Dogs and Goddesses Page 8

  “Good morning, Daisy!” Vera said, her soft voice too sweet to ignore, so Daisy stopped and turned to face her.

  “Morning, Vera. I’m just on my way to get some coffee, so—”

  “Oh, we’ll go with you! We were just going to get some juice!” Vera stood up and glanced down at her ancient Doberman-beagle mix, Squash, who stared back up at her with big, bored eyes. “Weren’t we, girl?”

  Squash lifted her head, yawned, and said, “You’re the boss.”

  Daisy froze.

  “Daisy?”

  Daisy blinked and focused on Vera, who smiled brightly, her eyes turned to beaming little slits under the pressure from her chipmunk cheeks.

  “Huh?” Daisy said.

  “Want to come to the kitchen with us?”

  “Um.” Daisy clicked her pen, staring at Squash. “Um.” Her heart beat frantically in her chest as she watched the dog, who looked back at her but said nothing.

  “Is something wrong?” Vera asked, her smile dimming a bit. “Are you not feeling well? Because I have some vitamins—”

  “I’m fine.” Daisy struggled to swallow and clicked the pen again, gaining comfort from the gesture. Click. Normal. Click. Safe. Click, click. “I actually need to talk to Lucille about some—”

  The breeze blew through the office again, and Vera sighed. “Oh, dear. Someone must have left the window in the kitchen open again.” She shook her head and started toward the kitchen.

  Daisy leaned against Vera’s desk, watching as Squash ambled on after Vera. Had she really just heard … ? No. That was impossible. She couldn’t still be drunk; it had been twelve hours since …

  But I could be crazy. Crazy doesn’t wear off.

  “Good morning, Daisy!”

  Daisy started as Lucille, the humanities department chair, headed toward her, her sensible gray pumps clunk-clunking on the gray Berber carpeting popular with universities and mental institutions worldwide.

  Mental institutions, Daisy thought, swallowing hard. Oh, god. “Hey, Lucille.” She took a deep breath. “You know what? I think I’m gonna need the day—”

  “No Bailey today, huh?” Lucille said, brushing what looked like cookie crumbs off her signature gray cardigan. “Such a cute dog.”

  Right. Lucille hadn’t thought so when Bailey had tinkled his cuteness all over the ficus. “My landlady’s taking care of him. Speaking of which, I need to duck out early today, personal reasons, so maybe we should prioritize my tasks… .” She grabbed a small yellow pad from Vera’s desk and clicked her pen, feeling slightly comforted by the gesture. Work. Work would save her. No dogs talked to her when she was writing web code. She could work right up until the moment she had to go help Abby, and then she’d run back to the coffeehouse and work there. Everything was going to be just fine. She clicked the pen twice more.

  Lucille frowned at her. “Are you okay? You look a little pale. Is everything—?” Lucille’s eyes caught on something over Daisy’s shoulder, and Daisy turned to look; Frederick St. Thomas, the new adjunct with thick glasses and an unnatural affection for elbow patches, was headed straight for them.

  “Oh, hello, Frederick,” Lucille said, her voice a touch higher than usual. “I didn’t know you were teaching today.”

  “I’m not,” Frederick said. “I’ve lost my lesson plans.”

  “Oh.” Lucille smiled at Frederick, the flush in her cheeks deepening. “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen them.”

  Daisy cleared her throat. “So, Lucille, my priorities? There’s got to be something you need me to do. Something important and, uh, absorbing?” She clicked her pen and wrote a “1” at the top of the sheet, and as she did, the breeze blew again.

  Daisy glanced through the open kitchen door. Squash rested under the table while Vera sipped her juice, both looking as innocuous as ever. Daisy relaxed. What was she so freaked out about? This whole thing was ridiculous. The dog had yawned, not talked. She watched Squash as she tried to convince herself everything was normal. Click, click, click . ..

  “Oh, here it is!” Frederick said, touching Lucille’s shoulder as he reached past her to grab a stapled printout off Vera’s desk. “I must have left it here yesterday.”

  Lucille flushed deeper and traced her fingers over her collarbone, her eyes widening as she watched Frederick. She was acting really strange, but Daisy had her own insanity to deal with.

