Goddess of Forgetfulness Page 4

  No one replied.

  “Sorry, Forgetty. Looks like you’re on your own,” Cimil said.

  “Cimil,” Forgetty growled over the phone, “I think you’re forgetting that once I flip, that’s it. Humankind, the gods, everyone with consciousness is toast. Can’t you even try to help me? And if not for me, for the sake of the sea turtles?”

  “Dammit! That’s low, Forgetty. You know I have a hard spot for them—get it, hard spot. Because they have shells and…oh, nevertheturtles mind. Fine. I will take time out of my busy schedule, even though Minky is still missing and Zac is on the loose, terrorizing the masses. But it will be a round of speed dating, and no more.” This really was a waste of time; however, Forgetty had always been there for her, though she couldn’t recall for what exactly. Or when.

  “Great. How much time do you need?” Forgetty asked in a hurried voice.

  “A week.”

  “One week? Can’t you do it faster?”

  “I’ve got no assistant, and Zac is off playing serial killer, so I’ll have to get to the office and sort through our database of eligible immortal men all on my own. Plus, I need to get your profile up on all of the big dating sites Match.com, Vampirefreaks, clowndating, and fetlife.”

  “I need a mate, not a night of juggling, fetishes, and fangs.”

  “Sounds hot to me! But now you’re complaining? Really, there is no pleasing you.” Someone in her position had to be open to the possibility of finding love anywhere. For example, she’d found her hubby, Roberto, next to a pyramid in Egypt. Then he took her prisoner and turned into a vampire and he stole her unicorn—your typical love story—but it just proved that love could show up in the unlikeliest of places with the least likely people.

  “Sorry. Thank you for helping me,” Forgetty grumbled.

  “Don’t mention it. Now have fun in Rio. And don’t wear heels next time.”

  “Hey, how’d you know about—”

  “Oops. My other line is buzzing. Gotta go.” Cimil switched to the incoming call and went to the fridge to grab a can of whipped cream. “Cimil, Goddess of crispy, deep-fried treats and other evil sundries.” She turned and began to cover the naked man on the table with big white dollops.

  “Cimil, it is I, Roen,” said a dark voice.

  Cimil dropped the can on the floor. Oh god—I mean me—oh me, he doesn’t sound happy. “What’s the status?”

  “We have Zac.”

  “Yippy!” Cimil jumped up and down.

  “But it has cost us many men, and as such, he will be put down.”

  Should she tell Roen that gods couldn’t die? Nah…let him figure that one out on his own.

  Roen added, “And by ‘put down,’ I mean he will be placed in an airtight steel barrel. We will fill it with cement and drop him to the deepest part of the ocean—as our laws dictate. All right, really it is a punishment we made up for you, just in case you show up to our island again. Nevertheless, it seems befitting for Zac, too.”

  Jeepers. Sitting at the bottom of the ocean for all eternity, unable to die, was way worse than…well, dying. It meant that Zac would remain trapped for all eternity. Not even she could rescue him.

  Aquaman could. He can do anything. She mentally swooned. Momoa…

  “What would you like us to do with your human, Tula?” Roen asked.

  “Why should I care?”

  “Uhhh, because you said she was of extreme value to mankind and we were to keep her safe at all costs, which we did. Five good mermen lost their lives.”

  “And we appreciate the sacrifice, but the situation has changed. Zac and his foibles will be erased from our memories in about eight days. Oh, and I suggest you draw yourselves some pictures on the fine art of butt wiping. It will come in handy. Tootles.”

  “Cimil! You bat-shit crazy piece of shi—”

  Cimil disconnected the call and shrugged. “I don’t get why everyone’s always so surprised when I throw curveballs. It’s my brand.” She looked at the trembling man stretched across the table, a few strategic mounds of whipped cream covering his nipples. “Okay, Scooter, let’s get this torture session started. Shall we begin with you licking your own nut sack?”

  His mouth fell open in terror, but he didn’t scream.

  Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “Damn, I love my job.”

