“Not so good,” replied Phil.

“So I gathered.” Lucky’s smile dropped. “I know this looks bad-”

“You’re damn right it looks bad. It looks worse than bad. We were almost killed, sacrificed as tribute to some evil god with a grudge against you.”

“I can explain-”

“You lied to us.”

“I never said-”

“Lying by omission is still lying. And what about those red animals? When I specifically asked you about them, you said they were no big deal. But they are a big deal after all. They have something to do with Gorgoz, right?”

“They usually go away after a while,” said Lucky. “So maybe I should’ve mentioned it. But I’m immortal. I bring a lot of baggage with me. I can’t be expected to remember every little incident from the past that might be of consequence today. It’s been a while since Gorgoz tried anything like this. I’d just assumed that he’d gotten over it by now. A few hundred years is usually enough for any god. Damn, when Ngai found out I slept with his wife he vowed eternal revenge, too. But now we play poker and laugh about it over beers. That’s the way it works. Maybe in the old days we could nurse a grudge, but that old-way bullshit doesn’t happen anymore. At least, it’s not supposed to happen anymore.”

“But it did happen,” said Teri, “and it nearly happened to us.”

“I’m on top of it,” said Lucky.

“Stop lying.” She thrust her finger at him. “You’re full of crap.

“I know you’re upset, Teri, so I’ll overlook-”

“No. You’re not going to turn this around and make it about us. We didn’t do anything wrong. You’re the wrong one. You’re the one who let us down. We came into this straight. We did what we promised. And you promised to look after us, to help us out. And the last time I checked, keeping us from getting killed by some rogue god is your job.”

He withered under her glare.

“Do your job, Lucky. Or get the hell out of my house.”

She marched away, going inside, slamming the door.

“She’s just upset,” said Phil.

The door opened. Teri stuck her head out.

“And Phil, don’t you dare apologize for me!”

She slammed the door shut again.

Phil paused, torn between placating his god and his wife.

“Go on, Phil,” said Lucky. “She needs you.”

“Please, don’t smite her,” said Phil hastily as he ran into the house.

Lucky sucked on the straw, even as the gurgling noise indicated that the cup was empty.

“She’s right,” said Quick.

“Yeah. Maybe.” Lucky chewed on a piece of ice. “All I know is that if I confront Gorgoz, he’s going to kick my ass all across the Milky Way. And I’d rather not have that.”

“Maybe if you tried apologizing, he’d forget the whole thing.”

“First of all,” said Lucky, “I’m not apologizing. I didn’t do anything wrong. Secondly, it wouldn’t make any difference. You know that. We’re way past the apology stage.”

“You could move out.”

“If I move out, they’re as good as dead. Without all the good fortune that comes from my presence, they’ll be fodder for Gorgoz’s minions.”

They sat on the porch and ran over the problem several times. They didn’t know where Gorgoz was hiding. And even if they did find him, they couldn’t fight him. Lucky could keep Gorgoz’s followers in check for a while, perhaps even years. But even the most powerful god of good fortune couldn’t prevent every assassination attempt. Eventually, by the law of averages, one would succeed.

The problem was bigger than two gods could handle. And Divine Affairs might be able to find Gorgoz one day and put an end to his reign of terror. But that day was a long way off.

“Too bad we can’t question those two moronic assassins,” said Lucky.

“They wouldn’t know anything,” said Quick.

“Worth a try at least.”

“Divine Affairs would never allow it.”

“Yeah. Too bad. But what they don’t know can’t hurt us.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Why bother talking to the mortal when you can go right to the source? Does Morpheus still owe you that favor?”

“Why?”

“Maybe it’s time you cashed it in.”

“What are you getting at?” asked Quick.

Lucky smiled.

“Oh no. He’d never go along with it,” said Quick.

“Can’t hurt to talk to him, can it? And you forget”-Lucky winked-“I can be very persuasive.”

“Should we tell them?” asked Quick, nodding toward the house.

“No reason to get their hopes up just yet.”

“You realize this is a long shot,” said Quick.

“You’re forgetting something, buddy.”

Lucky winked as the gods shot off into the sky.

“Long shots are my specialty.”

It was Worthington ’s job to keep Gorgoz happy. A steady diet of beer and snack cakes, a big-screen television with a complete cable package, a massage chair, a small river of blood. These were usually all it took. And as long as Gorgoz was happy, Worthington ’s world was fine.

Gauging Gorgoz’s happiness was difficult based on the god’s behavior. He never left the basement and he rarely smiled. And when he spoke, his voice was rough and dour. Even his laugh, the few times Worthington had heard it, was a joyless scraping thing. Worthington was forced to rely on other signs and portents.

Six of his stocks had taken a big hit. And over a dozen people had lost fingers to faulty paper clips coming out of his Korean factories. And one of his real estate developments had burned to the ground, killing just over a hundred people. The deaths and mutilations meant nothing to him outside of requiring some out-of-court settlements. The incidents would barely register as a hiccup on his financial reports. But left unchecked, these omens could herald his undoing.

Worthington grabbed a six-pack of Old Milwaukee and a bag of pretzels and headed to the basement sanctuary of his crabby god. The bright flicker of Leave It to Beaver illuminated his darkened lair. He didn’t take his eyes off the television as Worthington descended the stairs. Worthington kept his head bowed as he approached with his offerings.

“O glorious master, who dwells in eternal darkness, from death you arose and death shall be your gift to this world. This humble servant-”

Gorgoz snatched the beer and pretzels. He stuck a can in his toothy jaws and sheared the top off of it, chugging it down. Despite the size of his mouth, he managed to spill most of the beverage down his shirt and bathrobe.

“Are they dead?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not, Master.”

Gorgoz growled.

“Am I not a generous benefactor, Worthington?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And haven’t I provided you with the wealth and power you pathetic mortals covet so?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And all I ask is complete obedience. Yet now you disobey me.”

“I didn’t disobey.”

“You have failed me.”

“No, Master. It wasn’t I, but other disciples who-”

“I don’t need excuses for a botched job. As most favored among my disciples, their failures are your failures as far as I’m concerned.”

Gorgoz slit the bag with the long claw on his index finger. He grabbed a handful of pretzels and tossed them into his mouth. His oddly shaped mouth and teeth spewed crumbs and sticky drool as he decreed, “Bring the offending incompetent before me so that I might devour him for his ineptitude.”

“I’m afraid he’s already dead.”

Gorgoz’s bulbous eyes narrowed. “Disappointing. Was it a painful death?”

“Most assuredly, Master,” Worthington quickly replied, though he didn’t know the details. His position of First Disciple among Gorgoz’s followers allowed him control over a network of unscrupulous individuals willing to do whatever it took to gain power. Even engage in illegal worship of forsaken gods. Yet even he wasn’t certain how far his reach extended because the followers of Gorgoz were a secretive lot. He made it a point to know only as much as he needed to know.