“Oh! Well, the sea turtles can translate. They speak babble. And we can train Minky to disarm the planet from all sources of radiation. If only I knew how to retire nuclear reactors. And where Minky was.” The last time her crazy unicorn had disappeared, she’d been locked up in an Egyptian tomb by a bunch of Roberto’s vampires. Roberto, an ex-pharaoh, was now her beloved hubby, but it still chapped her chaps when she thought about how they’d turned Minky into a bloodsucking demon unicorn.
“Cimil, stop cracking jokes and tell me you have a plan,” groaned her sister.
“Errrr…I have a plan?” I really don’t. Other than eating Twinkies.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I?” Cimil scratched the side of her mouth.
“Stop it! You have to help me find my mate. Throw me one of those immortal mixer parties like you and Zac did last month.”
That party had been for their brother Belch, aka Acan, aka God of Wine and Decapitation—so fun!—who was all settled now with a really nice mortal that owned a fitness club. Honestly though, Cimil and Zac couldn’t take credit since they hadn’t helped with the party for one simple reason.
“Yeah, I meant to tell you. We have a little issue.” Cimil began tapping her candy apple red nails on the metal handle of the cart, impatiently waiting for whipped-cream man to unload his cases. “Hurry it up, mister. And don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.” She gave him her ‘you’ve got a date with disembowelment’ look, and the man’s ruddy face turned ghost white. He began tossing his items onto the belt like he was in a competition for fastest checkout.
“What was that?” Forgetty asked.
“Nothing a little house call won’t fix. But as I was saying, Zac has flipped, which I think you’re aware of.”
“Yes…?” Forgetty groaned with dread.
“And we’ve been hunting for him, searching high and low, near and far, wide and narrow, in and out—”
“Cimil! Get on with it.”
“What was I saying?” She honestly couldn’t remember. The Twinkies had started talking. Eat us, eat us…
“You were talking about searching for Zac!” Forgetty yelled in a panic.
“Ah, yes. Our best soldiers have been tracking him—okay, really, they’re just following the trail of dead bodies, and we think we’ve located him. That’s the good news.”
“What’s the bad news?” Forgetty asked.
“He found where I’ve hidden Tula. Or…he will find Tula, in thirteen minutes and five seconds. And Minky, who was supposed to whisk her away to safety should this event take place, has gone missing.” That’s right. Disappeared. Right in the middle of an important mission—thus the Twinkies. To boot, Tula was special, her heart made of pure goodness. She could only love, hope, and forgive. It was the reason Tula had been hired to be their assistant at the matchmaking agency she and Zac had set up in order to expedite paying their penance of having to match up one hundred immortals. Tula was supposed to be perfect for Zac since he couldn’t tempt her incorruptible heart.
Or so I’d thought. Nothing had turned out as planned.
Step #1: Zac was supposed to become obsessed with Tula. Check!
Step #2: After realizing he couldn’t tempt her, he was supposed to grow up and rise to the occasion in order to be worthy of her. Check!
Step #3? Super-duper backfire! Zac had been told repeatedly to stay away from Tula, because he wasn’t good enough and would only destroy her. However, instead of bettering himself and then claiming Tula, as it was meant to be, Zac had walked away in order to protect her—his love was just that strong. The result being that he’d flipped to Team Evil.
Well, fuckity, fuck, fuck-fuck!
“Jesus. Zac is going to kill Tula,” Forgetty muttered. “You have to do something.”
“I’ve warned our friends on the island that he’s coming. They’ll be ready. They’ll capture him.”
“Island? Oh no. Cimil, please tell me you didn’t.”
“What?” she spat. “It was the only place I could think to hide her.” And she had sent Minky along for added protection. Yeah, only now Minky’s nowhere to be seen. Or unseen? Whatever.
“Are you out of your freaking mind, Cimil? That island is the last place you should’ve sent someone like Tula. Those men will chew her up, spit her out, and make her into a sex slave—willingly, of course.”
