“This is almost the exact opposite,” I said, holding up the book.

“It is, but take the books and read the other two. I think you’ll find them very interesting.”

I picked up the second book. “The Dark Star.”

“Can you guess who comes into the story in that one?”

I glanced up at him, surprised. “Reyes?”

He nodded.

“And the third?” But the moment I laid eyes on it, I knew, and my breath caught in my chest.

“What do two stars make when they, um, crash into one another?”

“Stardust,” I said, now completely enchanted. “Beep. He predicted Beep.”

“He predicted Beep.”

A woman’s voice sounded from the door to Garrett’s bedroom. “Oh, hi,” she said, dropping a sock and turning in circles to look for her shoes. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had to get up early.”

“I didn’t,” Garrett said. He stood and helped the girl with her things. “Zoe, this is my associate, Charley. Charley, this is Zoe.”

I would’ve shaken one of her hands, but they were both full, so I just waved a greeting. “Nice to meet you, Zoe. Sorry about”—I gestured to her bedmate—“that. Better luck next time.”

She let loose a nervous laugh, not quite sure how to take me.

“Ignore her,” Garrett said. “She has mental issues.”

“Hey, do you know what I called the last guy who said something like that to me?” When he only raised a noncommittal brow, I said, “An ambulance.”

“Like I said, mental issues.”

I threw the saltshaker at him.

He caught it with ease, then saw Zoe to her car as I perused the second book. As fascinating as the books were, I still had a big problem that needed solving PDQ.

The moment he stepped back into the house, I hit him with it.

“So I accidently-on-purpose sent Reyes into a hell dimension and then couldn’t get him back out again but around an hour later he exploded out of the god glass that has a difference of anywhere from several years if not several hundreds of years to a single hour here on Earth but when he came back he wasn’t so much Reyes anymore as an angry deity with the power to destroy the world with a single thought.”

He sank into the chair across from me again and just kind of stared.

I did a quick analysis of my nails. Nibbled on a couple. Conducted a visual assessment of Garrett’s kitchen. Contemplated raiding his cabinets for Oreos. Took another sip of coffee. Wondered if Marvel and DC could ever live in harmony. Shifted in my chair to adjust my underwire. Tapped out White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army” on the table with my fingertips. Checked my phone for messages.

When the silence dragged out to an uncomfortable level, I clarified. “That’s my conundrum. In a nutshell. That’s why I’m here. More coffee?” I stood and grabbed both of our cups, allowing Garrett more time to absorb. To compute. To process. Some things were harder to process than others. I got that.

I topped off our cups, then returned to the table.

Garrett was still staring. He could have had a stroke, but I didn’t think so. Was the first sign a droopy face? He didn’t look droopy.

“Son of a bitch, Charles,” he said at last, the words clear and vibrant like his silvery-gray eyes.

Whew. No stroke that I could detect. I was no expert, but when both of his hands curled into fists on the table and his gaze remained steady on mine as though he were plotting my death, I took it as a good sign. No visible weakness in his extremities. Mental acuity sharp and sustainable. Any stroke-free day was a good day in my book.

“Hey,” I said before he actually carried out his diabolical plot to clobber me, “it was his idea. I didn’t want to send him into that hell dimension. I was going to go in myself. Check shit out. Come back no worse for the wear. But noooo. The man with the balls had to go in because he’s manly with manly balls and a penis to guide him. And now he’s all savage and wild, but he still has his balls. That’s all that’s important, by God. His man parts.”

“He’s feral?”

I gaped at him. “Farrow. Reyes Farrow? Are you even trying to keep up?”

“Your husband.” He ground out each syllable from between clenched teeth. “Is he feral, or is he still conscious of who he is?”

I scrunched my mouth to one side in thought. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say yes, he did seem to be very aware of who he was. If we’re talking about the deity Rey’azikeen. Otherwise, we’re screwed. There wasn’t a whole lot of Reyes in there.”

When he just sat there again, either deep in thought or seizing, I snapped my fingers in front of his face.

“Earth to the Swope-a-nator. We need a plan, Stan. We can’t just sit here thinking about it. You’re plan guy. Why do you think I came to you first?”

Actually, I’d gone to Garrett first because I was stunningly worried about how Osh, a former slave demon from Reyes’s old stomping grounds, would react.

“What’s he capable of?” Garrett asked.

I pressed my lips together, then said softly, “World annihilation.”

He nodded and yet didn’t seem particularly surprised by any of what I was saying. I told him as much.

“You don’t seem particularly surprised by any of what I’m saying.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I figured it was only a matter of time. He’s a god, Charles. And from what I can tell, he’s a violent one.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You said that God, our God, Jehovah or Yahweh or Elohim or whatever you want to call Him, you said that He created the god glass for His brother, Rey’azikeen. Why else would God create a hell dimension, a prison, for his only living relative?”

He had a point. “Well, I’m a god, too. If anyone can trap him and knock some ever-lovin’ sense into him, it’s me, right?”

He clenched a fist again and conceded with a nod. Then his gaze darted back to mine. “Wait, you came to me first?”

“Yes. I told you, you’re plan guy. Speaking of which, dude, you know this whole research and development gig? You’re killing it.” I figured a little positive reinforcement would go a long way right about now. “Killing it. When it comes to research, I don’t kill it so much as pet it and set it free.”

“But this happened three days ago.”

“Yeah, I tried to fix the situation on my own.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“First things first. We need to kidnap and torture Osh.”

“I’m good with that.”

“Do you have torture supplies?” I asked, hopeful.

“Not on me, but there’s a twenty-four-hour Walmart nearby. Any particular reason we have to torture him?”

“Not especially. Torture just pairs really well with kidnapping. As you know, I don’t like to do things halfway. Also, I’m worried he’ll be a little too happy to oblige.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, we need to come up with a plan before we invite a slave demon, and a former enemy of my husband’s, into our secret club. I’m worried that once he realizes Reyes has gone to the dark side, he’ll go off half-cocked. We need him standing with us. At full-cock. Proud and strong.”

“You’re such a freak.”

“You’d be amazed at how often I hear that.”

3

It’s weird how you can be in love with someone one day,

and hunting them for sport the next.

—MEME

Garrett and I decided to wait until we gathered the troops to get too invested in a plan. Mostly because we had nothing. Absolutely nothing. How did one track and capture a god? And once said god was in one’s possession, then what?

Since I had a couple of hours before we were to meet the Scooby Gang at the office, I went back to my apartment to try to get some sleep. It had been three days since I’d gotten any quality time with my sheets. Whenever I lay down, I tossed and turned, worried that the world would explode.

But I’d been having the strangest dreams. Before I met, officially, my would-be husband, I was having dreams of an erotic nature. My new dreams weren’t so much erotic as, well, disturbingly everyday.

Reyes starred in all of them, but they weren’t about much of anything. Even so, I woke up moments after closing my eyes feeling distraught. Feeling lost.

But not this time, baby. I was going to score some z’s if it killed me. To that end, I did something I rarely do. I resorted to downing a nightcap. Surely that would help keep my harried thoughts at bay.

I readied for bed by washing my face and pulling the brown mess on my head into a hair band. Then I crawled between the cool, superhigh thread counts, closed my eyes, and waited for the nightcap, a.k.a. a healthy dose of Kentucky bourbon, to take effect. Before it had a chance, however, the dishwasher started making that noise again. A clanking noise with little squeaks in between.