The Bonding Blade: The Desert Goddess Series, #2

By M. L. Doyle

Can the embodiment of an ancient goddess live a balanced life in modern times?

Former Army Sergeant Hester Trueblood struggles to find the answer, seven years after fate bonded her to the ancient Sumerian Goddess, Inanna. Whether engaging in battles to the death with demons or entering fight club scraps, Hester's life is forever subjected to Inanna's whims and insatiable lust. It hasn't been easy to juggle the mounting perilous challenges, or to tolerate the demands of her demi-god lover, Gilgamesh.

When her warrior Quincy is stricken with a mysterious illness, Hester thinks a supernatural blade could be the answer to save him. Or it just might destroy the world.

One thing is for sure. Nobody is immune from the painful reality of loss and suffering—not even a goddess.

The Bonding Blade is a Jim Butcher-style romp that will have you turning pages and laughing out loud. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vine Hill Road Press
• Release date: Jun 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9780989454988

M. L. Doyle

M. L. Doyle aimed to prove her brother wrong when she joined the Army on his dare. Almost two decades later, she not only confirmed that she could, contrary to his warning, make it through basic training, her combat boots took her to the butt-end of nowhere and back countless times and she lived to tell about it … or write about it as it turned out. The Peacekeeper's Photograph is the first book in her award winning Master Sergeant Harper mystery series. The second and third books, The Sapper's Plot and The General's Ambition along with two companion shorts, round out the series.  Unafraid of genre jumping, Mary has also recently published the second book in a planned three-book Desert Goddess urban fantasy series. She has also also published a four-novella erotic romance series. In an effort to ensure the stories of African American women soldiers are told, she has co-authored two memoirs. The first, I’m Still Standing, was published by Touchstone in 2010 and tells the story of Specialist Shoshana Johnson’s capture and her time spent as a POW during the early days of the Iraq War. The book was nominated for an NAACP Image award. All of Mary’s work, whether fiction or non-fiction, features strong, resourceful and intelligent African American women who wear combat boots.  Mary’s work has been published by The War Horse, The Good Man Project, O’Dark Thirty, The WWrite Now Blog and she serves on the team of fiction editors for The Wrath-Bearing Tree. A native Minnesotan, Mary lives in Columbia, Maryland where her evil cats force her to feed and care for them including cleaning up their poo. Facebook.com/mldoyleauthor, or Twitter @mldoyleauthor, and you can read excerpts of all of her work on her website at www.mldoyleauthor.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

S tampede! I yelled and then shuddered as the wave of furry critters with red eyes and pointy teeth raced toward us. There had to be thousands of them. Together, they sounded like a raging waterfall as their little feet skittered over the rock floor.

Rats. Big, fat, furry creatures who scuttle around in the dark. I hate them.

I leapt over a small stream and scrambled up a boulder, ducking my head to keep from whacking myself on the deadly sharp points poking down from the ceiling of the cave.

In my previous life, before I’d become a soldier and deployed to Iraq, I’d never have imagined that I would be running around in caves searching for supernatural creatures. All of that changed when I picked up a shiny coin in the desert and became the living vessel of the Mesopotamian goddess Inanna. I know. It sounds crazy.

There is nothing crazy about it, my vessel, said Inanna, her voice heard only by me inside my head. I have traveled throughout millennia, operating in the supernatural world. As the goddess of love and war, plenty and ...

Yes, I know, I said, mentally rolling my eyes. You’re a goddess, you’re amazing, yada yada yada.

English may not be my first language, but I am certain yada is not a word.

Whatever!

Sometimes, my head felt crowded with my thoughts along with hers.

So unnecessarily insolent, she grumbled.

I watched as Rashid followed me up and away from the rat stampede. Watch out for the stalagmites, I yelled, my voice almost drowned out by the rush of rodents flowing through the cave.

Stalactites, Rashid shouted back.

What? I said.

They are stalactites, my queen. Stalagmites are the ones that come up from the ground. He had quickly, but far more calmly followed me to the higher perch and away from the rush of rodents.

