Chapter Twenty-Two

“They’re back,” Matthew addressed Dagon over the phone. “I posted a guard near their hotel room, and he saw Marduk and Anshar. That probably means all the invisible guys are back too. When are you returning?” Dagon knew that Matthew didn’t want him back in Chicago. He’d already accused him of something called “micromanaging,” but Dagon was the only one who could see the incorporeal immortals. Matthew’s men were at a distinct disadvantage not knowing when they were being trailed and, with Dagon’s misting ability, he could go from one group to the next within seconds checking their status. An important safeguard.

Dagon sighed. Going back to Chicago wasn’t going to be easy in light of his new “partner.” He let Matthew know. “I’ll be back soon, but I have something here I’m trying to straighten out—”

“What talk? Box no human!” Erra, the war god barked imperiously.

“Shit. Let me call you back in a few minutes, Matthew.” Dagon tapped the phone off and put it in his back pocket.

Erra looked like he was ready to grab the device and sniff it for magic.

“It’s called a phone, Erra. Humans use them to communicate. They can’t use the mind connection that we do, and it’s a good invention. It lets us talk farther away than the ten miles our heads allow.” Dagon didn’t know how much of what he said was understood by the war god, but he had been told by Nergal not to resort to the old language unless absolutely necessary. His boss was hoping for immersion learning. Right now, however, Dagon wanted to find something to calm down his new right hand. The whole picking-up-the-language-and-culture thing was way behind schedule.

“The dictionary is good, but Erra needs more.” Dagon tried to speak as simply as possible to get his thoughts across. “Go away.” Dagon waved a hand toward the door. “Study humans. Understand good.”

“No! Humans equal excrement,” the god rebutted derisively. “Erra no like humans!”

Dagon sighed. “Well, if you won’t interact, you’re going to be watching an awful lot of television then.” He was about to suggest the idiot box, ready to show the war god how to use the remote, but apparently Erra had ideas of his own.

“Home, gods, now!”

“You want to see where the gods live?” Dagon couldn’t imagine why. Although he and Erra would be able to see the large house in spite of the magic that masked it from prying human eyes, they would still be unable to enter due to the perimeter security.

“Now.” Erra nodded his head and seemed satisfied that Dagon had understood him.

The frustrated immortal shrugged. “Fine. Follow me.” Dagon dissolved out, and Erra was right on his heels.

The compound looked quiet. Dagon could discern no gods lounging on the various patios, but there was a flurry of activity on the far side of the house. He opened up his senses to see how many gods remained in the Blue Hills.

“Five gods are here and two goddesses,” he imparted to Erra.

The war deity was doing an energy sweep of his own. “Witches,” he sneered. “Two.”

“Yes.” Again, Dagon tried to simplify his language, “Related to goddess.”

Erra’s lip curled. “Witches die also.”

“That’s not our job…”

Erra’s hand shot out and wrapped around Dagon’s throat, lifting the god off his feet easily.

“I say die!”

Dagon was becoming increasingly annoyed. He had been about to share with Erra that there were probably two humans within as well, but now withheld the information. Screw him! If he wanted to play like this wasn’t a partnership, Dagon wasn’t above withholding information.

He began a waiting game, an obvious test of superiority. Erra maintained his grip and though Dagon was about to pass out, he refused to give in to Erra. He’d endured much worse and, even if he lost consciousness, he’d still be alive when he came back to breathing. Erra slowly figured that out, and with a grunt, threw Dagon several feet into a tree.

“Uncooperative,” Erra grumbled. He opened a mind channel to the gods within.

Immortals!

Did he have to bellow quite so loudly? Dagon’s rattled brain felt like it was about to explode.

Erra kill all soon!

The gods in the Blue Hills compound obviously knew they were outside. They had opened communication channels and heard Erra loud and clear. Ishkur spoke for the resident bunch. Nice to see you too, asshole! Good luck with the killing thing. Then the god sent out a question of his own. Dagon? You’re here too, right?

Yup. Right here, Ishkur, Dagon sighed. Why did it have to be the god he’d always liked the best out of the bunch trying to chat him up?

What are you doing with Erra? You can’t stand his fucking guts! Don’t you remember the shit he pulled on us back in the ancient world?

Dagon did. And that was just the problem. Gods’ memories were very long.

It had been 1219, or was it 1218 BCE? He never could get the year exactly right, but it was during the Assyrian expansion, and they were working under Gilgamesh…or Nimrod? Gods, he must be getting old not to remember such things.

They were most definitely building a ziggurat to Ishtar-Dinitu, or Ishtar of the Dawn, who happened to be a super-babe extraordinaire. Golden haired and violet eyed, all the gods had imagined what it would be like between her thighs. But alas, she was sworn to remain chaste and untouched—her father’s order.

But that hadn’t stopped every male for kilometers around from trying to catch her attention. They’d vied to be the strongest worker, the most industrious artisan, or the most devout dawn-lover, until eventually some ambitious kiss-ass decided to erect a mud and baked-brick edifice in her name, so everyone had to participate if they wanted to look good.

