"So then I crushed his trachea…" My dramatic flourishes as I acted out the scene were interrupted when my cell began ringing.
The king vulture cocked his head to one side as if saying Are you gonna get that?
"Sorry. Just a second." I tapped my cell's screen. "Claire, this isn't a good time right now."
"Hello Merry," the beautiful redhead replied. "I have a message for you."
"Are you calling in your Riley capacity or for the Chapel of Despair?" I asked. It was a fair question because Claire was a receptionist/wonder woman at my former CIA handler, Riley Andrews' private investigation firm. She was also High Priestess of the Cult of NicoDerm—mostly volunteering in the evening.
I'd broken into Obladi Zoo for a quick chat with Mr. Fancy Pants—something I can only do after hours. And something the zoo didn't really know about. It was better this way because I was sure they didn't want to know about it. Especially since I had financially adopted the vultures.
"Mom!" Dickie the scarlet macaw shrieked. "I just take long showers!"
Dickie liked to repeat things he heard the sullen, angsty teenage keeper say on the phone, which included disturbing confessions I'd rather not hear.
"The Dred Demon Stewie requests your presence," Claire said in a bored tone. "Now would be preferable." And with that, she hung up before I could ask when Stewie went from Dred Demigod to Dred Demon. That seemed like a big deal, and as Bird Goddess of the druid cult, it seemed like there should've been a memo delivered by talking raven or something.
I really had no choice but to go. I emptied a box of crushed shortbread cookies (his favorite) and a box of crushed peanut butter sandwich cookies for his girlfriend, and after a quick pat on their chick, Hilly Pants' head, I headed out.
The Cult of NicoDerm consisted of four textbook-angsty teenage druids, including Stewie, Kayla, Mike, and Heather. These kids were literally the stereotype of awkward adolescents. They meant well but were largely clueless. For example, they didn't realize they'd named their cult after a patch that helps people stop smoking. But since they liked the name, they kept it.
This cult had stumbled into wealth as they were given the rights to Beetle Dork—a comic book shrouded in mystery that only had one edition and was loosely (and wrongly) based on my life as a spy. One of the first things they'd done when they came into money was buy the old Lutheran church, which they renamed the Chapel of Despair. The teen druids hoped that having a location would encourage area teens to flock to them in droves. They hadn't. So far, they only had Claire. And me.
Five minutes later (it only takes five minutes to go anywhere in Who's There, Iowa), I was sitting in Stewie's office. The ridiculously over-the-top office was pitch black except for a purple neon beer light, a cheap baroque lamp featuring a girl in period costume on a swing, covered with a purple scarf, and the flashlight Stewie aimed upwards, beneath his double chin to appear more menacing.
"I am the Dred Demon Odious!" he squeaked, raising his hands over his head and wiggling his demony jazz fingers.
"Hey, question." I stopped him. "When did you go from demigod to demon?"
Stewie sniffed. "I got a promotion. Now…" He slipped back into dramatic mode. "Bird Goddess! You must do my…" He was distracted when the purple scarf covering the faux rococo lamp slipped off and fell to the floor. The girl on the swing appeared to be laughing at him.
I got up and turned on the overhead lights. "What do you want, Stewie? You called me away from a very important meeting."
Stewie slumped in his chair and pouted. He didn't like it when I didn't go along with the whole teenage druidy culty thing.
"Bird Goddess." He sat up straight and tried to continue with whatever dignity he had left and intoned in a high-pitched voice, "Your reverent and esteemed presence is requested at a most auspicious occasion that…" He threw both arms in the air and shouted, "Will change everything as you know it!"
"What are you talking about?" I've seriously considered creating a Druid to English dictionary because there were times like this when I couldn't understand him.
Kayla called out from the doorway, "He, like, wants you to go to Druid-Con as Beetle Dork." She hesitated. "It's like Comic-Con, but they've trademarked the title, so we have Druid-Con."
She walked in and slumped into the chair next to me. Kayla was the least dramatic of the group and worked at my favorite ice cream place where the Bird Goddess got a discount, which meant that she was my favorite.
I shook my head vigorously to let them both know I meant what I was about to say. "Nope. No way. You know how I feel about that stupid comic book."
My name is Merry Wrath, and I was once a CIA field agent who had undercover assignments all over the world, from Russia, to Colombia, to Okinawa. That is, until the vice president of the United States "accidentally" outed me to get back at my senator father. My real name is Fionnaghuala Merrygold Czrygy. But when I lost my job, after collecting a very healthy settlement for agreeing not to sue, I changed my name and moved back home to the small town of Who's There, Iowa. Now, in addition to being a bird goddess, I'm co-leader of a very precocious Girl Scout troop. I liked my new life, but things like this often made me nostalgic for the hellscape that is Turkmenistan.
Kayla rolled her eyes as she sat in the chair next to me, "It's a graphic novel, duh."
"You must!" Odious the Demon slammed his fist on his desk so hard that he startled himself. He whined as he nursed his injured hand. "Come on! You have to! Please?"
"I don't have to do anything," I insisted.
"Stewbutt," Kayla said in between gum snaps, "promised you'd be there. That's how we were able to get the media to go."
"He can't promise I'll do anything." I fixed her with a stare. "What exactly is a Druid-Con, anyway?"
Stewie's eyes grew round with disbelief. "It's only the greatest thing ever! Thousands of people will show up, and you're the star of the two-day event!"
I shook my head. "Get someone else to play me."
"It has to be you!" he insisted.
"I'll pay an actor." I countered. "No one will ever know."
Stewie pulled something from behind his desk and rolled it out. It was a poster, with my photo on it as Burd Gddess Beetle Dork, Live and In Person.
"You misspelled bird and goddess," I pointed out helpfully.
"I did that on purpose," he lied unconvincingly. "Burd Gddess will go viral and become canon for the Cult of NicoDerm."
Kayla added, "We've got one hundred and fifty of those posters."
"The printer won't take them back," Stewie said, hoping this would change my mind.
"Well, you're not putting them up anywhere." I pulled the poster closer and examined it. "You need permission to use my likeness, and you aren't going to get it."
Which was good because the photo of me was horrid. It looked like I'd just woken up from a nap in my hammock, with rope marks on one side of my face as I yawned. How did they get this shot? I was just about to ask when I looked up from the poster and froze.
Kayla and Stewie exchanged a weighted glance. I knew that look.
"You've already put them up, haven't you?" I sighed.
Kayla nodded. "All over town, Bladdersly, and Des Moines. We've sold three hundred tickets already."
I closed my eyes, hoping to wake up in my bed at home. No such luck. "When is the Con thingy?"
"Tomorrow," Stewie said, sensing a win, "Claire will text you the time. It's at the Radisson. You can wear the Bird Goddess cloak if you want!"
"No" was all I said as I walked out the door.
I'd made it all of five steps out the front door, when two gangly, pimpled teen boys walked by and sneered, "Hey, Beetle Dork!" They laughed as they walked away.
I congratulated myself on not giving them each a permanent limp that they'd have for the rest of their lives. With what pathetic shreds of dignity I had left, I turned and walked to my minivan, chanting over and over that I would not ram it into the Chapel of Despair.
It didn't make me feel any better.