Okay, stalagtites.

Ah, it is, stalactites, my queen, Rashid said. With a k sound. Stalactites.

I gave him a hard stare. How is it you can speak English better than I can? My Persian warrior spoke with a precise, clipped accent. Long hair, thick eyelashes, high cheekbones and naturally tanned skin made him movie-star handsome, which completely masked how deadly he could be in a fight.

I can do nothing better than you can, my goddess. A sly smile accentuated his snide remark.

Along with the goddess in my head came a few other accessories, like two warriors; Rashid and Quincy who are sworn to serve me. I also have two cougar-sized war cats for protection; Granite and Pearl, both of whom can switch into human form when necessary. Not to mention, becoming Inanna’s vessel made me immortal and gave me supernatural strength and the ability to propel myself from here to there. Oh, and there’s also a demigod. But I’m not speaking to him.

Precisely, my vessel. Such an infuriating man.

Can we concentrate on what the fuck we’re doing here? Quincy yelled at us from the other side of the stream. His raised voice and his barely contained fury made his usually pleasant, freckled face almost unrecognizable. He stood where we had left him, directly in the path of the thousands of rats that flowed from deep within the vast cave system directly under downtown Minneapolis. He remained rooted to the spot even as rats scrambled over and around his feet, making it appear as if he stood shin deep in oozing, thick mud.

They’re obviously running from something, he said, pointing his sword in the direction from which they came. How much you wanna bet it’s the trolls?

Take it easy, my brother, Rashid said. Let them pass, and ...

Fuck that! Quincy interrupted. We came down here for a gods damn demon fight and you two are busy with English lessons.

Quincy, Rashid said, caution in his voice. Don’t speak to the goddess like that.

Oh, fuck it, Quincy said and used his sword to slice down and through the flow of rats, his flaming red hair whipping around him. His white scale armor quickly became splattered with the blood and gore of the rodents as he sent them flying. His assault on them injected even further panic in the rodents who screeched as pieces of their eviscerated bodies flew through the air and landed among the pack.

He hooked a rat with the toe of his boot, flinging it into the air then sliced it in half on its trajectory back down. His fury of moments before, now replaced by a child-like joy. He whooped and laughed. 

Rashid, did you see that? Ha! His feverish gaze turned toward us for a second before he repeated the maneuver, increasing his pace – left foot, right foot, until rats and rat body parts flew in bits all around him.

Quincy, stop, Rashid yelled.

But Quincy continued, acting more maniacal than ever with a splatter of black blood marking his face. The dancing light from our headlamps rendered his movements to appear like something out of an old-fashioned slasher movie.

He’s only announcing our presence, Rashid said to me. The trolls will be expecting us now.

I want them to know I’m coming, Quincy roared. I’m a troll killer, he screamed as he sprinted deeper into the cave.

Gods damn it! I scrambled down from my perch. Quincy, wait! I yelled, but he did the most shocking thing yet. He ignored my command and kept going until I’d lost him in the darkness of the cave.

We should not have brought him my queen, Rashid said, passing me as he ran after Quincy.

He is not himself, Inanna said in my head. I cannot even be angry at him for ignoring us. He would never act in this fashion. Something is terribly wrong.

What is wrong with him, Rashid? I asked, running to catch up and grateful that his white cuirass shone like a lighthouse beacon before me, making it easier to navigate the hazard-filled terrain. Any wrong step could break an ankle, make you fly head first onto the boulder-strewn floor of the cave. Rashid’s light danced in front of me. Lack of light coming from Quincy’s headlamp only made my worry for him kick up a notch. 

He’s going to kill himself in here running like that, I said. He seemed so much better this morning. My voice bounced off the walls as the tunnel narrowed the further we traveled.

Rashid slowed, holding his arm out for me to stop. Did you hear that? He stood frozen for a moment, listening, focusing his light left and right, scanning the cave. We had entered a long tunnel section, the sides almost perfectly smooth, as if they’d been machine cut. The floor, while still littered with rocks, large and small, had smoothed out as well. A heavy smell of stagnant moisture hung thick as fog.

