Dogs and Goddesses Read online

  She straightened and thought, No, I want THIS, and reached for the finish, falling into the color, bringing it all back, the heat and the joy rising so that she lifted her arms above her head, stretching her body as everything spiraled down and hit low, and then she grabbed onto the table as the spasms took her, felt them like bright slashes against the stone inside her, her breath coming “oh, oh, oh” as all that heat spattered against her cold logic and she came her brains out for the first time in her life.

  When her breath slowed again, she turned and saw Sam in the archway to the bedroom, naked to the waist, beautiful and strong and staring at her, and she walked over to him, grabbed the back of his head, yanked him down to her mouth, and kissed him like she’d never kissed anyone before, her brain shorting out and her body rocking as another orgasm took her and then he put his arms around her and pulled her tight against him, his body hard and hot, and she shuddered again and again, and then he said, “Sharrat,” and she froze.

  “No.” She pushed him away, cold again, the color in her head dulling as the beat in her blood disappeared.

  “Shar?” he said, and she said, “I have to go to bed now,” and walked away from him as he held out his hand to her, closing her eyes as she went through the dining room and the living room and the archway to the hall, thinking, He doesn’t want you; he wants Sharrat, her head aching like a hangover. She climbed the stairs to her room and walked straight into her shower and watched as the hard stab of the hot water washed the yellow and red paint in spirals over her body and onto the shower floor to arabesque down the drain, beautiful dancing color, and the water felt like needles on her skin, and the warm peppermint scent of the shampoo tickled her nose, and the music came back into her head, the beat insistent, filling her, heating her, rocking her, making everything go low and twist and …

  “Oh. My. God,” Shar said, and pounded on the tile until the spasms stopped again.

  Then she stood trembling under the water and thought, What’s happening to me?

  She toweled herself off, and the rough scrape of the terry put her over the edge again as she held on to the towel bar, and then she put on a nightgown, this time resisting the flutter from the old flannel that was like a lover’s touch on her skin. She couldn’t keep coming, no matter how good it felt. If she kept this up, every time she saw Sam …

  She shivered at the thought. He wanted Sharrat, not her, but he was there, and she’d never wanted anybody more, and he was never going to love her anyway, he was a god, so …

  I could go down there, she thought. I could go down there and make love with a god.

  She put on her robe and walked into the bedroom and saw Wolfie and Milton sitting on the floor by the bed. She shook her head to clear it and said, “I have to go down to talk to Sam, but you stay here—”

  “Sam had to go out,” Wolfie said.

  “Out,” Milton said.

  “Oh,” Shar said.

  “And we’re really tired,” Wolfie said, scratching at a spot of yellow paint on his fur.

  “Food,” Milton said.

  “Tired,” Wolfie said.

  “Tired,” Milton said.

  Shar drew a deep breath. That was good. It was really good. It would have been a huge mistake to go to him. He was promiscuous. And he was working with Kammani. He was the enemy. Boy, she was glad he wasn’t there anymore.

  “You okay?” Wolfie said.

  “Okay?” Milton said.

  Dogs were better than gods, anyway. They were faithful and loving and didn’t screw up your life.

  “I’m okay,” Shar said, and put the two of them on the bed, where they scrambled back as she climbed under the covers and then burrowed under the duvet.

  “Don’t shove,” Wolfie growled.

  “Shove,” Milton said.

  “Good night,” Shar said, and snuggled down into soft, worn sheets that slid against her body, and told herself that she didn’t want a god anyway. She had enough problems without that.

  Maybe he’ll show up in my dreams.

  She turned her face into her pillow and fell asleep, exhausted and confused and unsatisfied.

  At two o’clock in the morning, Abby couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t just the memory of Christopher’s hot mouth and cold eyes that was bothering her. It was the cookies. The hunger. The lust that she could supposedly inspire in people. Not to mention the fact that she was a freaking goddess. Maybe goddesses didn’t need sleep. Though word had it that Granny B had done more than her share of sleeping, and she must have been a demi-goddess herself.

  The air mattress was deflating again. Bowser had a habit of climbing onto the foot of it while she slept, and she wasn’t sure whether he’d poked a hole in it or the old thing was just protesting the added weight. She rolled off onto the hard floor and scrambled to her feet. The windows were open to the street, and she could hear voices, music, laughter. And she’d never felt so alone in her life.

  She was hungry. She hadn’t remembered feeling that way before—like there was something that would fill that emptiness inside her, but she couldn’t think what it was. If she ate one more cookie she was going to throw up, and she was out of temple tonic. Maybe it wasn’t food she was hungry for. Maybe it was answers.

  The summer night was warm. She dressed quickly, draped one of Bea’s old shawls around her, and shoved her feet in her sandals. “You coming with me, pal?” she asked Bowser.

  He’d already gotten to his feet, albeit with noticeable reluctance. “Can’t we just sleep?”

  “You can, sweetie. I have some questions I need answered.”

  “I’m going with you,” he growled.

  “This is a very safe town.”

  “Coming with you.”

  She didn’t drive. It was a warm night, the history building wasn’t that far away, and the walk might ease her restlessness even if she couldn’t track down Kammani.

  The heavy doors to the auditorium were locked. Of course. Abby considered pounding on them, but she’d probably get the campus police instead. “Okay, you’re right: this was a dumb idea,” she was saying to Bowser when suddenly the doors opened and Kammani stood there, barefoot, with her robe gathered loosely around her, leaving her shoulders and her spectacular breasts bare.

  Abby blinked. She wasn’t particularly modest, but with a half-naked woman, you never could pick a good place for your eyes to go.

  “Abi,” Kammani said, looking sleepy and satisfied and very glad to see her.

  “Er, I just had a couple of questions,” Abby said.

  Kammani nodded. “Of course. Enter.”

  Abby followed Kammani into the temple, still feeling uneasy, Bowser by her side. There were torches burning, the smell of sex and sulphur in the air, and Abby shivered. “Aren’t you chilly?” she said as Kammani’s robe slipped farther. “I’ll lend you my shawl.” Please, take the shawl.

  Kammani smiled at her dreamily, like a benevolent mother. A benevolent, weird, power-crazed, half-naked mother.

  Maybe easing into it is a better idea, Abby thought. “Something odd is going on,” she said, trying to sound casual. “After the first night of class we started hearing our dogs talk. Really, we could hear them speak, and we could hear the other dogs talking. There’s a college professor who’s a stuck-up asshole and I can’t stand him, but I keep wanting to jump his bones, and he’s kissing me when he clearly hates me. And wherever I go, people are hungry or lustful or wanting something, and it’s very confusing. Good for business, of course, but disturbing.”

  “Business?” Kammani said, frowning with her.

  “We opened a coffeehouse tonight. Just a small place with cookies and coffee and live music.”

  Suddenly, Kammani was a lot less warm and a lot more awake. “I have heard of your coffeehouse temple. Why are you doing this?”

  “Because Daisy wanted it. And it seemed right. The point is, whenever people are around us they seem to act oddly, and I want to know why.”

  Kammani pulled her r