She realized this on the drive to the restaurant, and for the first time ever, she wasn’t sure what to say.

“So…” She started without having any other part of the sentence mapped out. Her improvisational skills abandoned her.

“So…” replied Lucky.

They didn’t say anything for a few minutes. The radio didn’t even have the consideration to fill the silence with music. Instead, it played commercials. Janet flipped through the channels, but the radio refused to cooperate and she finally gave up, stopping on an Oracle Friends’ Network ad.

Lucky snorted. “That is such a scam.”

“Really?”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He leaned closer. “Nobody has had a destiny in a thousand years. Not an official destiny anyway. Things got too big for that a long time ago. It was a lot easier to preconfigure the paths of fate when there weren’t so damn many of you mortals running around. Now it’s pretty much impossible. I think the last guy the Fates tried to guide was Gary Hamelin. And we all know how that worked out.”

“Never heard of him,” she said.

“Exactly.”

“Well, my mom swears by them. Said they helped her find some lost keys one time.”

“Oh, yeah, they’re good for stuff like that, I suppose. Just don’t expect them to be infallible. It’s a good way to end up doing life in a Peruvian prison.”

“Gary Hamelin?” she asked.

“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

They shared a light chuckle, and for a moment, Janet thought the ice was broken. They’d already hung out, already slept together. But there was still an uncomfortable aura around this date.

“Why did you ask me out?” It’d been on her mind for a while now, though she hadn’t intended on inquiring. But she was desperate for any conversational thread, and this one just sprang spontaneously.

“Oh, no reason. Why did you say yes?”

“I had a choice? I thought if I refused you’d transform me into a spider or a flower or something like that.”

“Fruit basket.”

“What?”

“I usually transform people into fruit baskets.”

She studied him from the corner of her eye, noticing the slight smirk on his muzzle.

“Oh, you are so full of shit,” she said. “You don’t do that.”

“You got me. And you’re full of it, too. You didn’t say yes because you were worried about being smote by a disappointed god.”

“Okay, so you got me,” she admitted. “So you would’ve been disappointed if I’d said no?”

“Of course.”

“I’m just surprised. I didn’t think gods dated mortals much anymore. Not like official date dates. If you know what I mean.”

“Kind of fell out of fashion,” he admitted. “Mind if I turn up the radio?”

“No, no. Go ahead.”

“Dancing Queen” came out of the radio. Lucky’s ears fell flat. “Oh, Tiamat, I hate this song.”

“Go ahead and change it.”

“Thanks.” He fiddled with the tuner until he found a song that pleased him. “That’s better.”

“’ Waterloo?’”

“Yeah,” said Lucky. “Great song.”

“But isn’t ‘ Waterloo ’ by ABBA?”

“That’s right.”

“And isn’t ’Dancing Queen’ by ABBA?”

“Correctamundo.”

“And don’t they sound almost identical?” asked Janet.

“What’s’a matter? Don’t you like ABBA?”

“Who doesn’t like ABBA?” said Janet.

“Hecate,” said Lucky. “Huge Bee Gees fan. But what can you expect from a goddess of darkness?”

“Don’t change the subject. You were just telling me that you like ‘ Waterloo ’ but not ’Dancing Queen.’ Even though, by and large, they’re the same song. At least stylistically.”

“Oh, sure, stylistically,” agreed Lucky. “But ’Dancing Queen’ is a vapid little emptiness. ’ Waterloo,’ on the other hand, is a noble study into humanity, a continuation of the great Greek tragedy tradition. Yet it’s also a triumph of the mortal spirit, an unwillingness to surrender against the inevitable darkness, and even an ability to find comfort in defeat.” He snapped his fingers along with the tune. “She can’t refuse, but at least she feels like she wins when she loses. Think about it.”

“Oh, I will,” said Janet with strained sincerity.

“Music has always been the greatest expression of mortal philosophy,” continued Lucky. “The path to enlightenment is found in the lyrics of Spinal Tap.”

“That’s not even a real band. Next you’ll be extolling the virtues of the Monkees.”

“Nah. Every ounce of the Monkees’ artistic merit left with Peter Tork.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

He flashed a devilish smile. “You’ll just have to figure that out on your own.”

“You’re so full of shit,” she said with a chuckle.

“Usually, but most mortals are either too awed or too afraid to call me on it. Take Phil and Teri. They’re good kids, but they’re always walking on eggshells around me.”

“But I don’t,” she said.

“No, you don’t. You’re a rare breed of mortal, Janet. You aren’t afraid and you aren’t disdainful. No pressure. No expectations. You have no idea how attractive we gods find that in a mortal.”

“Thanks.”

“Plus, you’ve got a great ass.”

Janet gave him a light slap on the shoulder. “I do believe you’re going to make me blush, Mr. Luck God.”

Bonnie tailed Lucky and Janet to an Italian restaurant. The god and his date went inside while Bonnie and Syph waited in the parking lot for a few minutes.

“What now?” asked Syph.

“Now, we go in.”

“Isn’t that a bit rude?”

Under ordinary circumstances, Bonnie wouldn’t have considered it. But she was fighting for her life here. Good manners were a restriction she was willing to ignore. She was actually hoping for an ugly scene. Anything to snap Syph out of her funk.

They were in luck. The place was busy and the hostess offered them the only available table, which was within view of Lucky, who sat in a booth with his back to them. It gave her time to think this through.

The waiter, Steve, spilled out tonight’s drink specials. Bonnie didn’t pay attention. She cut him off, ordering a beer.

“And you, ma’am?” Steve asked Syph.

The goddess offered no reply. Her unblinking stare focused on Janet.

“She’ll take a water,” said Bonnie.

“Great. Can I interest you in some appetizers?”

“Just the drinks right now. Thanks.” Bonnie nudged him aside to get a better view. He took the hint and went to the kitchen.

Lucky and Janet shared a laugh.

Syph scowled. The wax bubbled on the small candle in the center of the table, and its flame turned black.

Bonnie fanned the flames, metaphorically.

“They certainly seem to be having a good time.”

The goddess tore ten long slashes in the tablecloth and wood with her fingernails. A spiderweb of black and blue veins darkened her face and neck. She literally hissed.

“That bitch.”

“Hold on,” said Bonnie. “Don’t you think you’re aiming your wrath at the wrong target?”

“Who does she think she is?”

Steve returned with their drinks. Syph ran her finger along the edge of her glass, and the water boiled.

“Can I take your order now?” asked Steve.

“Two specials,” said Bonnie quickly.

“Ma’am, we don’t have any specials.”

“We’ll take the enchiladas then.”

“We don’t serve-”

She grabbed his pad. “Steve, we are in the middle of something important. I don’t know if you’re really that oblivious or you haven’t noticed that this is a goddess of tragedy and she’s in a really, really bad mood. Either way, why don’t you just bring us whatever you like best?”

“Actually, I don’t eat here. Confidentially, I hate Italian food. And the cook doesn’t wear a hairnet.”

Bonnie ground her teeth. “Spaghetti. We’ll take two orders of spaghetti.”

“Meat sauce or marinara?”

“You’re screwing with me.”

“A little bit,” admitted Steve.

Janet flipped her hair and scratched Lucky’s ear.

Syph slammed her fists on the table and the entire restaurant rattled. Every candle on every table erupted, sending up geysers of flame, melting the plastic holders, and scorching the ceiling.