Ishkur and Dagon were at the construction site every day, toiling in a remote part of the city that would soon become the new Assyrian capital, working side by side, joking and laughing as usual. Erra was there too, demonstrating his great strength by single-handedly lifting the huge mud bricks up many steps and into place; something the few other gods working on the project couldn’t do.

Dagon remembered as if it was yesterday, and rolled his eyes.

“If he wants to get her attention, he should drop the sullen bit. Our Ish-Din likes smiles and romantic gestures as much as she appreciates muscle,” he had told Ishkur, and Dagon loved to prove a point. Several days later as they were eating lunch and resting on the newest completed plateau fifteen feet up, the goddess paid the site a visit, and Dagon put his plan into action.

The dawn goddess made the rounds of the workers, lifting her robes with one delicate hand to reveal shapely ankles and placing the other on the head of each who toiled, human or immortal, murmuring her thanks. The day was hot, and the sun beat relentlessly down upon them all. By the time the goddess had reached Ishkur and Dagon, she had a fine sheen of perspiration covering her face.

“Water or wine, my lady?” Dagon was always charming and, with his dark good looks, women found it hard to resist him.

“Why, Dagon, thank you. Wine would be delightful.” She sat down.

Ishkur handed her the wineskin and watched Dagon patiently. He obviously couldn’t wait to see what Dagon had up his nonexistent sleeve, besides keeping the goddess from Erra, who rested ten feet away waiting impatiently to receive his praise from the Ish-Din.

Dagon dug around in his leather satchel. “This may sound strange, but it came upon me in a dream,” he began, instantly securing her attention. “A way to honor your ziggurat and bring to it a personal touch.” He withdrew his hand.

On his palm lay four large jewels, each worth a fortune, and Dagon was sure that Ishkur had to bite his tongue to keep from asking how he’d procured them.

“My dear friend, Ishkur, and I have spent many days and nights searching the world over for just these stones.” Dagon reached for her hand and held it palm up, while rolling the gems into her soft grasp. He maintained his hold while continuing in a mesmerizing tone.

“The two violet stones are a rare shade of amethyst. They match the color of your eyes exactly.”

Ish-Din lowered her lashes in pleasure after he stared into their depths.

“The red gem is an enormous garnet and reminded us of your luscious red lips.”

He might be over-doing it a bit, but Dagon was nearly crowing as the goddess’s teeth captured one of those crimson bows, and he knew she was eating it up.

“And this…” The smooth talking god brought a finger to her palm and caressed the shiny white stone resting there. “…this is a much sought after white onyx, and when warmed,” he pressed his finger more suggestively into her hand, “it takes on the beauty of your creamy skin.” He folded her fingers around the stones.

Her flustered look and subsequent words were manna to Dagon’s ears. “Wh—what are they for?” Her cheeks took on a blush.

“That spot over there.” Dagon pointed to a depression in the middle of the construction that was eight-feet deep and four-feet square, where a batch of bricks had been removed that had not been of good quality.

“Before that hole is filled in, Ishkur and I will place these stones in the wall that faces the dawn. Each time your morning rays break over the ziggurat, you will remember these stones…deeply embedded…” Dagon said suggestively. He couldn’t look at his friend, Ishkur. He knew it was all the god could do to keep a straight face. “…which show our devotion and affection for you.”

He actually dared to kiss her hand before he unfolded it and retrieved the jewels.

“Oh, Dagon.” Ish-Din’s voice was husky. “You do me an incredible honor.” She looked belatedly to Ishkur, “And you too, of course!”

Ishkur grinned like an idiot.

As Dagon had hoped, Ishtar-Dinatu walked back down the stairs in a happy daze, without once sparing a glance at the now incensed Erra. It had been a lovely moment.

“Let’s go put these things in the hole.” Dagon sprang to his feet.

Ishkur followed.

“Where in the Underworld did you get those gems?” Ishkur would know they had to be ill-gotten. Neither of them were well-to-do immortals.

“I borrowed them from Marduk’s treasury,” the cheeky god retorted. “He’s got more than he needs, and I plan on petitioning him for them next time I see him. He’ll say it’s okay. He likes the goddess of the dawn as much as the rest of us.” Dagon looked very self-assured. “He doesn’t have to know that I switched up the order of operations a little.”

Dagon leaped down into the hole, then put his back up against the wall of the tight space while Ishkur slid in after him. They began carving at the soft mud with their knives to make secure places for the stones.

What Dagon hadn’t counted on was Erra’s unreasonable anger. Unsuspecting, Dagon caught barely a hint of the movement above their heads before a heavy slab came down, covering over their space. He was quick to wedge his blade up over the lip of the hole, but not before total blackness enveloped them.

“What the—” Ishkur, who had been crouching when the giant rock covered them over, had no idea what had happened.