  Zac woke to a horrible pain in his chest and a throbbing ache in his skull, quickly realizing the warm wetness between his back and the cement floor wasn’t water.

  Fuuuuck. That had been one hell of a battle, but clearly they’d bested him, and now he was leaking blood.

  “Ah, you’re awake. About fucking time,” said a deep voice.

  Zac’s eyes strained to see the clean face on the other side of the bars. Roen, king of the mermen. Behind him stood two large warriors. Zac believed one to be Lyle, Roen’s brother.

  “Hey, pollywogs,” grumbled Zac. “Looks like you all had baths. I assume bubbles were involved since you’re all a bunch of froufrou pussies?”

  Roen sighed with exasperation. “Insult me all you like, God of Limp Dicks, but you’re our prisoner, and soon you will be punished for your crimes against my people and the innocent humans you’ve slaughtered.”

  Zac slowly brought himself upright, placing his hand on the back of his wet, blood-caked hair. The wound felt closed, which was a pity because clearly he would live, and dying meant freedom. If a deity’s body got destroyed, their soul was released from this world. Then they could choose to go to their plane or return to this world through one of their portals, which were really cenotes, or freshwater springs, in the Yucatan jungles of Mexico. It was all very cool and godly. Unlike mermen.

  “Dream all you like, tuna melt,” Zac grumbled. “My brethren will never allow you, a lowly unevolved creature, to do squat to me.” They’ll be coming for me to exact their own justice. Of course, it would be entombment, but only until all was set right with the Universe again. Then he’d be free—bored, awesome, and likely sentenced to a thousand years of matchmaking. Lame. But whatever.

  “You are mistaken,” Roen said with a smirk. “Your brethren do not appear to be the least bit concerned. In fact, Cimil indicated they plan to forget all about you. And ass wiping. I am unsure; the conversation was very confusing.”

  “No one’s forgetting about me. Those pussies can’t live without my temptation. I’m the spice of their pathetic eternal lives.”

  “Nope. I’m pretty sure she said you would be completely forgotten in eight days.”

  Zac frowned, his foggy mind picking up on the true meaning. “Did Cimil happen to also mention if my sister, the Goddess of Forgetfulness, would be following in my evil footsteps in these next eight days?”

  Suddenly, his holy scaliness—fine, all right. He isn’t scaly. He has very nice tanned skin—his holy mer-ness seemed uncomfortable. “What do you mean?”

  “Let me out, and I’ll tell you.”

  Roen narrowed his green eyes. “I think not.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Oh, I will. And it suits me to carry out your punishment at sunrise.”

  “Whatevs.” Like he cared. He was evil. And the sooner they carried out their silly punishment, the better.

  Oh, I hope they behead me, Zac thought. Anything fast would be good. Then he would return to this world and continue his quest to conquer, corrupt, fuck, and possess Tula.

  If she resisted, he’d kill her.

  Zac saluted Roen. “Aye-aye, catfish.”

  Roen shook his head. “I cannot begin to articulate how good it will feel to rid the world of you.” He turned and left, heading for a set of cement stairs leading up to ground level, his two soldiers on his heels.

  Zac suddenly felt cold—in his heart, his mind, and every space between the molecules of his now bitter soul. Wait a second. Forgetty is turning. Fuck. Fuck no. That meant he would forget Tula. The tiniest corner of his heart, still possessing a handful of cells filled with light and goodness, began protesting
violently. He could handle anything, do anything, become anything, but losing all memories of her for eternity?

  Terror filled him.

  No. This is good, his evil side argued. I will finally be free of her. He lowered himself back down to the sticky blood-soaked floor and smiled up at the gray ceiling. It would indeed be a blessing to be free of his feelings for her. Think of all the damage I could do to the rest of the world. Best. Evil. Vacation. Ever.

  He catapulted upright. “Who am I joking? My evilness belongs to her.” She was the reason he’d flipped. He’d fallen in love with her, but resisted his feelings because Cimil swore he would destroy Tula if he took her as a mate. He simply wasn’t good enough for her. But honestly, who was? Tula had the purest, most beautiful aura he’d ever seen on a human.