True. No woman could resist the manly hotness on the island of El Corazón. But we were talking Tula here. She’d resisted being tempted by Zac—in fact, she’d only begun to have feelings for him after he stopped being a selfish prick whose only interest had been seducing her. Once she saw him trying to put her first, resisting his urges to tempt her into his bed, she fell head over granny panties for him. Tula was a very conservative dresser.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Cimil said. “Just as long as she doesn’t disobey her hosts. Or challenge anyone to a swim for control of the island. Besides, I’ve made it clear they are to protect her at any cost, and they’ve promised to do so in exchange for my agreeing to never, ever, ever darken their doorstep again.” Sad, because she so loved their s’mores night. These dudes knew how to roast a marshmallow, and she was, after all, the Goddess of S’mores. And garage sales, unicorn wrangling, planetary destruction, lying, mayhem, and the underworld. “And I’ll have you know that at this very moment, they are preparing for Zac’s arrival. It’s going to work out fine.”
Maybe.
Okay, probably not.
“And if you’re wrong, Cimil? What then?” Forgetty asked.
“I’m never wrong! Except on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays—okay! I’m off my game, but this is all your fault for taking away my powers when everyone knows how important I am to keeping the planet safe. Except when I’m creating mayhem and plotting Earth’s destruction. But I always save us in the end, don’t I?”
Forgetty groaned. “I wish my powers worked on myself, because I’d really liked to forget this entire conversation.”
“Me too! Because if I’m wrong again, and Zac gets his hands on Tula, then he will do bad, bad things to her, which will likely end in her death. Good news is that you don’t have to worry! We’re all screwed anyway because now you’re flipping and there is no mate for you. You’re destined to be forgotten for eternity. Okay. Gotta go. My turn to pay.” Cimil ended the call, feeling like she’d forgotten something, a common symptom when engaging with her sister.
A text suddenly popped onto Cimil’s phone.
FORGETTY: I know you already forgot! So here’s the “sitch” in writing: I’m flipping. You need to find me a mate! Yesterday!
Cimil scratched the side of her head. “But I can’t time travel. She must have the wrong number.”
Zac, God of Temptation, prepared the yacht for his date with destiny—aka obtaining total submission from Tula—by dumping the entire crew overboard into the dark ocean. They were dead anyway since he only had need for the captain, who, at present, was locked in the utility closet. Someone’s gotta steer later while I shag the wholesome goodness from my little temptress.
Zac pushed back his mane of awesome, shiny, badass, black hair and looked out over the railing at the lights of the island hidden from the world—the mortal world. But he was no mortal. He was a fucking evil deity, ready to burn it all to the ground and take what was his: Tula, who’d been taken by Cimil and hidden from him.
Zac grinned, thinking of how much fun he was about to have tonight, killing the men guarding Tula along with everyone on the island—save Tula, of course. No speedy throat-slitting for her. He would take things slow, savoring every moment of breaking her.
You think you’re so above me, don’t you? You think you can play games with a god. Well think again, little mortal. When I’m done with you, your heart will be as black as mine.
Zac shed his black T-shirt and leather pants, preparing to jump overboard and swim ashore, cloaked in the cover of night. He grabbed his hunting knife and checked the edge
of the blade. “Perfect for skinning giant fish.”
“I think not,” said a deep voice behind him.
Zac whipped his naked body around, spotting the shadow of what appeared to be a large naked male with dark camouflage goo on his skin.
Merman… Zac growled inside his head. “I had no idea guppies were nocturnal.”
The warrior—equal in size at seven feet with equally large muscles, but not as badass looking or nearly as handsome or evil—flashed his white teeth in a predatory grin. “We are not fish. We are men. Mer-men. And you, Zac, are about to have your ass kicked by one.”
Zac threw back his head and laughed into the wintery night sky. “Ahh, good one. And I suppose you think you’ll be the one to best me—a cutthroat asshole who doesn’t give two fucks—or three or four and so on—about anything.”
The merman nodded with a cold stare. “Sounds about right to me.”
