“I swore off human flesh a few hundred years ago.” He licked his lips with his long, purple tongue. “But I’m feeling a bit peckish, and I think I just might fall off the wagon. Maybe an apology would help me curb my appetite.”

“We’re sorry,” said Eugene while Rick whimpered.

Chuckling, Quick shrank to his normal human size. “Still got it.” He helped the thugs get to their feet. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be watching Oprah.”

He offered Teri, Phil, and Bonnie a wink. They guessed it was meant to be reassuring, though it would’ve been more reassuring if he’d swallowed the thugs in two bites. He left the room instead.

All the mortals exchanged puzzled glances.

“Okay, then.” Eugene waved his gun in a generally threatening manner. “You can put your hands down.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Phil.

“Quiet!” growled Rick.

Eugene shot him a dirty look, and he shrugged.

“This is nothing personal,” said Eugene. “You seem like nice people. But Gorgoz says you’re supposed to die. And it’s a great chance to earn a few extra points of favor.”

“Pawns of the gods,” added Rick, “carrying on their petty feuds. And if we don’t do it, somebody else will. I know it’s not a great consolation, but the order came down, and we’re just trying to get a jump on this before someone else beats us to it.”

“Showing a little initiative.” Eugene pointed his gun at Teri.

“Wait!” Rick put his hand on his partner’s weapon and pushed it down. “Who is going to shoot who?”

“I thought we discussed this. There are two of them and two of us. We each get one. That’s the only fair way.”

“But what if one is worth more than the other?”

“Gorgoz wants them both dead.”

“But what if he wants one more dead than the other? I need more favor than you. I’m behind on my mortgage.”

Eugene said, “The order didn’t specify a preference.”

“What about that one?” Rick pointed at Bonnie. “Do we have to kill her?”

“I guess. She is a witness, after all. We’ll offer her up as a sacrifice to Gorgoz.”

“Who gets to do it?” asked Rick.

“You do, okay? Happy?”

Rick smiled. “Yes.”

Eugene rolled his eyes, raised his pistol, and cocked the hammer.

Phil stood and stepped between Eugene and his wife. “Kill me. But don’t shoot the women.”

“That’s some misogynistic bullshit.” Teri pushed him aside. “Kill me but let them go.”

“This isn’t a good time for feminism,” he replied.

“Says you.” She turned her eyes away from the guns trained on them. “You know how I feel about women and children first. It puts women in the same category as children. And I am not a child.”

“I wasn’t saying that. I was just trying to be noble.”

“Because it’s the man’s job to be noble,” she said, “and the woman’s job to-”

“Dammit, this is not the time to be having this discussion!”

Bonnie stood. “Shoot me. I’m the one who is going to die anyway. Might as well get it out of the way.”

“Excuse me,” said Eugene. “But this is an assassination, not a negotiation. You’re all going to get shot. There’s no way around that.”

“Although, for the record, miss,” said Rick, “I agree with you that it’s chauvinistic nonsense.”

Teri slapped Phil on the shoulder. “See?”

Rick’s cell rang, and he answered it. “Uh-huh. No, we haven’t done it yet. No. Okay, okay. You’re right. No, I haven’t forgotten about the mortgage. Yes, I take this seriously.”

Eugene cleared his throat loudly.

“Honey, I have to go.” Rick hung up. “She said the raccoon god just left that woman’s apartment. We better do this fast.”

Eugene pointed his gun again. Things were complicated by the three hostages each jostling to be in front of the bullet. He decided to just pull the trigger and let destiny pick the first victim.

His gun didn’t fire.

“What’s wrong?” asked Rick.

“It’s not working.”

“Is it jammed?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never used one of these before.”

“Try the slidey part on top. Isn’t that what they usually do in the movies?”

Eugene fiddled with his weapon. It made a loud clack, and he yelped as it pinched the flesh of his palm.

“Is the safety on?” asked Rick.

“No, the safety isn’t-”

The dining room echoed with the pop of a gunshot. Phil, Bonnie, and Teri checked themselves for holes. After a few seconds, everyone noticed a new hole in Rick’s thigh and a red stain spreading across his slacks. He, oddly, was the last to notice.

“Oh, shit. You shot me!” It was a needless observation. The kind only made by someone who had never been shot before, who expected to just keel over in agony when struck by a bullet, when it rarely worked that way. “You asshole, you shot me!”

“It was an accident!” shouted Eugene. “I told you we should’ve bought revolvers. And taken that course on gun safety.”

Rick leaned against the wall. “What kind of idiot points his gun at the one person in the room he doesn’t want to shoot? You shouldn’t need a class for that.” He gingerly pinched the wound. “Gods, I’m going to bleed to death now.”

“It doesn’t look so bad. Did the bullet hit the bone?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Did it feel like it hit the bone?”

“You want to know how it feels? It feels like some idiot shot me in the leg. That’s how it feels!” Rick started to slide down the wall.

Eugene moved to brace his partner. Without thinking, he jammed his pistol down the front of his pants. There was another pop of gunfire.

“Oh gods, oh gods!” He fell to his knees. The bullet had missed his groin by less than an inch. It had drilled a bloody trench in his leg and the flash had burned some highly sensitive areas.

“You gods-damned moron!” shouted Rick, too obsessed with his own wound to notice the hostages sneaking out of the dining room.

Quick lay across the sofa. “Hi, gang. Just in time for Family Feud.”

“You knew that would happen,” said Phil.

“This is the current residence of a god of good fortune and prosperity. Anyone who really understood the rules would know that trying to kill two of Lucky’s followers in the house where he hangs his hat would be a bad idea.”

Another gunshot echoed from the dining room, followed by more swearing.

“Sometimes initiative is a bad idea,” said Quick with a smile.

Gods were lazy. It was their nature, the design of divine metaphysics. The most successful and influential of gods weren’t the ones who had the most followers. They were the gods who did the least for the most and convinced everyone to overlook it. Zeus and Svarogich, the biggest divinities in North America, were also the two biggest clients of every reputable PR agency on the continent. It was no coincidence.

Janet knew all this. So she also knew that it was a pretty big deal when Lucky brought her breakfast in bed. It didn’t require any divine power to pour milk over Cheerios (and they were her Cheerios and milk), but the mere act of offering a mortal anything without asking for something in return wasn’t a casual act among gods.

“You’re out of orange juice,” said Lucky.

“Funny,” she replied. “I was sure I had enough for one more glass.”

“Nope. I checked.”

He sat on the bed.

“So things are going pretty good between us, aren’t they?” he said.

“Pretty good,” she agreed.

“It’s been a long time since I knew anyone I could just hang out with.”

“What about you and Quick?”

“He’s cool,” said Lucky, “but it’s different among mortals. Just more interesting.”

“So that’s what I have going for me? I’m mortal? Just a little slumming.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

She rubbed his ear. “I know, baby.”

He smiled. “I’m just saying that so far these last two weeks have been the highlight of this century.”