  Wait. Perhaps I didn’t think through my plan very well. Without a mate, the plague had gotten him anyway. And here we are.

  Zac pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to think straight. It felt as though someone had shoved rotting cotton candy inside his mind.

  No. You’re thinking just fine. Yes, yes. He knew what to do. He wanted to dedicate his energies to Tula. He would allow these idiots to do what they pleased, enacting their ridiculous punishment, and then he’d continue as planned. Tula would submit to him or die a torturous slow death. I will make her pay for her hold over me. I will make her suffer for her goodness. Humans were not allowed to be better than the gods. It was unnatural.

  “Zac! Zac! Ohmygod, are you down there?” a sweet voice called out from the stairwell.

  “Tula?”

  “Oh my stars!” She quickly shuffled down the stairs, their eyes meeting from across the cold cement room. “What have they done to you?”

  Zac’s wickedness snickered on the inside, but he put on his lost puppy-dog face. “Tula, I came searching for you, and they beat me.”

  Her wide blue eyes filled with sadness. “Those barbarians. They said you were crazy and here to hurt me.”

  They’re right.

  He slowly got to his feet and gripped the steel bars of the cell, offering his sincerest of expressions. “I would never hurt you, my sweet mortal. This is one of Cimil’s crazy plots—I think she’s turned completely evil. I came because a woman as beautiful as you is not safe with these savages.”

  Tula, wearing a thin blue flowery dress covering her from neck to ankles—so sexy! Look at all that prim and properness! I bet she’s wearing giant panties, too!—brushed her hand over her long blonde hair. “I look like a mess. They loaned me a few things, but the women here don’t wear much clothing, and the bathroom scares me. I could swear I hear voices every time I turn on the tap water.”

  Oh, is Crazy Dirt back? She was an evil water spirit of sorts that once enslaved the mermen. Nobody knew where she’d gone, but that was a worry for another time.

  “You look like a thousand sunsets and a million budding roses to me, Tula,” he said. “You could be completely nude, and I’d still want you.”

  She flashed a demure smile. “I’ve missed you, Mr. Zac. You and your weird jokes.”

  That hadn’t been a joke. He was the God of Temptation. The fewer inhibitions, the less his interest in a woman.

  Tula came up to the bars, placing her soft little hands over his. “I’m going to get you out of there, Zac. I won’t let them entomb you at the bottom of the ocean.”

  “What’s this?”

  “They plan to put you in an airtight container and sink you so you can’t ever be rescued.”

  Oh. Not good.

  “But I know where the key to your cell is. You wait here.” She turned, heading for the stairs.

  Sweetheart, I ain’t going anywhere. “When will you return?”

  “Soon, Zac. Soon. Be ready to run.”

  Oh, I’ll be ready. Ready to finally crush your snow white soul and make you mine. But somewhere deep in his heart, he already knew what would happen. Tula’s soul was incorruptible. It was why he’d been drawn to her from the first moment they’d met. She will never give in to me. She is too good. An image of him wrapping his strong hands around her sweet, pale neck, strangling the life out of her, flooded his mind. Then she shall die. A punishment for her perfection.

  “Hurry back, my love!” he called out.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I will not scream in hysterics. I will not scream in hysterics. I will not—okay, I’m going to scream in hysterics. Forgetty white-knuckled the armrests of her seat toward the back of the plane bound for Rio, wondering why she’d gotten on the stupid aircraft to begin with. It always ended the same. Always. But this time, she’d worn a necklace made entirely of black jade, a material used to dampen a god’s energy. Her brethren employed it all the time with their human mates, who couldn’t survive prolonged physical contact without it. I was sure this would work! But no.

  The plane banked left again, tilting everyone on their sides and triggering a plane full of whimpers and gasps.

  Dammit. Perhaps her situation was far worse than she’d thought. With her soul struggling to remain in the light, her energy was likely amped up, almost like when a human had an infection and the immune system went into overdrive.

