“You should listen to us then,” said Janet. “Anyway, you can follow without putting your heart into it. Most gods don’t care that much. They just want a little brownnosing, and they’re happy.”

Teri said, “You’re suggesting I follow half-assed.”

“Why not? Just treat it like a job you don’t care that much about. Keep your head down, do the minimum, and don’t worry too much about it. Your god will probably move out in a few weeks. Then you won’t have to do much more than maintain an altar. How hard can that be?”

Teri perked up. “Do you really think he’ll want to move out that soon?”

“I’d bet on it. You know gods. They get bored pretty fast. And I’ve seen you and Phil, hon. You aren’t exactly the most exciting couple. In a week or two, three tops, your raccoon god will be climbing the walls.”

Teri had never been so happy to be labeled boring. Her appetite returned. She was able to finish off half of her soggy sandwich. After her lunch with Janet, Teri felt better, even though bad luck continued to plague her. But she’d brought it on herself. And the fact that Lucky didn’t crack open the earth and throw her into eternal hellfire showed that he wasn’t such a bad god. She could weather the storm of misfortune until Phil fixed the problem.

She was relieved when his call finally came. Lucky did all of the talking. He was so busy selling himself that it was three minutes before she was finally able to find an opening to say yes.

“Great,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight then. We’ll hang out, get to know each other. It’ll be fun.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will be.”

“Terrific. See you then.”

As soon as Lucky hung up, she felt relieved. She looked terrible, and there was no time to find her notes. With each step to the meeting, her confidence grew. Now she had a fighting chance. She pushed her way into the conference room.

It was empty.

Janet tapped Teri on the shoulder. “Rescheduled. Didn’t you get the e-mail?”

“My computer has been having problems,” said Teri.

“That’s a bit of good luck then, isn’t it?” Janet smoothed Teri’s wrinkled collar, and it stayed in place. “I take it then that your god problem is worked out.”

Teri nodded.

“Cool,” said Janet. “So when do I get a chance to meet him?”

“You want to meet him?”

“Are you kidding? You know I love gods.”

“First of all,” said Teri, “I didn’t know that. You never even brought up the subject until I mentioned Phil and I were talking about it.”

“I don’t advertise it, but I’m a huge deiphile.”

“I hear they have pills for that now.”

“You’re a riot.” Janet mimed a laugh. “So can I meet him?”

“You really want to?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“If you’re so into gods, why don’t you have one of your own?”

“I decided years ago that I was a fan, not a follower,” said Janet. “So can I meet him?”

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on. You can tell him I’m a potential convert.” Janet said, “You’ll score some good little follower kudos. I’ll get another signature for my autograph book.”

“You have an autograph book?” asked Teri.

“I have two. And a photo album. And I haven’t added anything to either since I saw Tekkeitsertok.”

“Tekkeitser-”

“Inuit god of hunting, master of caribou. Met him at a charity event. Real nice god. So what do you say? You can’t turn me away, can you? I’ve never met a raccoon god before. It’ll be fun, and it’ll take some of the awkwardness off of your first night with him. Let me be your wingwoman.”

It was plain that Janet wasn’t going to drop this. She’d keep bugging Teri until she agreed. Better to get it out of the way. And it would be good to have someone there who was actually excited to meet a god.

“You can come,” she said. “But don’t wear anything too slutty. I don’t need my new god thinking I’m hanging with a loose crowd.”

“Whatever you say, but trust me, there’s no such thing as too slutty when it comes to dressing for gods. I had a ten-minute conversation with Moritasgus and he didn’t once look me in the eyes.”

“Morita-”

“Celtic sun god.”

“Like Apollo?” asked Teri.

“There’s a lot of overlap among the gods,” said Janet. “FYI: it’s a sore spot with some of them actually so it’s usually smarter not to bring it up.”

“You are a groupie,” said Teri.

“Hon, you have no idea.” Janet lowered her voice to a guilty whisper. “I didn’t even mention the scrapbooks.”

Civilization had taken the bite out of the divine powers, regulated and tamed them aside their mortal followers. The heavens could offer a boost, but they no longer built empires or razed continents. The good ol’ days of sacking and pillaging a village and offering up the souls to your god were gone. Roger Worthington suspected he would be lousy at sacking and only a modestly talented pillager at best so he didn’t mind. But he also knew that, aside from being somewhat handsome (emphasis on the somewhat), he wasn’t exceptional in any way, and if he was going to get ahead, he’d have to offer blood, sweat, and sacrifice to do it.

If it didn’t have to be his, so much the better.

There were still real gods out there, untamed powers that both mortal and immortal authorities wanted forgotten. They’d been forced underground, worshipped by secret cults in hidden temples tucked in darkened corners. Their influence had faded, but they still knew how to get things done. And they didn’t care where their blood came from.

Worthington ’s first cult had been a complete waste of time. They followed an obscure wisdom goddess who promised to open their minds. In the end, it’d just been an excuse to get high and talk about the secrets revealed when you played Beatles records backward. Harmless fun, but Worthington wasn’t in it for fun. He was in it for power.

The next god was more promising. They met in the storeroom of a Pancake Hut, after hours. It wasn’t much of a temple, but it got the job done. There he joined in paying tribute to an exiled volcano god who promised to split the earth and devour civilization, placing his followers on top in the new world order. It sounded promising, and the tremors accompanying every blood offering were a nice show. The peak came when someone managed to get hold of an elephant. That was a lot of blood, all right. Their god slurped it down with gusto, and a quake in Singapore killed a few thousand people. But it was a far cry from the fall of nations, and Worthington found himself wondering if maybe his god was taking credit for someone else’s divine wrath or, even more annoyingly, possibly just an ordinary earthquake. Even if it had been the work of his god, it would take a hell of a lot of blood to bring about the end of civilization. Worthington wasn’t willing to put that much effort into it.

He abandoned the cult. A tremor split the earth and devoured the Pancake Hut a week later. The untamed powers were outlawed for a reason. Even compared to the capricious nature of gods, they were unpredictable and dangerous. The cult could’ve been destroyed because of some perceived sin. Or perhaps out of boredom. Or quite possibly by accident. That was always the risk.

Worthington was undeterred. He found two kinds of gods in his quest. Impotent deities who promised much but never delivered and powerful forces who refused to act because they feared the wrath of the other gods. It was four years before he caught his break.

In China, he discovered a death god cult. Tribute was easy. Once a month, all the members were required to draw straws. The loser was fed to the god. By then, Worthington had grown inured to such risks. He climbed the ladder of leadership by submitting to the sacrifice lottery twice a month, then once a week. Then two or three times a week. Eventually, every day of his life was decided by a flip of a coin. The others were impressed by his dedication. As was his god. And when he finally drew the short straw and was placed on the altar, he suggested that perhaps a god would do better to sacrifice his less enthusiastic followers rather than his most devoted servant. And the death god agreed with him.