  “I’m going to get some coffee. I’ll be right back.” As a punctuation on her resolve, Daisy clicked her pen.

  And again the breeze blew.

  Lucille moved closer to Frederick, as if she hadn’t even heard Daisy. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here, Frederick. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about … something. I have some amazing cookies I picked up this morning, too; you should have some. They’re in my office.”

  Daisy stared down at the pen in her hand, then looked up as Lucille led Frederick into her office and closed the door.

  Something weird was—

  No. Nothing weird was going on. It was imagination, lack of sleep, and, in Lucille’s case, possibly a hot flash. Everything could be rationalized and explained, she was sure of it … and she was going to start with the dog. She took a deep breath and headed into the kitchen. Time to put this thing to bed.

  “Hello, Daisy! Are you going to join us after all?” Vera stirred her orange juice with a stir stick and tapped it one, two, three times on the edge of her glass before putting it gently on the table. “I have to tell you, I’ve just started this new powder multivitamin supplement and I feel ten years younger! You should try it.” She smiled up at Daisy. “Happy body, happy mind, happy Daisy, right?”

  “Hmmm.” Daisy took a sip of her coffee and leaned back against the counter, trying to figure out how she might casually prove that Squash hadn’t talked to her. She glanced down at the dog. “So, Squash, how are you doing today?”

  The dog raised her head, but before she could speak, Vera jumped in.

  “Oh, she’s doing fine; thank you so much for asking. She had a little tummy trouble last night, though.” Vera leaned away from the table and angled her head down at Squash, taking on the smoochy tone people get when talking to very small children. “Didn’t you, sweetheart? Diarrhea all gone now, baby?” Vera raised her head and resumed her normal speech for Daisy. “Poor pumpkin, she was just squirting like a water balloon all last night. We even had to miss our obedience class, and I was so looking forward—”

  “Obedience class?” Daisy asked, her shoulder muscles tensing. “You were going to go to that? The one in the creepy step temple?”

  “You mean the history department?” Vera nodded. “How did you know about— Oh, did you take Bailey?”

  “Um. Yeah.” Obedience class. Talking dogs. In Daisy’s mind, loose ends started to weave together, but she couldn’t quite figure out what they were weaving into.

  “You have to tell me all about it.” Vera leaned forward. “Was it wonderful? I bet it was wonderful. The Kammani Gula method, it just sounds fascinating. Tell me, did they give you any dog vitamins there?”

  “They gave us tonic. You would have loved it.” Daisy looked down at the dog again. “So, we’ll see you there next time, Squash?”

  Squash lifted her head, her eyes more intelligent than Vera’s had ever been. Daisy looked back, feeling confident the dog would not speak again, because dogs couldn’t talk. A few moments of solid silence from Squash were all Daisy needed, and then she could get back to—

  “Looks that way,” Squash barked.

  “Oh, come on.” Daisy stamped her foot.

  “Oh, look at those adorable shoes!” Vera said, pointing down at Daisy’s polka-dotted Keds.

  “Huh?” Daisy looked down. “Oh. Yeah, I know they don’t go with my suit, but I’ve been having shoe troubles lately.” She looked back at Squash.

  “Left one’s coming loose,” Squash barked.

  Daisy looked down. The dog was right. Damn it. “Could you stop that, please?”

 
; “Squash, stop that barking,” Vera said. “You’re making Daisy nervous. Look at her; she’s pale as a sheet.” Vera looked up at Daisy. “She’d never hurt a soul, Daisy; she’s just the gentlest thing. I wish I knew what’s gotten into her this morning.”

  “Me, too.” Daisy placed her coffee on the table and knelt down, watching Squash as she forced her shaking hands to pull the pink ribbon laces tight.

  Squash met her eye.

  “You can’t talk,” Daisy whispered.

  “What’s that?” Vera asked.

  Daisy straightened up slowly, her eyes on the dog, and heard the telltale one, two, three tap of a stir stick. She looked and just caught Vera pulling her hand back from Daisy’s mug.

  “Oh, hell, Vera,” Daisy said, grabbing her cup and sniffing it, almost grateful for the distraction. “We’ve discussed this. Come on.”

  Vera blinked innocence. “What?”

