“Yes.”
“Enough that you have suffered for it.”
I held very still. But my heart pounded,drum-drum-drumming. It was fear, it was sorrow. It was knowing gods could see more of me than I could hide: my mistakes, my regrets, my bruised up soul.
“Suffering isn’t my first choice.”
“I see that.”
I waited. This was a part of the job. To get a feel for the gods and goddesses who wanted to vacation. To help them understand what living life as a mortal was like, especially if they’d never tried it before.
I’d have to check the records, but I was pretty sure she’d never been to Ordinary.
“May I ask which goddess you are?”
“I’d enjoy you guessing.”
I took another sip of coffee and studied her. This wasn’t easy. If I’d ever Bridged her power before, I’d recognize her in a dark room, blindfolded. But I’d never met her.
God power could be sensed in different ways by different beings. My Dad had seen it—bright and twisting, blinding in beauty. I could see it, not as well as my Dad, but oh, how I heard it—clear and aching, rolling through me like a primordial chorus. It could be deafening. So when I was outside of Ordinary, I kept my god senses on mute.
I opened my senses to her. Carefully, slowly, ready for that rush of sound, that cosmic shout.
But instead I heard silver, bright and pastel, a soft, distant green fire. Her power was a song made of the arc of sky blushed by dawn, a held whisper between night and day.
I exhaled and dropped my guard. This goddess was gentle, beautiful. A guiding light, a star, a path.
“Tala?” I asked. Tala was the Tagalog goddess of the morning and evening star.
“Yes,” she said with a soft smile. “How did you know?”
“Despite what my sister Myra might tell you, I have studied up on deities and their powers. Spent all my life doing it, actually. You’ve never been to Ordinary.”
“No.”
“Do you want to go there now? Vacation?”
She swirled the glass again, and I caught a glimpse of stars rotating, throwing off galaxies of dust, fire, spinning in a distant dark.
She sipped. The glass was empty now, no water or whatever had actually been filling it. With one tiny sip, she’d drained it dry.
But when she set it down, the glass had immense weight. It looked as if it had fused to the wood of the table and the earth below it.
Tala had made a decision.
“Is Death there?”
“He…um…is. Do you want me to take him a message?”
Those eyes, brown and glinting with star fire, pulled up at the corners as she smiled. “I think I’d rather deliver it in person.”
“So that’s a yes for some fun in the sun? Vacation time,” I explained when she frowned slightly. “Beach, sunshine, relaxation.”
“It sounds very wholesome.”
“It can be. There are some rules you’ll need to follow if you’re going to stay.”
“Of course.”
