s given right—at least in Texas, which is the singular authority on twa
nging and other sexy cowboy-esque drawls.”

  Forgetty rolled her eyes. “Moron.” Though, Texas clearly does have a leg up in the drawl department.

  “No. You are the moron,” Cimil charged at her verbally. “Because I called this meeting to let everyone know that the Maaskab king—your sweetie pie—plus his few remaining minions, have already recruited two hundred new members. And by recruited, I mean he kidnapped them, injected them with black jade, and then gave them the evil whammy. By tomorrow, their numbers will be up to a thousand. Next month, ten thousand. War is imminent unless I’m given back my powers so I can stop it.”

  Everyone stared at Cimil in silence, and if Forgetty had to guess, she would say they were all thinking the exact same thing.

  “I’m calling bullshit.” Forgetty crossed her arms over her chest.

  Cimil flashed a coy smile. “I thought you all might need proof.” She turned her head. “Roberto! Bring in the Scab!”

  “Scab” was short for Maaskab, which was why the gods in attendance had a huge unanimous hissy, ranging from gasps to “are you out of your mind?”

  Roberto sifted into the room, depositing a massive, nearly seven-foot-tall Maaskab decked out in full evil-Mayan-priest regalia, which included a loincloth made of human skin, soot and blood-caked skin, and the trademark thumb necklace. His hair, however, was unusually short for a Scab, so while it looked nappy, it lacked the standard dreads beaded with human teeth.

  Wait. Is that…Távas?

  “Someone get the air freshener!” called out Ashli, the coco-skinned Goddess of Love. “He smells like death warmed over in a crockpot.”

  The Scab’s eyes, which were pits of blood red and black, went straight to Forgetty.

  Oh, Jesus. In the past, when she’d come across these horrifying monsters, her instincts had told her to strike hard and then run. But that fear didn’t come, like she expected. All she could think of was reaching for him. It filled her heart with heavy dread to see him forced to be something she now believed he was not.

  “What did she do to you, Távas?” Forgetty whispered.

  “I didn’t do squat!” Cimil said. “He’s evil. He’s been recruiting, and he’s come to confess.”

  Confess? Maaskab didn’t confess. They fought to the death. It was totally their thing.

  Távas cleared his throat. “It is true.” His voice came out like rusty razor blades scraping across a sheet of steel, making everyone shriek. His mouth oozed with dark gooey slime—the result of having ingested copious amounts of black jade, no doubt. “I have been building an army. So while you may have gotten lucky and captured me, my men have been well trained. They know how to evade you, and by week’s end, we will be a thousand strong.”

  I smell a rat! Okay, and ripe death mixed with stale BO. Damn, Távas really needed a shower. But that didn’t matter now. What did was that her connection to this monster felt blocked, or, or…she didn’t really know. Something is off. Yes, there was darkness inside him, but underneath all the layers was a light he didn’t want her to see. She literally felt him pushing her away with everything he had.

  It’s his heart. It was beating with love. So much love.

  Forgetty stood and pointed across the table at Cimil. “You’ve staged this. You’re forcing him to say these things. I can feel it.” She looked at the monster before her. “What did Cimil threaten you with, Távas? Or did she promise you something, like she’d look after Louie if she got her powers back? Or maybe—wait.” Távas’s words fully sank in. Forgetty looked back at Cimil. “Where’s this army? Huh?”

  “I dunno.” Cimil shrugged. “But if I’m given back my powers, I will—”

  “There is no army,” Forgetty snarled. “Nor can there be until the plague has passed.”

  “What do you mean, sister?” said Ashli.

  “Well, unless Távas was able to find individuals who are mated, and therefore immune to the plague, anyone given the evil whammy at this point in time will actually just turn out super nice. Like Cimil’s nanny.”

  Cimil’s jaw dropped. “Well, well, yes. That is exactly what Távas did. He found married men and then gave them a scabby makeover. Right, king of the Maaskab?”

  Távas stood there, trading glances between Forgetty and Cimil.

  Man, his eyes are creepy. Forgetty wished someone had brought sunglasses for him.

  “Well, I, uh…” Távas’s scary raspy voice tapered off.

  “Tell them the truth, Távas,” Forgetty urged, pulling on the threads that bound them. “Because whatever Cimil has promised you, she will betray you. She can’t be trusted. But I can. You know I can.”

  He sighed with exasperation, making his soot-covered shoulders rise slowly, followed by a heavy drop.

  Just then, the elevator doors slid open and out walked Zac carrying a petite limp body in his arms.

  “Cimil!” he roared, storming toward the table, shirtless, barefoot, and wearing only his standard-issue black leather pants. “You fucking bitch. I’m going to kill you.” He laid the body down at the head of the table just as Cimil jumped up and Roberto protectively sifted in front of her.