  “You know exactly what,” Daisy said. “No dropping fiber supplements in my drinks. We shook on it.” She eyed Squash, waiting for the dog to say something, but Squash just rested her head on her paws and sighed.

  “I did not put a fiber supplement in your drink,” Vera said.

  “Then what? That vitamin powder stuff?” she said.

  Vera shook her head. “I did not put the vitamin powder stuff in your drink.”

  Daisy sighed heavily. “I’m not going to guess all day. What’d you put in here?”

  “Kava kava,” Squash said.

  “What the hell is kava kava?” Daisy asked, sniffing her coffee again.

  Vera shot up from her seat. “It’s a natural herb, for tension, Daisy, and you carry it all in your shoulders. It’s in your aura. It’s all crackling red right around here—” Vera wiggled her fingers near Daisy’s right ear, and Daisy thought, Back off! and tensed her hand around her pen, clicking it. Then a strong wind blew around them in a quick mini-cyclone, sending a pile of napkins on the table flying all over the floor before dying down as quickly as it had started.

  “Oh, dear,” Vera said, chasing after the napkins. “That’s the second time that happened just today. I wonder what’s going on?”

  Daisy glanced at the window.

  It was shut.

  Daisy tucked the pen in her jacket pocket, careful not to accidentally click it again. “Um … must be a faulty … ventilation … system.”

  “That’s not i-it,” Squash singsonged from under the table.

  “You”—Daisy pointed a warning finger at Squash—“stay out of it.”

  Vera straightened and looked at Daisy, disappointment on her face. “Please don’t take out your anger with me on my dog. I’m the one who violated your trust by putting kava kava in your coffee. Squash is an innocent.”

  “Sorry.” Daisy put her mug down in the sink and turned to the two of them, her arms crossed over her middle. She couldn’t deny that she was hearing the dog, but at least if she wasn’t the only one …

  “Vera, does Squash ever … talk … to you?”

  Vera seemed both surprised and pleased by the question. “Well, sure. She talks to me all the time.”

  Daisy couldn’t decide if that was comforting or not. “Okay. So … if Squash said something right now, would you be able to tell me what she said?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right, then.” Daisy glanced down at Squash. “Speak, Squash.”

  The old dog’s eyes lit up, and she barked, “I’d kill for a Snausage.”

  Vera beamed with pride, turned to Daisy, and said, “She says you’re a very forgiving person.”

  Daisy swallowed and leaned back against the counter. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Oh!” Vera snapped her fingers and pivoted to her bag. “I have just the—”

  But before she could finish, Daisy was out of the kitchen. I’m not drunk. Walking through the office. I’m not crazy. Grabbing her purse. Okay, maybe I’m a little crazy. Going to see Lucille—

  Lucille’s door was closed, and Daisy rapped on it twice. “Lucille?”

  There was a shuffle inside, and then Lucille and Frederick came out, both flushed.

  Oh, that is not helping, Daisy thought.

  “Well, I’m just going to—,” Frederick said.

  “Yes, of course,” Lucille said, patting her mussed hair as she watched Frederick walk away.

  “My personal day needs to start now,” Daisy said, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.

  “Fine, fine,” Lucille said, and retreated back into her office, a smile on her face.

  Daisy decided not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth and pushed out of the front door of her office, hurrying down the hallway to the exit. When she got outside, the sunlight hit her square in the face, and she took a few uneasy steps as her eyes adjusted.

  “Hey!” something barked at her feet, and Daisy looked down to see a little pug trailing behind her owner, a goth chick with blue streaks in her hair.

  “Watch your step!” the pug barked.

  “Stop that barking, Petunia,” the goth girl said, and shot a smile at Daisy. “Sorry. She gets excited sometimes.”

  “It’s okay,” Daisy said, her knees wobbling a bit as she moved in the direction of home. Home and Abby. Maybe Abby would give her a cookie….

  She stopped where she was. Abby. Abby had drunk the temple tonic. And so had Shar. If they were having hallucinations, too, then Daisy wasn’t crazy, she was drugged, and drugged beat crazy by a country mile. Daisy started toward the coffeehouse where she hoped Abby would be waiting for her with a plate of warm cookies. Then they would call Shar and they’d all share their weird delusions and laugh at themselves for getting so freaked out over something that was really no more than a bad acid trip.