Troll tunnel, he whispered.

The bear-sized, hairy creatures usually stayed quietly underground, tunneling to their hearts content, afraid of the light and terrified of discovery. Despite their massive teeth and deadly claws, they only ate what dwelled in the darkness with them; mushrooms, moss, insects and roots. They’d also eat rats and bats if they could find them. We’d come down to the cave system after hearing multiple reports of missing house pets. That, combined with reports that animal shelters had seen a dramatic drop in strays, made Rashid curious about what was happening to them. He’d done some research with our grimoire database and then had gone snooping in alleys. Eventually he’d found a cat carcass, eviscerated and decapitated. The carcass had been covered in troll fur. So we’d come down here to check things out, mainly with the hopes of finding out what was driving the cave-dwelling creatures to come out of hiding and eat house pets. 

We’d known for years that the tribe of trolls lived in the cave system, but like I said, they’d always kept to themselves. If you weren’t looking for supernatural signs, you’d never know they’d dug tunnels and a warren of spaces beneath the river and far under the city streets. Few people knew they were here because the trolls never bothered anyone.

Did you hear something? I whispered. Even while trying to stay quiet, my whispered words bounced around the tunnel as if I’d yelled into a canyon. Somehow, trolls built their spaces in a way that amplified sound. It was an effective first warning system.

No, which is wrong, he whispered back. We should be able to hear Quincy the way he was running.

Rashid moved forward down the tunnel, taking long silent strides, stepping solidly heel to toe, his head on a swivel, turning forward and back, scanning left and right, cautious in the darkness. I followed him, equally cautious. Trolls were big, hairy and stinky. Their teeth and claws were made for tunneling through rock. They weren’t usually dangerous but we came charging into their space carrying swords. Like any creature, they would want to protect their home.

I do not like this, my vessel, Inanna said. Even though I was the only one who could hear her, she still whispered her words. Why can we not hear him?

I don’t know. Now, keep quiet please while I concentrate.

We came to a junction with a second tunnel branching off to our right. Rashid’s headlamp caught Quincy there, standing perfectly still, his back to us, staring out into the darkness of the tunnel.

Quincy? I said.

He jerked and turned toward me, a hand to his eyes to block the glare of the light. Tears streamed down his cheeks and glistened along with his bright smile. Oh thank the gods, he said. I ... I got lost and I ... I got lost.

Rashid sheathed his sword in the scabbard he wore on his back, then approached Quincy as if to avoid startling him. We found you, brother. Let’s go home.

But what about the trolls? Quincy asked, as Rashid wrapped his large arm around Quincy’s shoulders.

From somewhere in the tunnel, deep hooting sounds emanated, like the cries of an excited gorilla. The sound rolled to us, echoing over and over as it bounced through the tunnels, the hoots coming from everywhere at once.

Ah oh, Quincy said, his bloodshot eyes now wide with fright.

Time to go, Rashid said, pulling Quincy back toward me.

Quincy followed Rashid’s guidance placidly, his sword held down at his side as if it were too heavy for him to lift. The tip of his blade scraped the stone floor as Rashid pulled him close. A healthy Quincy would never treat his weapon like that. Not ever.

I put my hand on his shoulder and propelled us to our workout room above the restaurant.

Chapter Two

C assie What in the hell did you do to him? I said into the phone, my voice cracking. I didn’t want to scream at her, but holding in my need to explode with frustration was giving me a headache.

I don’t know, she said, sounding equally distraught. It was just meant to bring his fever down and give him a little boost of energy.

Quincy had been lethargic for weeks. Deep circles under his eyes, a pale, unfocused look on his face and flushed skin that made his already ruddy complexion spotty, with a rust-colored tint. When he’d first started feeling ill, Cassie, who made her living as a nurse, had taken his temperature and his blood pressure. Normal, she’d said, her lips pursed and forehead wrinkled. Then she’d taken a throat culture and blood and urine samples and called in favors of the lab techs at the hospital to run a myriad of tests on them, but according to the results, they’d come back normal, too. 

