“Hello?” a voice called out from the gloom.
We’d stepped into the dusty, rundown store. A pair of checkout stands stood cloaked in cobwebs, the conveyor belt covered in a thick layer of dust. There was a slight chance the voice was from a squatter or someone who’d decided to hunker down here, but it wasn’t likely.
“Are you the priest of Sucellus?” I said, calling out toward the back.
A pause, followed by quick, shuffling steps. Out of the back room emerged exactly what I’d anticipated, but by Veronica’s gasp of shock, she’d been expecting to meet some wizened old man in a robe. Instead, a young man roughly Veronica’s age stepped out, wearing a white toga that hung from one shoulder. A smear of blue paint marked his handsome face in a diagonal stripe from his forehead to his chin.
“I am,” he said. “My name is Malkinius.”
Lie. My gift pinged through my head. I sighed. It seemed some godsstillhad their acolytes take on new names when they went into service with them. It was such an old-fashioned tradition that I had to force myself not to roll my eyes. “What’s yourrealname?”
He blinked and ran a hand through his long hair. “Uh, it’s Sloan, actually. How did you know?—”
“Look,” I said, leading Veronica toward him, “long story short, I have some questions for you and Sucellus, if he’s here.”
Sloan shook his head, eyes wide. “The lord isn’t here. He’s agod. They rarely mingle on the earthly plane.”
“Uh huh,” I said, glancing around to get a view into the back. I knew that was a lie. I’d met enough of them to know that a few of them liked to stroll among humans. “Is he in Vegas, Monaco, or The Shadow Streets?”
Sloan looked offended. “He abides in his halls above, as is warranted by his station.”
“Sure,” I said. “How long have you worked for Sucellus? I don’t remember seeing you last time I was here.”
Sloan straightened, thrusting his shoulders back and lifting his chin with obvious pride. “I’ve been an acolyte of the Lord Sucellus for four years. I’ve taken over all priestly duties.”
“Good. I need to know everything you know about the Freedman family. Sucellus is their patron god. At least, I’m ninety-nine percent sure of that.”
“I’m sorry,” Sloan said, a businesslike smile appearing on his lips. “The lord does not give out that information to…” His gaze flicked over me and Veronica with withering disdain. “People like you.”
Veronica snarled. “What do you meanpeople like you?”
Sloan scowled, obviously offended by the way Veronica addressed him, but I thought it was funny and had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing and making it worse. I knew how this would go. Priests and priestesses were always so devout that it was nearly impossible to ask for anything. Though, the state of this building gave me a hunch that I thought might play out.
Sucellus was a god of fields and forests, of shepherds and fertility, and boundaries and property. Far from the most powerful godly duties, but no slouch either. Even now with his influence waning, he was still strong enough to level a town if he was pissed enough. Even though almost all the older deities no longer had day-to-day duties or tasks, that didn’t remove their ego and self-confidence, and by association that of their priests, acolytes, and followers.
“Look, Sloan—can I call you Sloan?”
The man’s sanctimonious frown, vanished, and he looked both uncomfortable and nervous. “Well, my new name is supposed to be Malkinius, but?—”
“Yeah, that’s no good,” I said. “I think Sloan sounds less ridiculous. Anyway, do you handle all the paperwork for the Sucellus temple?”
“I do,” he said.
“What other duties do you have here?” I asked.
“Basic offerings. I maintain all of the lord’s files and journals, I organize his histories, edit his ongoing memoirs?—”
“Memoirs?” I said. “The guy’s been around for, like, fifty thousand years.”
Sloan nodded. “Longer than that. He is the greatest of the gods. He is of time immemorial. The tome is up to seven hundred thousand pages so far. The previous ten priests began the work, and I intend to finish it. I also handle most of his correspondence with other deities. I handle the offerings, the blessings, and tithes, along with several other duties.”
Without asking, I took Veronica’s hand and strode toward the back, leaving the decrepit storefront behind.
“Sir?” Sloan yelped, hurrying after us. “You didn’t ask permission to—Sir, you need to stop.”
While much nicer than the spiderwebbed trash heap out front, therealtemple was less grand than one would expect. The golden altars looked a bit tarnished, the lavish bed no longer had silk sheets, and the other living areas had a shabby quality to them.
“Sucellus was absorbed into the Roman pantheon, wasn’t he?” I asked. “Back a few millennia ago?”
