“But I thought he wasn’t even Gorgoz,” said Lucky.

“He wasn’t. He was just a phantasm. But Gorgoz must have left something behind, some seed of power. That was real fire-and-brimstone stuff, right out of the Age of Legends. And it was just a leftover. It wasn’t even the real him.”

Morpheus stopped and wheeled on Lucky.

“I know you and Gorgoz have a thing going on. We all know he’s an asshole, and I feel for you. But if you’re thinking about going head-to-head with him, I’d advise against it. Just keep on doing what you’re doing. Keep your head down and wait for him to get bored.”

“It’s been over a thousand years.”

“So give it another thousand. Lay low. Don’t push your luck, Lucky. That’s all I’m saying.”

He transformed into a swarm of butterflies and flew away, disappearing into the bustling hallways. Lucky and Quick pressed against the walls to avoid the crowds of phantasms and props being wheeled past.

Lucky pulled out the driver’s license and stared at it.

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind,” said Quick.

“No, I guess I’m still in.”

Lucky pocketed the license and glanced around the maze of corridors. “Do you know the way out of this place?”

“I was hoping you did.”

Lucky pointed down a random hall. “That way then.”

“Do you know that’s the right way?” asked Quick.

“Hey, I’m a god of fortune. Odds have gotta be pretty good.”

There was a line to Bonnie’s apartment. When she tried to enter, a man grabbed her by the arm.

“Hey. No cuts.”

“I live here,” said Bonnie.

“Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, right!” She pulled from his grasp and pushed her way inside.

“You just made the list!” He pulled out a notepad and pen. “What’s your name?”

She pushed her way past the crowd, squeezing past the door-jamb. People threw her dirty looks, but she was in no mood to explain herself.

Her apartment was jammed. She had to fight every step of the way, but she was pissed off enough that she had no trouble throwing elbows. After she bit someone who got too grabby, no one else dared stand in her way.

The line ended in her kitchenette. Syph sat at the table, drinking tea with a woman whose hair was too blond and skin too bronze, making her look like a middle-aged Barbie doll who had invested just enough in plastic surgery to almost look human but who was an operation away from crossing the point of no return.

“This is my turn!” said the woman.

“This is my kitchen,” grunted Bonnie. “What the hell is going on here?”

“I’ll explain in a moment,” said Syph. “We’re almost done.”

The woman flashed a condescending smile as Syph continued.

“Mortal, your story has moved my heart. Your ex-husband and his new wife shall be smote with boils that shall exude a foul stench. In return, you shall offer tribute of animal sacrifice and self-flagellation.”

“Yes, about that,” said the woman. “I’m not really big on animal sacrifice.”

“It doesn’t have to be a cute animal. It can be a snake or a frog or some other loathsome thing.”

“I like snakes.”

“You like snakes?”

The woman nodded slightly as if admitting a crime.

“Who likes snakes?” Syph glanced at Bonnie and repeated the question. “Who likes snakes?”

“I can take ’em or leave ’em,” replied Bonnie.

“I’d rather not kill any animals,” said the woman softly, “if it’s all the same to you.”

Syph said, “Is self-flagellation acceptable then? Because I’m not doing this for fun. I have to expect some compensation. Boils aren’t as easy as you might think.”

“That involves a whip or something, right?”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“I don’t have a whip.”

“Buy one,” said Syph. “I’m sure they still sell them.”

“You could probably make one out of a jump rope,” suggested Bonnie as she searched through her fridge for something to drink.

“I was hoping I could just offer you some cash,” said the woman, pulling a thick wad of bills from her purse. “How about a thousand dollars? Would that be enough?”

“Sold,” said Bonnie, snatching the money.

“Hey, that’s my tribute,” said Syph.

“Well, if you’re going to rent out my place as your temple, I think I should get something for it.” Bonnie peeled five hundred dollars off, stuck it in her pocket, and gave the rest to the goddess.

“Very well. This tribute is acceptable. However, in addition to this, I shall require you to slam your hand in your car door. Do this, and I shall be pleased. But the boils will only last two weeks. I’m not running a charity.”

“Yes, goddess. You are as wise and beautiful as you are-”

“Yes, yes.” Syph waved her away. “Go on then before I change my mind.”

The woman left. Bonnie stepped in front of the man next in line. “One second, please.”

The man was about to protest when Syph said, “It’s all right. She’s the… head priestess.”

“Yes,” agreed Bonnie. “ Private church business. So back off for a minute.”

The man relented. Bonnie exercised her priestly authority and pushed the line back as far as the crowd would allow so she could talk to Syph in semi-privacy.

She had a seat at the table. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m getting over it,” said Syph. “Wasn’t that your suggestion?”

“So you’re ruining other people’s lives now? That’s your way of moving on?”

A perplexed expression crossed Syph’s face. “I am the goddess of heartbreak and tragedy. This is my job. What else would you expect of me?”

Bonnie had to admit that she hadn’t thought about it. She had noticed that the overwhelming dread and misery she’d felt the past several days had faded. Probably because the goddess was no longer focusing all her influence on a single mortal. Syph had plenty of targets to aim her misery at now.

It left Bonnie with a bit of a dilemma. If she discouraged Syph from exacting revenge in the name of wronged mortals, then Bonnie was bringing all that down upon her head. But if she didn’t, she was allowing Syph to hurt people. And it was even more complicated than that. Bonnie wasn’t certain this operation was even legal. She wasn’t up on the latest smiting regulations.

“Does it have to be so high-profile?” asked Bonnie.

“Things got a little out of hand,” admitted Syph, “but I’m trying to make up for lost time. I have a lot of wrath to dispense.”

“You’re not killing people.” Bonnie leaned closer and whispered. “You’re not, right?”

“Don’t be silly. That’s against the law. And it’s far too light a punishment for those who transgress against the sacred gifts of love.”

She laughed. It wasn’t much, but it was the first genuine moment of joy Bonnie had seen from the goddess. Syph was still colorless, still radiated a noticeable chill, and charged the air with a hint of gloom. But the goddess’s tepid tea wasn’t frozen in a solid block of ice, and things weren’t spontaneously breaking or bursting into flame in the kitchen. That had to be a good thing.

“How was your day?” asked Syph, interrupting Bonnie’s train of thought.

“Not good. I went to talk to your raccoon god.”

Syph rasped, “You did what?”

“Calm down. He wasn’t there. So I talked to his followers. Nice people. Anyway, then a couple of idiots with guns barged in and tried to offer us up as a blood sacrifice to their god. Yada yada yada. They ended up shot. I got out of there after the cops showed up. By the way, you’re on notice with Divine Affairs. Filed a complaint since they were there.”

Bonnie realized the dangers of taunting a goddess, but she didn’t care. Maybe it was because she felt so damn good all of a sudden with that terrible burden of the goddess of heartbreak taken off her shoulders. Not entirely removed, but a good portion off in other places, doing nasty things to people who weren’t her. Now it wasn’t despair that gripped her, but a cheery malaise. The term might have seemed like a paradox a few hours ago, but everything was relative.