Sloan straightened his toga, but his brows knitted together in a frown. “The Romanstried.”
“No, they succeeded,” Veronica said, a bright smile appearing on her lips. “I remember this. I actually read about it inStolen Pantheon: How Roman Magi Absconded with Deities Not Their Own.”
Who the fuck makes something that long-winded the title of a book? I thought, but kept my mouth shut.
“It wasn’t the Roman government,” Veronica went on. “It was the underground Roman Magi societies who did it. They used their magical power and the strength of the Roman gods to basically steal away all the Celtic gods, among others. It was a whole thing, lots of stuff got mixed up and confused. The Council of Gods in 76 AD tried to…work…out…” Veronica trailed off when she realized Sloan and I were looking at her like she’d lost her damn mind.
She shrugged helplessly. “Sorry. I was studying that at school a few days ago. It’s, uh, fresh in my head.”
“Yes,” Sloan said, and flicked his eyes back to me. “As your friend said, the Lord Sucellus wasunlawfullybrought into the fold of Roman influence.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “When’s the last time you paid the licensing fees to the Roman Pantheon Council?”
This time, I watched the handsome young priest’s left eye twitch involuntarily.
“I’m sorry?” he said, his voice artificially sweet.
“You heard me,” I said absently, still casting my gaze around the altar and temple, even though I’d already seen all I needed to. “The Roman Pantheon Council. Sucellus is a member, whether against his will or not, it doesn’t change the legality. Fees and dues are expected and required. A percentage of the monetary value of any offerings, correct?”
Sloan’s lips pressed into a thin line. It appeared my hunch about Sucellus’s finances was right.
“Lord Sucellus has never acknowledged theabsconding, as your friend’s book puts it. He never asked nor wished to be made an official part of the Roman Pantheon. Everyone knows he hates Mercury, and Juno still owes him for the temple her followers looted in 87 BC. Neveroncein his illustrious life has he accepted what happened.”
“Doesn’t matter, buddy,” I said, finally pinning my eyes on him once more. “Sounds to me like ol’ Sucellus hasn’t been keeping up with his taxes. Last time I was here, the place was a little dated. But now? Looks like life is getting rough. Interesting what happens when you lose followers. I’m guessing, what? Eight years past due on his fees?”
Sloan’s shoulders slumped and his stony face fell, becoming a mask of sadness. “Ten years.”
I could almost feel victory around the corner.
“Look, I have no love for the council. They think they’re still one of the big three, but they aren’t. They swing their weight around and make a mess of things, but everyone knows a deity’s temple is his best kept secret. I know about it because I’m in the business of finding things. I’m willing to bet the council doesn’t know where this location is either. What do you say, you and Icome to a deal, and no one needs to tell the council where they can find you and our buddy Sucellus? Huh?”
Sloan glanced from me to Veronica, looking like a squirrel trapped in a cage. He fiddled with a jeweled pin holding his toga in place, a flitting movement that showed how anxious the guy was. Finally, he made a low sound deep in his throat—frustration as well as acceptance.
“What do you want to know?” He finally said, letting his hands drop to his sides.
“The Freedman family. Is there a connection to Sucellus, and if so, what is it?”
The priest heaved a sigh. “Oh, good. At least it’s something I know about. No need to consult the books.”
I blinked in surprise and glanced at Veronica, who looked equally puzzled.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Sloan said miserably. “Lord Sucellus has…well, he has so few adherents these days, that those of great note are easy to remember. The Freedmans were a very poor sharecropping family in Georgia. Freed from slavery after the American Civil War, they struggled, scratching a living in the dirt, until one day, in 1910, a visitor arrived on their property. A man clad in rags and covered in filth. The man asks for a meal and a place to sleep that night. Mrs. Freedman and her husband allowed the man their hospitality, even gave him their own bed, choosing instead to sleep in the barn to be good hosts.
“The next morning, he revealed himself to the whole family for what he was, the ancient god Sucellus, and transformed into a form both glorious and terrifying. When the Freedmans and their five children laid eyes on the man, shimmering withpreternatural light, clad in gold and jewels, hovering a few feet off the ground, they were awestruck. Who wouldn’t be?” he said with a shrug. “He would have looked glorious. It was very different from his rage form. That is an eldritch and horrifying sight I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Anyway, he offered them a gift for their hospitality. Sucellus said that if they bowed down and worshipped him, took him as their god, he would bestow upon them riches, knowledge, and powers unlike any they could imagine, and it would travel down the generations as long as they remained devout followers and made offerings.
“The entire family fell to their knees before him, praising him. Lord Sucellus basked in the power of their devotion and kept his word. The family was given more than they could ever have dreamed. Within a year, they’d turned the small farm into an empire, eventually moving north with the money they made. The children went to college, and some even developed the ability to use magic. Balthazar Freedman was the last male of the line, and his mastery of magic, while of his own making is, in part, a remnant of the gift Sucellus bestowed on his family.
“We heard of his death,” he added, bowing his head. “Lord Sucellus always held the Freedman family in high regard.”
True.
“Holy shit,” Veronica muttered.
I had to agree. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like back then. No knowledge of the magical world, barely scraping by, and one day a fuckinggodshows up on your doorstep and offers you the moon? It would be difficult for anyone to say no to that.
“I need a ledger of all the living adherents of Sucellus. Any followers he has. I know you keep records,” I said.
Sloan opened his mouth to say something, possibly to tell me to go fuck myself, but then he pressed his lips together into a thin line and turned on a heel, stalking toward an ornate chest on the farthest side of the room.