  Ugh. I really should just get my pilot’s license. Nervously, she glanced out the tiny oval window and slid her cell phone from her pocket to call the only being on the planet who ever truly remembered her, Acan, the God of Wine. He also went by Belch, Dr. Decapitation (a new gift he’d discovered) and Mr. Balls Out. Really, the gods had so many names, one or more for each culture, that they couldn’t remember them all. She was the exception. No name. Not one. What was the point? No one would remember it.

  “Forgetty-getty-wetty!” yelled a deep voice through her phone. “Dear gods, woman! Where the fuck have you been hiding?”

  Or perhaps I’ve never adopted a name because it will only result in being called things such as “Forgetty Wetty.” No, not because she wet herself, but because whenever her brother talked her into a chugging contest, it inevitably ended with her losing. No one could beat the God of Wine at drinking. He would then poke fun and claim she looked like she might cry. “Forgetty Wetty lost again!”

  “Do not call me that, brother, or I shall call you the Tighty Whity Mighty.” Before he’d found his mate, Margarita, Acan spent his days so drunk that he often forgot to wear pants.

  “I cannot claim to feel insulted by that nickname, sister. I am, after all, the party god, and nothing says fun like a fine pair of men’s cotton briefs. However, your absence from my New Year’s nuptial ceremony and from our joint business ventures is another sour cocktail.”

  She and Acan owned a worldwide chain of bars and nightclubs, which they ran together, though she did most of the work since he used to be so unreliable. But now he was all grown up and capable of running things on his own. She deserved this break. Unfortunately, she’d missed his wedding a few weeks ago on New Year’s Eve.

  “I’m sorry for that.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “And I promise there’s a perfectly good explanation—one you know I’m good for. However…”

  “Yes?” he pushed.

  “Well, I’m currently on my way to Rio and—”

  “Dear gods, Getty! Please tell me you are not flying again.”

  She winced. “Yes. But I wore black jade this time. Only, it doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “Not good, Getty. Not at all.” He tsked.

  “Well, I’m sorry. How else was I to get to Rio, huh?”

  “Why must you go at all?” he barked. “You know what happened the last time you were on an aircraft—and the previous thirty times before that.”

  The crew and passengers experienced temporary amnesia due to the prolonged exposure to her energy.

  “Yes, of course I know. But…” She sighed, wanting with everything in her heart to tell him the really-really. But he really, really didn’t need this breed of heartache in his life. For the first time in seventy thousand years, he was happy. He had Margarita and J
essica, her teenaged daughter. The three of them had become a family, and now was his time to simply live. If she told him she was in trouble and soon the world would fall in to a mental pit of darkness, he’d only panic and try to step in. But what could he do? She would either meet Mr. Mate or she wouldn’t. Acan could do little to alter her destiny.

  “But what?” Acan prodded.

  “Let’s table the lecture for the moment. I’m on a plane and need you to guide the pilot through the landing before we run out of fuel.”

  Acan grumbled on the other end of the line. “Of course, sister. Put the pilot on the phone.”

  She reached for the call button, and the attendant, a young brunette, showed up immediately.

  “Hi. This call is for the pilot.” Forgetty held out her phone.

  “Sorry, ma’am?”

  “Look. I don’t have time for this and neither do you. We’re about to fall out of the sky, so I suggest you pass this call to the pilot.”

  The woman’s face contorted.

  “Bejeezus! Lady,” Forgetty barked, “even you must’ve noticed we’ve circled the runway eleven times.”

  “Well,” the attendant rubbed her forehead, “now that you mention it…”

  “Good.” Forgetty wiggled the phone at her. “Take it to the cockpit before we all end up on the evening news.”

  The woman snatched the device and scurried off.

  “Good human.”

  After a few minutes, Forgetty felt the plane banking to the right, descending quickly.

  She leaned back in her seat and whooshed out a breath. “Thank gods Acan knows how to land a 747.”

  One disaster averted. One to go. This was her last chance to find a mate, meaning she would take the stage one more time. If this didn’t work, the fate of the world would be left up to speed dating à la Cimil. No high hopes there.