Accidental God -- Section 10

[Managed to finish the entire section. Rae seems really nice. (She's the angel who worked for Forgotten Zed, if you'd forgotten.) Also, we are reminded of the hints of a broader conspiracy in this chapter. Do you remember those hints? From the very first chapter?

[No?

[I'm pretty sure they were there. Maybe I'll have to go back and actually read what I've written.]

    Rae walked into THAI FOR FIRST, saw Luther, and waved. He waved back from the table he'd picked, in clear sight of the door so she wouldn't have to look around much. She walked over and Luther watched. While angels don't understand much about romance, he certainly could understand beauty, and Rae was beautiful. It was one part her shape and form, and one part her style. Luther wasn't sure where in the last several centuries their paths had split so dramatically, but where Rae was fashionable, Luther was fastion-un-able. He glanced down at his own rumpled slacks and button-down shirt. Also wrinkled. Maybe he could call his style 'classic' and get away with that. Or maybe he could pretend to be a math professor.
    "Good to see you, Luther." Rae leaned down and gave him a hug, which he returned. She sat at the table and took a drink of the water had ordered for her. "No ice," she said. "That's sweet of you to remember."
    Luther shrugged and took a drink of his carbonated lemon stuff. Of course he would remember that she didn't like ice. Once again, he may not know much about romance, but he knew friendship. "You would have done the same for me."
    "No I wouldn't. You like ice."
    Luther cocked his eyebrow at her, and she smiled.
    "Also," she went on, "I wouldn't have known to order THAT drink for you. What is it?"
    "No idea, really. It has some Asian name, and I'm rusty on those languages. Never worked out that way."
    "You don't have to speak the language to know the name of a soda. How many people through the world know 'Coca-Cola?'"
    "Everyone, but that's not a fair comparison."
    "Why's that?"
    "Coke is American."
    Rae snorted and flicked water at him. "If I didn't know how long you worked in Europe and Africa, I'd call you a chauvinist."
    "I'm glad you appreciate my humor. You know what you want?"
    Rae flipped open her menu and looked down at it. "Wings," she said. "I want wings."
    "They don't serve wings here."
    "Not what I meant."
    "I know." Luther reached over to tap on her menu. "Try the C8."
    "What's the C8?"
    "It has chicken."
    "Anything else?"
    "It's made with passion."
    "Passion and...?"
    "Cashews. And it tastes really good."
    "Fine. I'll have the C8."
    "Good," said Luther. "Because I ordered the C8 and the C3, and I wanted to eat the C3, so I'm glad it worked out."
    Rae closed her menu and looked at him. "I've missed you, Luther."
    "What do you mean? We may not spend too much time together, but it's not like we've been total strangers."
    "Yes, we've seen each other, but I've missed YOU. This is the first time I've seen you play with someone in over a hundred years."
    Luther blinked. "I was playing, wasn't I?"
    "Most definitely."
    "I didn't realize it. It doesn't seem like I should be."
    "Why not?"
    Luther chuckled. "It's been so long, I guess. And I've got plenty of reasons to NOT play."
    "But you don't work for Mr. Pity-Party anymore," said Rae. "That's a reason to celebrate."
    Luther see-sawed his hand in the air. "Mixed blessing. You want the list of things to worry about? Forgotten Zed is dead--which is a depressing rhyme--and we have no idea where his faith has gone. I'm out of a job. You're out of a job. No wings for anyone. And...I think that's it. Just those."
    "You forgot to mention the Five Dark Men," said Rae.
    "What about them?" asked Luther, suddenly more serious.
    "Rumor is that they're in town."
    "That's absurd! They haven't set foot outside Brazil since the Forties."
    "Apparently, now they have. Also, it's not actually the Five Dark Men anymore. It's now the Three Dark Men and Two Dark Women."
    "You're kidding."
    "Wish I were. Seems they've become a PROGRESSIVE cabal bent on world domination."
    "That's distressing."
    "It is."
    "And hard to say."
    "Also true."
    "'Five Dark Men' was ridiculous enough, but that was the 1800's for you, and then after that, tradition is tradition. But 'Three Dark Men and Two Dark Women?'"
    "You don't have to convince ME, Luther. I was happy not having to say their name at all for a few decades. I thought they had their noses bloodied enough in the war that they'd still be wound licking."
