Dogs and Goddesses Read online

  Oh. Wow.

  They passed a parked car, and Bailey must have jumped against it or something, because a loud, rhythmic alarm went off, bursts of sound matching the pacing of her heart, her breath, her desire. The heat rode up her legs, her core, to her face, and she took in a deep breath of air just as Noah bounced her again on his hips to get a better hold of her.

  “Oh, hey,” Daisy said, gripping the cool bottle, anchoring herself to it and to Noah, holding on to what control she had left.

  And then, finally, Noah stopped in front of the coffeehouse. He settled her down gently on the sidewalk, and the warm cement shot another wave of sensation through her body. She looked again at the bottle in her hand; what the hell was in that stuff?

  “Well,” Noah said. “I’ll see you Tuesday at class?”

  Daisy looked up, feeling bereft. Tuesday? Five whole days?

  “Actually,” she said quickly, “hell of a coincidence with you being a musician and all, Abby’s having an open mike night here tomorrow night.”

  “Yeah?” Noah looked at the coffeehouse door, where the giant CLOSED sign sat in the dusty window. “It’s not … closed?”

  “No. Well, yes. But no.” God, but she was a bad liar. “Abby needs to bring in a little extra cash, so she’s having an open mike night, like Bea used to have. Except instead of poets, Abby wants music.” Daisy smiled up at him, hoping her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. “I’d love to hear you play.”

  “Then I’ll be there.” He waved good-bye to Bailey, and a moment later he’d disappeared around the corner. Daisy leaned against the cool glass of the old storefront.

  “Daisy happy!” Bailey yipped, hopping into the air. “Happy, happy, happy!”

  Daisy looked down and felt a rush of affection for the little furball. She knelt down and rubbed his head.

  “Daisy happy.” She stood up, corked the bottle, and pulled open the stairwell door. “Come on. You go say hi to my couch pillow while I drum up the nerve to tell Abby I’ve booked her an open mike tomorrow.”

  “Yay!” Bailey barked, darting up the steps, and Daisy followed, laughing.

  Kammani stood at the back of the temple flanked by Bikka and Umma, watching the last of the Three leave while the teenagers, Bun and Gen, gathered their things and giggled at their dogs, a fat poodle mix in a tiara and a resigned foxhound in a bandanna. Twits, Kammani thought, and wondered what twits were. There were words in the air in this world, crackling as they came and went, annoying her with their strangeness and inexplicability. This world was not like her old world; it was wrong, ignorant, lacking in respect, starting with the people who had called her back and then not greeted her—

  “Ohmigod, I think we lost the Cheetos,” Bun said, looking around the floor.

  “Ohmigod, I think we ate the Cheetos,” Gen said, and they collapsed into laughter again.

  Kammani thought, I should smite you into grease spots.

  “They’re young,” Umma barked.

  “Yes,“ Kammani said. “But they will learn. And then—”

  Someone moved in the darkness behind the altar.

  “Careful,” Umma growled.

  The dark-haired girl with the little black dog in her arms came out of the curtains and bent her head. “I bow before thee, O Goddess. I am Mina Wortham. My mother has sent me because I am your Chosen, the youngest woman of age in our family. I will do your bidding.”

  “Your mother?” Kammani said.

  “Miriam Wortham,” the girl said, and Kammani thought of the lone, fervent little woman who had greeted her when she’d awakened, who had bowed low and brought clothes and food and money and a machine that played flat disks. “So you can see the world you will rule, my goddess.” Mina looked like Miriam, eyes bulging with devotion, thin chest heaving with passion, a dark raw nerve. Her little black dog breathed heavily, too, making a Heh heh heh sound as he smiled, his eyelids half-closed.

  Kammani walked up the three shallow steps to the altar to look down on Mina Wortham. “You say you are chosen. Tell me how you will serve me.”

  “My name is Death,” the girl said almost hissing the word. “I will serve you by bringing an end to any who oppose you.”

  Kammani closed her eyes. Seven priestesses and this is the one who remembers. “You are not Death. You are the human manifestation of the abstract principle of the cessation of life.” Mina frowned, and Kammani tried again. “You are not a goddess; you are a priestess charged with helping the dying among my people to find Ereshkigal’s kingdom in the Netherworld.”

  The girl blinked.

  Kammani spoke slower. “You are Mina Wortham, a priestess only. You will serve me, forsaking all others, staying virgin and aloof, giving your life to me. And you will kill no one.” Unless I tell you to.

  Mina bowed. “I am untouched by man, and I am your priestess, your servant, your slave, my goddess.”

  Kammani nodded. “Welcome, Mina, descendant of Munawirtum. You are the seventh of my priestesses—”

  “And the most powerful,” Mina said, tasting the words.

  “No,” Kammani said, wondering if Mina knew what happened to people who interrupted a goddess.

  “And I will stand by your left hand, and I will smite your enemies,” Mina went on, her voice rising.

  If this had been the old world, Mina would have been a scorch mark on the stone by now, or at least a small furred creature with a collar.

  But she needed Mina, needed Mina’s family of devout worshipers, women who had not forgotten over centuries …

  Bun and Gen were at the big double doors now, leaving a welter of papers and bags behind them, whispering and giggling as they looked back at Mina, no idea that they were in the presence of Divinity.

  They’ve forgotten me, Kammani thought with a chill. Only Mina’s family remembers, and their numbers are not large enough to give me the power I need—

  “Shall I smite them?” Mina said.

  “No, Mina. You may not smite anyone,” Kammani said, and Mina looked rebellious as Bun and Gen escaped, unscathed.

  “You say I am not the most powerful,” Mina said, coming closer. “Why? I am the most faithful.”

  “There are others who come before you.” Kammani looked back at the three chairs in the middle of the semicircle.

  Mina stiffened, following Kammani’s gaze to the center chair. “Daisy? She’s nothing.”

  “On the contrary, she is very important.” Kammani watched as Mina’s eyes narrowed.

  “She can’t be important; she’s not even five foot tall,” Mina said. “She can’t even control her dog.”

  “She is one of the Three.” Kammani stared out over the temple, remembering their presence, feeling the power and passion they were repressing within themselves. Once she’d brought them back to her, released all that power in them, once they were open to her again—

  “The Three?” Mina’s eyes grew greedy.

  Kammani walked down the shallow steps, tired of the girl’s neediness, leaving Mina to seethe behind her.

  Bun’s and Gen’s chairs were covered with papers and Kammani picked one up. A magazine. Miriam had brought some of those, too, but not like these. InStyle, she read on the first cover, savoring the new word. People. Star. Pictures of women falling out of their clothing, men with jutting jaws and empty eyes, babies in jewels. Celebribaby. Another word from the air. She shook her head and went back up the steps to the altar.

  “The Three?” Mina said, spitting the words. “The three who sat in the middle? They have power? That little shrimp Daisy? Old Professor Summer with her gray hair? That skinny weakling with the big dog? They’re the most powerful?”

  “They will be,” Kammani said. “When they follow me.”

  “What about me?”

  “You?” Kammani turned to her. “You are my seventh priestess and your birthright is to serve me.”

  “Yes, my goddess,” Mina said, but her eyes slid left.

  “Begin now.” Kammani dropped the