We had no weapons against gods, no real defense. Even so, my hand itched for a dagger, a sword, a gun.
Lula’s fingers drifted to the pocket watch at her neck. It was magic, but all it could do was stop time.
If a god wanted to find us, even stopping time wouldn’t keep us safe.
“True,” the god said. “I did want to interrupt. Your conversation about cake was soriveting.Couldn’t wait to see how it all turned out.”
He left the rag and towel on the table he’d been cleaning and used his foot to hook the extra chair where Abbi had been sitting. He glanced at his bare wrist. “Look at that. It’s my break time. How convenient.”
He dropped into the chair and a waitress strolled our way. She set a huge brownie and a glass of iced tea on the table in front of him.
“Here ya go, hon,” she said. “Remember it’s fifteen minutes, not half an hour like last time.”
“You’re the ginchiest, Connie.”
She rolled her eyes. “Pulling out more of that old ’50’s slang won’t work on me.”
“Not even if I told you it means hip, keen, cool?”
“Compliments won’t get you extra break time either.” She started back toward the kitchen. “You have fourteen minutes!”
He chuckled and cut off a huge chunk of brownie.
“Since I’m apparently on a deadline here, I’ll be brief. I am a god.” He lifted the fork full of brownie in a toasting kind of gesture. “Nice of you to notice. Now, let’s get down to the important things.”
“No,” Lula said.
The god paused, the brownie almost in his mouth. He pulled the fork away. “No?”
“You heard her,” I said. “We don’t make deals with gods.”
He popped the dessert into his mouth, chewed.
“But you do,” he said. “You’ve made a deal—deals, more than one—with Cupid. And you,” he pointed the empty fork at me, “recently came to an understanding with Death that he was very cagey about when I tried to get him to tell me where he’d snuck off to.”
“Leave,” Lula said. “We won’t do anything for you.”
“You haven’t even heard my—”
The door flew open, and Abbi bolted into the room. She was a deity of a sort herself, the Moon Rabbit, but she looked like an eight-year-old girl. She wore yellow tights, a purple shirt, and bright-colored ribbons in her thistledown white hair. Her face was lit up with a huge, goofy grin.
“Crow!” she shrieked.
The god, Raven, shifted in his seat and opened his arms wide. “Bun Bun!”
She gave him the biggest hug, tucking her head into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. “I missed you,” she mumbled.
“You know where I’ve been, Bun Bun. Why haven’t you come to visit? I have a whole shop full of pretty balls and baubles for you to play with. Oh, and we have cookies now. Good cookies.”
She leaned back, and Hado, the black kitten who was her shadow and protector, peeked out from under her hair.
He batted Raven’s cheek.
“Darkness,” Raven said. “Keeping an eye on Bun Bun?”
“Those aren’t our names now. I’m Abbi, and he’s Hado.”
“I see. Well then, remember, out here…” He gestured to the diner in general, maybe the world in general. “I’m Raven. Big jobs and all that.”