    Luther tipped his drink from side to side, thinking. "Guess you can't keep a good cabal, down, huh?"
    "Guess not."
    "Think they had anything to do with Forgotten Zed?"
    "I'm worried about the possibility, of course," said Rae, turning at an angle in her chair and crossing her legs. "Killing a god is exactly the kind of thing they'd try, but they're not the sort that would keep quiet about it after. I'd expect a war to have started already if they had the power."
    Luther grunted. "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours. Give them time."
    "No, thank you. I don't think we should."
    Luther cocked his head. "Are you saying we should go after them?"
    She leaned forward. "At least try to find out who offed Zed, yes."
    "But we have no wings."
    "Wings, no, but brains and connections, yes. Those we have aplenty."
    Luther sat back and crossed his arms. "I may have a brain, but I'm not so strong in the connections department. I'm not you, Rae. I wasn't working for one of the Big Eight."
    "Stuff it, Luther. You know you've got respect enough in our circles to move mountains, and I mean that literally."
    "Since when?"
    "Since forever, but you've been too busy worrying about your failures to notice your successes. A lot of people appreciate what you've been doing over the years."
    "Even with a deadbeat god for a boss?"
    "Especially with a deadbeat god for a boss. People like you, Luther." She was looking him in the eye as she said it, and she was sincere. No lie there. After a few centuries of watching people, he could tell.
    "Thanks," he said.
    She leaned back, shrugging. "You're welcome, but you'll be even more welcome if you'll help me. Zed's power shouldn't be on the loose. Either someone picks it up who we can trust, or we break it down into nothing."
    "I'm not sure I like that second idea."
    Rae grimaced. "Sure, Pompeii was bad, but it was better than the alternative."
    "Probably better," Luther protested. "Neither of us were there, and history is written by the victors."
    "Even so, if the Three Dark Men and Two Dark Women have the power, better to bury a city in ash than let them run around with it."
    Luther reached out and started tipping his glass again. "I think you're right."
    "I know I'm right."
    "Yeah."
    They sat in quiet as the waiter appeared. They sorted out which dish went where, they agreed to enjoy their meal, and the waiter left them.
    "Fine," said Luther.
    "What's that?" asked Rae.
    "I'll help you."
    "Wonderful," she said, removing her fork and spoon from the folded napkin. "I have a few people I can talk to about the Three Dark Men and Two Dark Women. Do you still have connections at the Fifth Agency?"
    Luther's brow furrowed. "Not sure. I knew a girl who worked there, but last I heard, her job wasn't so secure. Then I got distracted and lost track of her."
    "You okay calling her up? The Agency sent in a team to Zed's apartment, but they weren't people I recognized. Better to get connected with a familiar face, don't you think?"
    "Absolutely. And yes, I'm okay calling her up. Very nice girl, though a bit of a workaholic. Japanese parents."
    "Americans can be workaholics, too, Luther."
    "She is American."
    "Then why did you bring up her parents?"
    "I'm just trying to somehow extract myself from my unintentional racism. Is it working?"
    "Only mildly."
    "My, oh my," said Luther, pulling out his own spoon. "Doesn't this look good?" He dug in and scooped up a mix of rice, chicken, and something that looked like a potato. Probably was, but he couldn't remember the ingredients of this particular dish, and there was at least one fruit that liked to disguise itself as a small potato. Rae laughed at him and scooped up her own bit of food. They both took a bite. Luther chewed. Then chewed more. Then swallowed.
    "Did you want to have the C3?" he asked. "We can trade."
    Rae politely spat her mouthful into her napkin and placed it next to her plate. "I'm not sure it would do any good. This is terrible. I thought this place had good food."
    "It does. Did, at least. I ate here two weeks ago."
    Rae licked her lips, looking thoughtful. "Does it taste funny to you?"
    "By 'funny' did you mean 'repulsive?'"
    She shook her head. "Funny as in...funny."
    Luther picked up a bit of carrot with his fingers and nibbled at it. Still awful--remarkably, bizarrely awful--but he tried to taste PAST that.
    "You were right: this tastes funny."
    "What is that flavor?"
    "Sadness."
    "That's not a flavor."
