Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Damien did not know what the status of the army was since their leadership—the gods—had stepped down, nor did he care, because the world was an infinitely better place without the insane deities.
Like wild toddlers with superpowers. And Cimil was their poster child.
“So what is it you wish me to do?” Damien asked, praying it wasn’t to help locate Cimil. He wanted nothing to do with the unhinged goddess.
Votan sighed with exasperation. “Tailor, as you are aware, I am no longer on active duty. Also, my wife would murder me if I started godding again, so I’m going to need you to track down Cimil.”
Son of a… Damien drew a long breath. “Fine. If you would be so kind as to tell me your theory?”
“Theory?”
“Where Cimil might’ve gone,” Damien explained.
“If I knew that, I would not be calling you, Greystone. But I can say this: Cimil is working with someone powerful because neither I nor my brethren can sense Cimil’s presence anywhere in the world. There is no sign of Minky either.”
“I need somewhere to begin the search. Otherwise, I cannot help,” Damien said. Yes, he was immortal and technically a demigod ever since the gods had elected to give him their light after he’d proven himself invaluable on more than one occasion; however, he had no powers. No ability to manipulate time, the weather, or humans—though he had been a very effective fixer at one time. He’d also been a supernatural weapons expert, soldier, and hunter (of people and beings). Now, he was simply an imbittered tailor who really, really, really wanted to be left the hell alone.
Just a man and his fabrics.
And Chinese takeout.
And lots of scotch. All the scotch.
“Begin by looking for news of abnormal events,” Votan suggested, “such as clowns falling from the sky or Big Foot sightings at Sizzler. Cimil loves to take advantage of their two-for-one steak nights. If that fails, try finding out if there’s a surge in Twinkie consumption anywhere.”
Cimil did love her Twinkies, almost as much as she loved torturing clowns. As the ex-Goddess of the Underworld—“ex” due to her forced retirement—she felt a special bond with all things evil.
“All right. I will get on it in the morning,” Damien said.
“No. You will start now. You have five days to find her.”
Damien’s temples began to throb. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “Why five days?”
“I promised Emma we’d time travel to pre-eruption Pompeii for our anniversary. This should be resolved before my departure.”
Emma was Votan’s wife. “That is a relief. I thought you were going to say the world would implode, or something of that nature.”
“That, too,” Votan said.
Excellent, Damien thought dryly, rubbing his forehead.
Votan continued, “Cimil wishes for the gods to come out of retirement and rule over humans once more; however, since we’ve refused, she may be taking another route to get what she wants.”
“What other route?” And how could Cimil force thirteen deities to return to duty? They were gods. They didn’t do anything they didn’t want to.
Unlike me. Always being bamboozled.
“As you know, the supernatural communities were recently decimated when her unicorn fornicated with a hellhound—an unnatural mating that triggered a supernatural calamity. In either case, she’s made it no secret that she wishes to rebuild the supernatural populations.”
“Yes, I am aware,” Damien said. The blast from the two creatures getting it on had been so destructive that only a handful of creatures from each species survived, though no one knew how. In any case, the blast also triggered the gods’ retirement. With so few supernatural threats to humankind remaining, they figured it was a good time to take off the training wheels and let humans fend for themselves. Cimil had been opposed to the plan.
Votan went on, “We believe her ultimate goal is to build an army and attack humans, thereby forcing our hands. My brethren and I would have no choice but to intervene.”
No. No. No. The gods can’t come out of retirement. Things were finally starting to make sense in the world again. Rational decisions were making a comeback, people were regaining a sense of hope, and the masses were taking time to shop in person again. He’d never seen so much foot traffic. When the gods were around, the world lived in a constant state of pendulum-swinging and eggshell-walking as random chaos erupted.
I bet Cimil is behind those drones. She loved messing with humans’ heads, and the sparklier the better.
“I will do my best to find her,” Damien said. “But Votan, I must be candid; Cimil is always ten steps ahead. If her plan is to raise an army, it is best to assume she will succeed and to prepare now while there’s time.” Damien had retired from his life as a soldier long ago, but the principles of war were forever ingrained in his mind: Plan for success but prepare for failure.