“Fuck. I guess I pissed Erra off a little too much this time.” Dagon reached up and wiggled his knife, trying to use it as a lever, and grunted. “He placed a stone over the hole, and it’s too heavy to wedge up with my small blade.” He sighed. “The best we can hope for is that another god will happen by and hear our pleas, or that someone sees the metal of my knife before they put the next layer on the ziggurat. Shit. We could be entombed for eternity.” Which really sucked, because gods didn’t die. They’d just be trapped together forever.

Dagon and Ishkur settled onto the floor of their hollow, wedging themselves into the hopelessly small space. They reassured each other that it wouldn’t take too long before they were discovered. Little did they know that Erra had sent the only other contracted gods working on the project deep into the Arabian Desert on the pretext of obtaining some additional rare materials buried there.

It was two weeks before we were found, Ishkur’s voice reminded Dagon. I can just imagine what he’s got planned for you this time.

How much had Erra understood of Ishkur’s transmission? None, by the looks. The big god, Erra, was wafting over toward the other side of the property to get a look at what the Blue Hills inhabitants—who were outside—were doing. Dagon followed at a distance.

Kulla was standing next to a bunch of stakes in the ground. Dagon knew they indicated that a structure would be going up. He watched as Erra got as close as he could, before being repelled by the invisible barrier. The war god then called out to the god in charge of building.

Kulla, he grunted.

The divine architect had never had any problems with Erra directly, at least that Dagon could remember, but he recognized that the god still trod softly because of the warrior’s reputation.

Erra, Kulla nodded. Beautiful day.

Erra apparently hadn’t noticed. Dagon heard him repeat, beautiful day, and look around. He almost seemed surprised at his surroundings.

Birds. Trees. Good.

Considering the undemonstrative emotional state of Erra, after a few thousand years stuck underground, this was a quite an impressive statement.

Yes. Good. Kulla had obviously picked up on the fact that Erra wasn’t doing well with the language, so he continued in the same vein.

Breathe. Air good too.

Dagon watched Erra take a deep breath and a look of disgust crossed the war god’s face.

Air no good!

Well, pollution being what it was, Dagon supposed the air might not be as good as what they’d had a few thousand years before, but you’d think Erra wouldn’t be that fussy after the brimstone in hell. Dagon continued to listen in.

So. Erra here, kill all? Kulla had heard the original transmission.

Erra looked at Kulla. His thoughts were so transparent that Dagon could intuit everything the god was thinking. Erra liked building, and it was obvious to the war god that Kulla was about to construct something. He was having some rare second thoughts.

Kill women. Kill witches. Kill Ishkur, Marduk. Others. Maybe not Kulla.

Man, the guy sounded like a dimwit with that stilted language. Apparently Kulla thought so to.

Erra, why don’t we just speak the ancient tongue? Kulla switched, and Dagon could almost feel the other god’s sigh of relief.

The English language is ridiculous, Erra groused. But I wanted the new goddesses within to understand my words and report them to Marduk. He spit out the thunder god’s name. Bad blood had gone on between those two? Or it could just be Marduk’s natural arrogance rubbing Erra the wrong way.

We’ll tell Marduk you’re here, and just so I get this straight, why exactly do you want to kill everybody—Kulla sounded hopeful—and can we convince you not to?

I am here at Nergal’s behest. He has ordered me to make unavailable all the women who will give you physical bodies. He didn’t exactly say “kill,” but if there’s collateral damage and some are irreparably harmed, I don’t think he will lament overmuch. Dagon was cognizant of Erra’s shrug, even from several hundred yards away. The asshole war god had already forgotten that Nergal had told them they couldn’t kill anybody; some codicil in the agreement between the king and the queen. Dagon would remind him again, but not in front of the Blue Hills gods. It would make the bad-guy faction seem pretty impotent if it was just to be a snatch and hold. He clamped down on his tongue and continued to listen.

Kulla was trying to reason with war. That would make us enemies, Erra, and there’s never been a problem between us. He was right about that one, thought Dagon. Kulla had even built a few monuments to the war god. You know we will all fight to the death for any woman who turns out to be our Chosen.

There was a long period of silence from Erra.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! thought Dagon. He and Nergal had purposely left out the Chosen information. They had only told Erra that shared bloodlines made the women of interest. Now that he’d heard differently, Erra wasn’t going to like it. The war god had unusual scruples when it came to eternal mates.

I was not told the women involved would be your Chosen. Erra paused again. I apologize, Kulla. Dagon watched the big guy’s brows pull together. I will make you this promise. When I have found these women, I will not kill them, only hold them and deliver them to Nergal.

Right. Now the asshole takes credit for the no-kill order. Dagon really should interrupt, but he wanted to see how the rest of this would play out.

And for you, the war god told Kulla, I will give you a chance at safety, since you have always been an honorable god. Finish your structure, for which you will be sent back to the Underworld, then stay there. If you are not above on the earth, you cannot meet your Chosen, and you cannot be killed defending her. You may even meet her later in hell. It is the best offer I can make.

Dagon watched Kulla run a hand over his face. There really was no choice, and they all knew it. Kulla’s words confirmed it.

Thanks for the offer, Erra, but I’ll see you on the battlefield.