    "If they can make sunshine bagels, they can make sadness curry."
    "They make sunshine bagels?"
    "Yeah. Bagel shop near here. It's not on the menu so you have to ask."
    "Crazy."
    Luther nibbled at the carrot again. "This is more than just sadness."
    Rae leaned in and sniffed at her C8. She nodded. "There's something supernatural about this."
    Luther looked back at the kitchen, then slumped in his chair. "No wings," he said.
    "We still might be able to help," Rae protested.
    "Worth a try," he agreed. "At the very least, I can call Atty to come down. I think he gets off his shift soon."
    Luther hopped up and moved around to Rae's side of their little table. As she rose, he pulled her chair back for her.
    "It's been a while since that happened, too," she said. "Joking around AND getting a lady's chair. This is a momentous occasion."
    Luther stepped up and offered his arm, which she took. "Let's hope it stays very mildly momentous, at least for the sake of whoever cooked this food."
    "Agreed."
    Arm in arm they walked toward the kitchen. Their server intercepted them.
    "Can I help you?"
    "We need to talk to the chef," said Rae.
    "I'd be happy to let him know. He could come out as soon as he has a moment."
    Rae's smile was unperturbed. "I'm not sure that will work. We really need to see him where he works."
    The waiter shifted his wait uncomfortably. "If you have a complaint, I can get my manager. Honestly, I have to admit that his cooking is a little off today, so I can understand, but I don't think I can let you back into the kitchen."
    "Why not?" asked Luther. "People are always charging through kitchens in movies."
    Rae glanced at him sideways and pulled him ahead around the waiter. "I think the poor young man is referring to health code regulations, or some such thing. Do you have your food handler's permit, Luther?"
    "I let it expire."
    "I did, too, but don't let that bother you," she glanced back at the waiter's nametag as she brushed by, "John. We won't touch anything. We're here to help."
    "Not that we can do much," muttered Luther, and he coughed as Rae's elbow met with his ribs. "Sorry. Yep," he called back to the following waiter, "here to help."
    More protests followed them, and someone dressed like a manager started closing in from the other side, but it wasn't in time to stop Rae and Luther from pushing through the kitchen door.
    "Oh, dear," said Rae.
    "I think I should call Atty," said Luther, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. "You'll keep people out of the kitchen?"
    "On it," said the angel, and she turned back to firmly lead the manager and waiter out the door. They probably tried to resist, but Luther knew exactly how tough Rae's body was under those classy clothes. He had a few minutes at least.
    He held down the speed-dial and listened as the call went directly to voice mail. Luther didn't bother waiting to hear what to press for more options. He cut off the call and looked at the creatures who were looking back at him. If you could call what Ipthakorians did 'looking.' One was crouched on the counter, one leg wrapped around the shoulders of the chef. The other creature hung from the racks of pots and pans over the stove. Surrounded by their malevolent attention was a slightly overweight man in his early thirties, stirring some kind of curry that probably tasted like it had given up on life--and when curry gives up on life, you know you have problems.
    "Hello," said Luther.
    The chef looked up at him and went back to stirring.
    "You're looking tired. Anything I can do to help?" Luther wondered about the answer to that question. WAS there anything he could do? From the looks of things, the Ipthakorians had been feeding on this guy nonstop for some time. Their skins were radiant, more red than gray, like fire peaking through the cracks of ashes. Actually, the amazing thing was that the chef was still standing at all. Losing that much energy to creatures like this was enough to kill at least one normal person. What made the chef that powerful? And if he had that kind of power, why was he letting small-fry like Ipthakorians chew on him?
    "You here to complain about the food, too?" asked the chef. "Fine. Get in line. You and every other lunchtime prima donna out there. It's the same food I make every day, but now something's 'wrong with it.'" His voice dipped heavily into sarcasm. "Besides, it's not like it's my fault that man went to the hospital. If you're allergic to peanuts, you shouldn't be coming to a Thai restaurant. Don't they teach that in Peanut Allergies 101? Basic stuff, people."
    Luther was lost. "I'm sorry. Who went to the hospital?"
    "Sure, come back here just to mess with me. That's classy. I feel bad enough, all right? What are you, some kind of reporter? Going to put this all over the newspapers? Go ahead, shut down this place and ruin my career, all because some idiot can't go to a burger joint where they never heard of a peanut. Or classy food, for that matter."