  Oh no. Tula. Forgetty cupped her hands over her mouth. The body was lifeless, her sweet, sweet face blue.

  “What happened?” Forgetty asked, while the other gods gasped in horror.

  “Good freaking question. What did you do to her?” Cimil asked Zac.

  Like a bolt of lightning, Zac moved around Roberto and grabbed Cimil by the throat.

  “Back off!” Roberto, who was far faster, pulled Zac away and sent him flying across the open room.

  Zac landed on his back with a thud but was on his feet in a split second, rushing at Cimil again like a rabid dog.

  “Wait!” Forgetty ran to block him. “Tell us what happened, Zac. Because if you harm Cimil, you’ll be dragged away and no one will know. She’ll just continue doing what she’s always done—hurt us.”

  With fists clenched and his face filled with the sort of rage fueled by a soul on fire, Zac’s chest heaved. “She killed Tula.”

  “I did not!” Cimil protested.

  Zac pointed at Cimil over Forgetty’s shoulder. “You lied. You told me that Tula would die if I ever allowed myself to love her.”

  “Well, obviously I was right!” Cimil replied, bouncing on her toes, trying to see over Roberto’s huge body.

  “No. You deceived me! You made me believe that my love would poison her, so I closed my heart to her love.” Zac went on to tell everyone what had happened, including killing mermen and how it had all led to Tula’s death. “Had you not lied to me, sister,” he said, his turquoise eyes red with tears, “had I just accepted Tula, I never would have flipped. And she would still be alive.”

  Cimil huffed. “You can’t blame me for your choices! You know I’m a liar. It’s how I roll!”

  Suddenly, the table split in two and crashed to the floor. Tula’s body was gone.

  The gods on the speakerphone and tablets all freaked out, yelling and trying to ascertain what had happened. Their communication devices were scattered across the floor.

  “Minky! Is that you?” said Cimil. “Spit Tula’s body out this instant. It’s rude to eat people’s dead mates. And where were you? Roberto and I came to free you from those horrible mermen, but you were already gone.”

  Cimil listened to what sounded like complete silence to the rest of them.

  “No, Minky,” said Cimil. “Not you, too. I didn’t betray you.”

  Silence.

  “You wanted to hide from me on that island? But why, Minky?” Cimil’s eyes teared.

  The elevator doors slid open and out stepped…

  Uh-oh. Mermen, Forgetty thought.

  “This summit meeting just got way more awesome,” said Ashli, the Goddess of Love, to her sister Ixy, the Goddess of Happiness.

  “Seriously. Best meeting ever.” Ixy grinned.

  Roen, king of the mermen, had on a sleek black suit, the expensive kind he wore w
hen appearing on those fancy rich-guy magazines. He had been the quintessential playboy billionaire for years before he learned of his supernatural bloodline. Now he was living a dual life, like Batman.

  Only mermen are way bigger badasses, Forgetty thought as ten large men, also dressed in expensive threads, emerged from the elevator, flanking Roen.

  “How did they all fit inside there?” asked Acan to no one in particular.

  “When you look that hot,” said Ashli, “you can fit into all the tight spaces you like.”

  “Hey. I’m right here. Your hot husband, remember?” said Máax, your typical attractive deity with golden brown hair, olive skin, and the god eyes.

  She shrugged. “Sorry. Can’t help it. I’m the Goddess of Love. Lust is a precursor.”

  “Will someone please lock that elevator before the Loch Ness Monster or Cookie Monster shows up next?” Cimil said. “Our meeting has clearly reached maximum monster capacity.”

  “You!” Roen pointed at Cimil. “You will pay for what you have done!”

  “Moi?” Cimil innocently pointed at herself from behind the safety of Roberto’s hulking body.

  Roen’s green eyes flickered with rage. “Minky told us what you did to your brother Zac, and we know it was you who came to our island today and killed three of my men.”

  “I did no such thing!” Cimil stepped out from behind Roberto. “Why is everyone trying to frame me? I will not stand for it.”

  “What’s that on your shirt?” Acan asked.

  Cimil’s usually pale face turned a startling shade of shame red as her eyes slowly glided down to the picture on her chest of her posing in front of three finned creatures suspended by their tails in the background.

  Oh. I guess those weren’t dolphins.

  “You…made…a shirt?” Roen thundered.

  “Well, I-I-I, uh…” Cimil stuttered.

  “It’s over, Cimil. Over.” Roen and his men encircled Roberto and Cimil. “And you should know I have an army at your house. If you run, you’ll never see your children again.”

  “You have my kids?” Cimil shrieked.

  “They are extremely frightening, so we do not wish to keep them, but yes, they are in our custody. And Minky has agreed to take them away if you do not do as we ask.”