“You were a background character,” Bathin said. “You didn’t even have any lines.”
“Because my magnifi-magni-muchnificence was too muchness to witness.”
“No,” Bathin said. “The gods were the real stars of the mystery. Everyone knew it. Zeus was the murderer. He got all the applause.”
I opened my mouth to tell them to stow it for later so we could find a way to get to Ryder, but a slight pressure on my forehead, like a fingertip pressing there, stopped me.
Bathin had possessed my soul for over a year. I knew his mental touch. He was asking me to wait just a minute more.
“The gods?” Xtelle laughed, but it was dark and cruel. “Stars? They know nothing.”
“They know contracts,” Bathin said. “They made very good deals for very juicy parts in the murder mystery. Didn’t they, Delaney?”
He didn’t look my way, but Xtelle did, her eyes narrowed, her lips already pulling back from stained green horse teeth.
“They did,” I said. “They all had speaking parts.”
Xtelle gasped.
“Some of them were even actual clues,” Myra added.
She gasped again and pressed a hoof to her chest. “Assholes.”
“Yes,” Avnas said, as if it were the saddest thing he’d ever heard. “All because they made excellent, unbreakable contracts.”
Xtelle huffed, and glitter-filled smoke puffed out of her nostrils. “Contracts. Gods know noth-nothingof how to make a contract. They are insects—no, smaller—bakt-bacteria when it comes to making contracts.Am-a-teurs.”
“Sure,” I said, “now can we—”
Myra grabbed my sleeve. She shook her head.
“Amateurs!” Xtelle yelled. “I will destroy!” She dropped her head and scanned the ground. “Ah, here it is.” She lipped up a small branch Avnas had missed and masticated it.
“I will de-stroyyour stupid little contract!” She stepped away from the cover of the jungle and posed, head high, tail raised, wind that hadn’t been there a second ago waving through her mane and making her pink coat shine.
“Stella?” The king said from one mouth while another screeched, “Betrayer!”
“What is this?” Mithra demanded, though he hadn’t moved out of his bored slouch. He obviously didn’t fear demons, no matter what shape they took.
But then, he’d never met the wrath of a pink unicorn.
“This-sss,” Xtelle hissed, “is not a no-namelivestock! This is astaaar!”
She raised her front leg and slammed her hoof down.
Mithra shot up onto his feet. Gone was the boredom. Gone was the illusion of unkempt slouch. Standing there, swathed in gold, he was one hundred percent pissed-off god.
“What have you done?” he bellowed. “What. Have. You. Done?” His voice was a roar, thunder, the sky breaking free of ancient bindings and crumbling to dust.
Xtelle lowered her head, then rotated it in a circle. “This no-name livestockwithout any lines just broke your constra-contract, you bloated, egotistical, wrinkled-up oldhas-been! Now who’s the damn star?”
Ryder’s head jerked up, then back toward Xtelle. I could see the anger burning in his gaze. He pulled on the chains, his arms curling, but could not break them.
“You will not move!” Mithra pointed at Ryder. “I own you!”
Ryder held the god’s gaze, then opened his fists, giving the god both middle fingers. “Fuck you.”
Bathin chuckled. “That’s our cue people. Showtime!” He clapped and strode forward, drawing his scimitar.