    Rae stepped up next to her friend. "What is he talking about?" she murmured.
    "I have no idea. I just asked if I could help. No answer from Atty, by the way. You know another angel close?"
    "What about Standing Appointment?"
    Luther shook his head. "He goes solo. Borrows angels sometimes, but no regulars. The Little Saint is close, right?"
    "Yes, but I don't have his number. Britaenelia still work for him?"
    "I think she went to South America."
    "Darn it. Because I have HER number."
    Luther ran his hand down over his mouth. "I usually call Atty when I need a phone number."
    "That's inefficient."
    "Yes, but simplifies my life. He's my phonebook."
    Rae stared at the Ipthakorians and the chef whose tirade had trailed off into tired mumbling.
    "How is he still alive?" she asked.
    "No idea. There's something going on here that isn't obvious. You have connections with Rochelle and Rachel, right?"
    Rae nodded. "I might be asking them for a job, even though we all have names that start with 'r.' Tacky, but better than being wingless."
    "You call them, and I'll call my friend at the Fifth Agency. This is weird enough that some extra brains wouldn't hurt."
    "Got it," said Rae, reaching for her phone.
    That was when the Ipthakorians panicked. The creature draped over the chef released its grip and was scampering around in strange, loopy circles, bounding from ceiling to floor, wall to wall. Rae and Luther backed up to the door of the kitchen as plates and dishes were scattered around, a knife holder and all its knives sent flying. The chef, seemingly oblivious, kept stirring, even though the curry in the pan was beginning to burn with an acrid smell. The one hanging from the ceiling suddenly launched itself toward the back door, ripping at the heavy metal with its powerful arms. A gap opened with a screech of twisting steel, and the creature surged out through the hole.
    On top of all that, an immense, bass growl shook the entire building, the kind of bass that was a techno-lover’s dream. Luther felt it most in his elbows for some strange reason. A crunching noise accompanied a high pitched scream from just outside the door, followed by a heavy impact against the side of the restaurant. The sink near the window started spraying water and the Ipthakorian still in the room became even more frantic.
    "Borthont?" said Rae.
    "Probably," agreed Luther.
    "What do you do about a borthont?"
    "Call forth the Sweetest Scents of Spring?"
    "I have some Ralph Lauren in my bag."
    "Close, but not likely very effective."
    "Other suggestions?" asked Rae.
    "Run? Running's an option."
    "Fire!" yelled Rae, back through the door. "Fire in the kitchen! Call 911! Get out of the building!"
    She may not have had wings, but a few hundred years of authority had done wonders for Rae's stage presence. The heads of the manager and waiter disappeared from the window on the kitchen door and there was a general commotion along with the sound of the front door opening and closing, ringing the bell that hung from it over and over.
    "Good idea," said Luther. "Now how do we get the chef out of there?"
    They both watched as the Ipthakorian continued to scamper. With its odd trajectories, thick tail, and sharp claws, jumping in to get the muttering, stirring chef would be a serious risk, and while angels live a long time, they weren't immune to bodily harm. They just usually had the power of a god to back them up.
    But there was a bit of a pattern to the creatures frantic scampering. If he moved in just a bit closer, Luther figured he'd have a shot at pulling the poor man away from the creature that had been feeding on him. Then they could implement the backup plan for dealing with a borthont: sprinting until they passed out.
    "I got this," he said.
    "You sure?" asked Rae.
    "I think so. Call up the twins and get us some help. At best, we'll just be stalling with something like a borthont, but at least we can save this guy."
    "Got it. Be careful, Luther."
    "Of course."
    He turned and watched again, round and round, one, two, one, two, he could go in right--
    The wall to the kitchen ripped apart under the impact from a horn the size of a Vespa scooter. Luther pulled back from the scattering drywall and debris, and that hesitation was all it took. Two quick snaps of its neck, and the brothont's head--looking rather like a depressed Tyrannosaurus Rex--had snatched up both the frantic Ipthakorian and the chef. Gone. Swallowed. On the stove, the pan of curry spun in place and stopped. Another bass roar.
    "Oh my," said Rae.
    "I guess we CAN’T save that guy," said Luther.