Zac shrugged. “All right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He began rolling up his invisible sleeves. After all, he was naked, ’cause, really, who gave a fuck? Or three or four and so on… “Bring it, Dory.”
Suddenly, men covered in the same greasy black goo silently emerged from the water, slithering over the yacht’s railing, hunting knives clenched in their bright white smiles.
I’m surrounded. By obsessive teeth brushers. “And look. You’re all naked, too.” Zac snickered with delight. “Because, really, what kind of fight would this be if you weren’t willing to put your balls on the line.”
“Zac.” One merman stepped forward. His size wasn’t as substantial as the others, but he had a presence.
“Oh, oh, oh. Lucky-fucky me! The infamous Roen. So we meet at last.” Now this was getting good. King of the mermen and me. Me winning. Me killing his men. Me taking Tula. It’s a happy day worthy of a commemorative statue. Or a Netflix special.
Roen dipped his full head of hair, which appeared to be streaked with the same dark goo covering his naked body and face. “The pleasure is all mine, Zac. Especially if you surrender now because there isn’t a chance in hell we’ll be letting you anywhere near our mates and children.”
Zac bobbed his head slowly, trying to hide his utter giddiness. “I accept that challenge and up the ante. I will kill your men, capture you, and then go after your mates and offspring. Those who do not resist will be captured, and I will then allow you to choose one woman or child to live—’cause I’m generous like that.”
Roen shook his head slowly. “Zac, Zac, Zac, we have survived much worse than you. So, as a favor to your bat shit of a sister, Cimil, I will give you one last chance to surrender. But I repeat, you will not be leaving this boat in one piece. You will not lay a hand on any child or female on that island, your Tula included.”
“She’s mine!” Zac roared. “Mine! I will take her and do as I fucking please.”
“Tula wants nothing to do with you.” Roen offered a smug grin. “She can’t stand the sight of you.”
No. Tula wants me. She’s just too pious to admit it.
Zac’s fists trembled. “You lie.”
“I am a merman. We never lie. Except on Wednesdays, as Cimil has decreed. Today, my friend, is Monday.”
Zac’s eyes quickly scanned the men surrounding him. “Awesome. I hear Monday is a great fucking day to die.” He lunged at Roen, hunting knife drawn.
CHAPTER THREE
“Excuuuse me?” Forgetty growled at the young woman on the other end of the phone. “What do you mean, ‘Mr. Liath is too busy’ to talk to me? I’m the headliner.” Forgetty had already decided she wasn’t going to perform the last two stops of the global rave tour, and Mr. Liath had to know. Otherwise the mortal masses might turn into an animalistic mob. Sure, none of them knew exactly who they were coming to see, but subconsciously they anticipated her. If she bailed and Mr. Liath didn’t have a backup plan, it would result in riots, which would cause even more bad juju around the planet. One person was capable of spreading toxic vibes to thousands in a day. For example, a mother snaps at her kids during breakfast. Kids go to school and snap at classmates, who in turn snap at their siblings, tutors, and parents. Or worse yet, they get into it with the teacher, who then snaps at one hundred kids that day. Bad moods were like a winter cold on an airplane. Very contagious.
“This is urgent. Life-or-death kind of urgent,” Forgetty pleaded. “Tell him to make the time and get to the phone right now.”
“What was your name again?” the woman asked. “I can’t remember.”
“Ohhh gods! Bite me.” Forgetty ended the call. She would have to go to Monte Carlo to find Mr. Liath, the owner of the tour, before the festivities began tomorrow evening.