  Because that’s all this was.

  She was almost sure of it.

  Shar woke up late as the sun beamed into her bedroom. Everything looked more somehow—the carved symbol on the wall across from her bed looked deeper, the gray stone warmer, the ancient painted patterns on the ceiling and walls sharper, and as she sat up, for the first time she felt the slide of her soft, worn Egyptian cotton sheets under her body, really felt them, and thought, Lovely. She got dressed, telling a still-fretful Wolfie, “See? Everything is fine,” and went downstairs with him padding behind her, thinking about those bright skirts in the window of the boutique. I’m tired of gray and brown, she thought as she walked into the dining room, heading for the archway into the kitchen. I need—

  The god-king was sitting at her table eating a muffin and reading her grandmother’s research.

  Wolfie snarled, “Die, you bastard!” and launched himself at the intruder, and Shar screamed, “No!” and grabbed for him as he sank his teeth into the god’s ankle.

  SIX

  “Sit,” the god said, and took another bite out of his muffin.

  Wolfie sat on command, his teeth still in the god, and Shar fell to her knees beside him, shielding him from above. “Don’t hurt him!“

  “I would not hurt him. He is protecting you.” The god nodded at Wolfie, who was still snarling, chewing on his ankle. “Good dog.” Then he smiled at her.

  Shar looked up into deep, dark hooded eyes, hundreds, thousands of years old, staring down at her, fixing her in place, seeing into her very soul, and thought, Oh my god. He’d looked good last night Tasered on her bedroom floor, but in the morning, in the sunlight, he was divine.

  “Sharrat,” he said, and she realized her mouth was open.

  She shut it and looked down at Wolfie, sitting and snarling, his teeth still buried in the ankle. “Wolfie, let go!”

  Wolfie let go. “Lemme bite him; lemme bite him again.”

  “You’re not allowed to bite,” she said, and then stopped when she saw there wasn’t a mark on the god’s, no, the man’s ankle; he wasn’t a god, that was ridiculous, he was beautiful, but he was not a god. She looked up at him. “You’re not bleeding. How is that possible?”

  “I�
�m a god.” He took another bite out of the muffin he was holding.

  He even ate muffins like a god.

  Shar realized she was hyperventilating. Be calm; be sensible. She took a slow, deep, calming breath and looked at him again. He looked like the bas-relief, massive body, jutting jaw, and those eyes, but he was wearing jeans and a red flannel shirt and sitting in her kitchen in the sun, eating a muffin and reading her grandmother’s manuscript, which he had spread out in front of him on the table like the morning paper. She knew he was only a man, but he looked like a god. Like a thunderbolt disguised as a lumberjack.

  Okay, he’s real, he’s beautiful, he’s in my kitchen, but he is not a god. There was an explanation; there was always an explanation if you took your time and looked hard enough. Usually in a footnote. But in the meantime, he was a complete stranger who was sitting at her dining room table, and she had to get him out of her house. After all, he could be insane. There was a lot of that going around.

  “You have to leave,” she said, trying to sound calm and forceful. When he looked at her blankly, she thought, Right, like that was going to work, and stood up, her knees unsteady, and went over to the phone to dial 911. A strange man in her kitchen, you bet your ass she was dialing—

  The phone shook in her hand as she picked it up, and Wolfie growled, “Lemme bite him, lemme, lemme,” and that was the last straw.

  “You are not talking; you’re a dog,” Shar said, her voice cracking, and when Wolfie shrank back, she added hastily, “Nothing personal, baby, you know I love you, but you’re—” She stopped, suddenly understanding.

  “Oh,” she said, filled with relief as she put the phone down. “I’m still asleep and this is still the dream. Of course.” She looked into the god’s dark eyes, refusing to flinch at the hot power there. She could kick god ass in a dream; anybody could kick god ass in a dream. It was her freaking dream. “Hi, I’m Shar. And you are?”

  “SAMU-LA-EL,” he said, with the echo of thunder in his voice, and she stared at him unafraid now and saw again that he was beautiful in the sunlight, his dark hair crisp and curled, his skin bronzed and healthy, and his body straight and proud….