Accidental God -- Section 06

[I'm getting serious about selling Fat Tony. A solid amount of query letters are out there now, and I'll give some time for responses before I turn out more, but for now I think I have a chance to focus on Accidental God again. Over 13,000 words in, and I have some sense of where it's going--but it's hard. It's always hard.

[Your enthusiasm is much appreciated. Cheer me on, complain when I don't give you more. Let's get this book written.]

    Luther walked the half-mile from Atty’s apartment to his own, pushed through his ennui and up the stairs. He never used the elevator--not that he needed the exercise, exactly--but he wanted to stay connected to human beings. Feel more of what they felt, and sometimes that meant walking up stairs. For some reason, on this particular day, it felt like a stupid waste. Why try to stay connected to people that he couldn't do anything for?
    No. That was not the way he was going to start thinking. Wings or no wings, there was a lot he could do for the people around him, and he was going to do it. He unlocked his door and strode into his apartment with fresh resolve.
    Looking around at his worn furniture and bare walls, the unemployed archangel realized it would have been better to walk OUT of his apartment with resolve. This place was the LaBrea Tar Pits of resolution. How had his apartment become so useless? A little thought and Luther realized that it had been decades since he'd done anything with his living quarters. His former boss had slipped from city to city, never really establishing himself, never really doing GOOD anywhere, until they'd washed up in Seven Cities. Luther hadn't even been sure they'd be staying, and one apartment is the same as another with your eyes closed, so why bother fixing the place up?
    And now, here he was, a victim of his own indifference. He could imagine worse places to live, but those mostly involved raw sewage or perky young men selling security systems. This apartment wasn’t so much terrible as it was insignificant. Bland. Nothing too broken, but nothing repaired. What WAS the stain on the carpet, anyway? He had never bothered to figure it out.
    And he wasn’t going go figure it out now. Five minutes was all it took to dump his laundry in the washing machine—washer and dryer were a must for Luther—and he was back out the door and trotting down the stairs, cell phone in hand. Whom to call? Maybe a better question, what gods were in town? As happy as Atty was with Chuck, the man was a minor god and not someone who could afford the power to take on any more angels than he already had. There was Rochelle and Rachel, the twins over on the east side, but from all Luther had ever heard, their angels were all women. Tumble-dry Thomas, the Little Saint, Amazing Grace, Bob the Repair Guy--altogether, there were dozens of minor gods in the city, and while any one of them might be happy to have Luther join up, they didn’t have power to spare. It wouldn’t be fair for Luther to ask.
    No, it was time to swallow pride and ask one of the Big Eight. Sure, he’d be lucky to be hired on as a Seraphim, but wings are wings, right? Yeah, that’s what he’d keep telling himself. He scrolled through his phonebook and found the number for Raephene. He walked out the front door of his building—not his building for much longer he decided—and made the call.
    “Hey, this is Rae.” Her voice was rich and alto—and tired.
    “Rae? This is Luther.”
    “Hiya, Luther. How’s things with Heartbroken Hal?”
    Luther had never liked the nickname for his former employer, but he had to admit it was accurate. “Actually, that’s why I was calling. I’m not with Harold anymore.”
    Rae laughed. “No kidding. Seems like there’s a lot of that going around.”
    Luther stopped walking. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
    “You’re not? Hang on. Were you calling me, hoping for a job?”
    “I thought you could maybe put a word in with Forgotten Zed, and I wasn’t expecting much, but why are you laughing? Cut that out.”
    “I’m sorry, Luther. I wasn’t meaning to be rude, and really, it isn’t funny at all, but I guess you haven’t heard yet. See, I’m out of work, too.”
    “Oh,” said Luther. “No, I hadn’t heard. Why did he let you go?”
    “Because he’s dead.”
    Luther’s stomach felt hollow. “Can’t be.”
    “Oh, he can. He is.”
    “Dead dead?”
    “I’ve seen road kill that looked more likely to hop up and run around.”
    Luther swallowed and started walking again. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he had the vague sense that getting his legs moving would jumpstart his brain. “How did it happen?”
    “A bullet.”
    “That’s impossible.”
    Rae laughed again, a hint of despair to it. “Believe me, it doesn’t seem real to me either. I mean, he was Forgotten Zed. He was one of the big eight. A god. God’s don’t die, not from a gun, not from a train.”
    “Do you know who did it?”
    “You mean, who inherited all that power? No. No idea. The Fifth Agency sent some people over to take a look, but since that first night, I’m out of the loop. We all are. None of us here have been told anything. You know how the Agency is about us angels, anyway.”
    “Don’t I. If you’re not an angel of death, they don’t want to talk to you, and if you are, they still don’t want to talk to you.”
    “Exactly. And an angel without wings? They’re not big fans of do-gooders in the first place, and now we’re do-gooders without any do.”
    They fell silent. Luther didn’t know what to say. This was a lot bigger than a few angels without work—bigger than a lot of angels without work. Forgotten Zed was one of the oldest gods, with thousands of years of prayers and faith and worship making him into the kind of force that could crack the earth and call down fire and storm, and all that before breakfast. Now that power had passed onto someone else, someone who was willing to kill to get it. Luther didn’t like to think what kind of god that person would make.
    “You still there?” asked Rae.
    “Yeah, I’m here.”
    “You think Heartbroken would take both of us?”
    Luther snorted. “The man hasn’t performed a real miracle in a decade. His temple is a shambles. One of his replacements for me has a decent heart in him, but if I couldn’t get Harold straightened out, I doubt he can manage.”
    “Luther,” laughed Rae, “I think that’s the least humble speech I’ve ever heard from you.”
    Luther rubbed at his face with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean it that way. Just trying to be realistic. Sure, he could take us back, but what power would he have to spare? If we want work, it’s got to be somewhere else.” He stopped and looked around at where he was. “Rae, I’m in front of a Thai restaurant on Broad. Lunch and talk?”
    “Why not. Nothing better to do with my day.”
    “Thanks.”
    “I didn’t mean it that way, Luther. Lunch sounds great. Thai For First?”
    “That’s the place. How soon can you make it?”
    “Twenty.”
    “I’ll get us a table.”
    “See you soon, Luther.”
    She hung up and Luther looked around. The sun was bright, and a pigeon wandered around next to a garbage can. Cars went by, black and red and some kind of ugly orange, and a heavy beat floated down form the open window of an upstairs apartment. It was a normal day.
    It was a terrible day.
    Luther put his phone in his pocket and walked into the restaurant.