Forgetty sat on the king-sized bed of her Airbnb rental and blew out a breath. She wanted to go to Bacalar, Mexico, find the nearest cenote, and swim home one last time before she lost sight of who she truly was—a good goddess. She also missed being in the gods’ realm, where she could be a disembodied spirit. No body. And nobody looking at her face and saying, “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”
The only reason she’d remained in the human world this long was because of her brother Acan, the God of Wine. He’d needed someone to look after him because he used to be such a troublemaker, always getting wasted, burning buildings down, and getting arrested. She was constantly having to clean up his messes and make humans forget they’d seen him devour entire kegs of beer in one sitting—a supernatural feat to be sure—or that he’d strolled into their establishment drunk and buck naked since he often forgot his pants. Without her help, Acan would’ve been locked away because the laws governing the gods were very specific; humans were on a need-to-know basis, and any deity who posed a threat to their secrecy posed a threat to them all. The offending god would be stripped of his or her powers and entombed. But Forgetty loved her brother—the only being on the planet who actually remembered her (most of the time) or cared for her—so she’d stayed by his side all these years and kept him out of trouble. Now, he’d found a mate who provided him the balance his soul truly needed. And great, once I flip, he won’t even remember me. All the gods would go right back to ground zero.
“Fuck. Me.” She covered her face and whooshed the air from her lungs. Without warning, her mind shifted to the man from last night with the wicked blue eyes and supremely male body. So strong. She had watched him from afar carrying equipment right after her mind-blowing performance of mash-ups that included her favorite ’70s tunes, like “Kung Fu Fighting” by Carl Douglas and “Boogie Shoes” by KC and the Sunshine Band; or ’80s hits like “Hungry Like a Wolf” by Duran Duran and “Careless Whisper” by George Michaels. The young humans loved her techno mash-ups, likely unaware they were listening to their parents’ music. But a goddess as old as her had come to learn that humans were cyclical in their tastes. Everything came back, repackaged with a twist, but there were a few original ideas.
Okay. The turducken excluded. Speaking of turkeys, when she found the event owner, she would be sure to mention the hot idiot roadie. Sexy or not, he deserved to be punished.
Forgetty stood from the bed and grabbed her enormous yellow suitcase, which matched her tank dress and golden hair—because she was cool like that—bidding adieu to the shimmering turquoise waters of Ibiza, Spain, a place filled with warm people, rich history, and relaxing vibes.
“I’m definitely coming back here after I’m cured,” she thought aloud, halfway out the door.
Wait. She stopped in her tracks. I won’t ever see this place as is again. Though the Universe might change course and correct the strange path they were all on, the damage left behind after she flipped would be irreversible. Nothing would ever be the same—not the planet, not the people on it, and certainly not this beautiful town or any of the other breathtaking places she’d seen on this tour. She’d been to dozens of pristine beaches all across Europe—the closest thing she’d had to a vacation in fifty thousand years. Now, it all felt like a big farewell tour.
Godsda
mmit, there has to be one eligible man on this planet for me to love. The trick, however, was more complex. He had to love her back, and love—the true, lasting kind—generally required both parties remembering each other.
“Well, it’s love at first sight,” she muttered to herself.
Wait! Maybe I’ve been thinking about this the wrong way. She propped her yellow suitcase upright and grabbed her cell from her pocket, pulling up the event itineraries.
Okay. Okay. This is good. Tomorrow’s event in Monte Carlo would have at least twenty thousand people in attendance, half of them male. Following that, the final event in Rio would be even bigger—fifty thousand. What if she got up on stage and asked if any men there felt this “love at first sight” thing she’d heard so much about from humans?
Hmmm… It might work. But what if bunches of horny men say yes? How would she tell the real deal apart from the opportunistic males? Honestly, it was a concern. She wasn’t even certain that this love-at-first-sight thing existed. Personally, she hadn’t paid much attention to the validity of the notion, simply because she’d always had more pressing worries. Plus humans seemed to grow, fall in love, age, and die in the blink of an eye, like a passing season. But, and a big but at that, if a man could love a woman after seeing her for a few moments, then why couldn’t he repeat the act and fall in love with her again and again?
Yes. That’s all I need. One good man, immortal or human, needed to look across the ocean of people and feel genuine love in his heart for her. And then feel it every time he saw her for “the first time” every day for an eternity.
It will be like my favorite movie, Fifty First Dates.
Wait. Hold on. That would make me Adam Sandler. She crinkled her nose.
Who am I kidding? I’m screwed. Because even if a suitable match was out there, how would she know who he was? She’d never been in love.