But it’s not normal, Cassie said. You can feel the heat coming off him and you can see that he’s flushed with fever, but his temperature is normal and his white cell count is normal. We have to face the fact that it could be something ... well, something that isn’t medical.

She’d sounded timid but firm as she delivered the news. Cassie had been my sister Ruth’s lover for years, but they only recently announced their relationship, even though we’d all known they were partners. Ruth held Cassie’s hand as if for support and watched her with pride as she explained her findings. When she finished, they both stared at me as several seconds ticked by, my gaze bouncing between them as I tried to take in what Cassie had said.

You mean it might be something supernatural.

Cassie nodded once, took in a deep breath. Maybe. Probably. I don’t know.

While the whole idea made Ruth nervous, I hadn’t exactly discouraged Cassie’s exploration of her newly acquired witchy skills. She’d done some research, worked a bit with Rashid and Quincy, and it had been clear that her medical training gave her an interesting perspective into the way herbs, potions, incantations and science interacted. We all wanted to see what would happen when she put her skills into practice.

She’d spent some hours scanning our files, and a day ago, Cassie had asked Quincy if he wanted to try a restorative concoction, something she’d found in our grimoire database. As she described it to me, the drink along with some spellcasting words, were supposed to act like an antibiotic, something to break through the magical illness he’d picked up. Something simple, she’d said. Something safe.

In the morning he’d seemed fine. He’d opened the restaurant with Ernesto, my Puerto Rican chef-in-training. They’d made it through the lunch rush and he’d been full of energy afterwards. Obviously, from the way he’d acted in the cave, the potion hadn’t worked the way she’d intended.

I inhaled the fresh scent of sage coming from the ritual altar. Rashid shook the sage bundle to blow out the flames, then blew on the embers until they glowed red. His lips moved as he silently mumbled an incantation and waved the bundle over his head, walking around the sofa where Quincy lay. He circled the sofa several times, then lay the still smoldering sage in a silver bowl on the altar. 

I wish I knew what was wrong, Rashid said in a low voice. Each time I have attempted to talk to him about it, or offer something to make him feel better, he becomes defensive, as if speaking about it will somehow make things worse.

We both turned at the sound of a moan from Quincy as he rolled over on the small sofa. You think he’s hiding something?

He shrugged, shook his head. I cannot say, my goddess. He is not himself.

Have you checked the lore? Any history of Inanna’s servants becoming endangered in some way?

As the official scribe to the goddess, Rashid had access to all of the writings from Inanna’s servants who had come before him. From generation to generation, throughout millennia, Rashid’s family had served loyally, even sacrificing their lives when necessary. I’d wondered, if not for the ancient calling, what Rashid would have done with his life. His dusky skin, black eyes and thick raven hair he usually wore in a knot on top of his head, gave him an exotic look women loved, but he wasn’t interested in a romantic life. At least I’d never seen him engaged in anything other than the needs of the goddess. With his skills, brains and beauty, he could have done anything he chose, a future limited only by his desire. Instead, his dedication to me and the goddess left me breathless at times.

I have checked, Rashid said. But the writings rarely address Inanna’s servants. The stories, poetry and lore are meant to record what involves you, my queen.

I have no remembrance of such a thing happening to my acolytes of the past, Inanna said. 

Any guesses?

It is a mystery, but it must be something supernatural, as the new witch has said. The flame haired one loves us. That is without question. There must be some reason for his reluctance to speak with Rashid. They are like brothers, are they not?

Inanna thinks it’s supernatural, I said to Rashid.

She is wise to think so. But, ah, as you know, the magic arts are not in my wheelhouse. Perhaps Lord Gilgamesh ...

I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to tell Rashid that I’d already tried to get Gil’s help but I’d been ignored. I hated to admit that the demigod and I were having our issues. Like parents to their children, I’d hoped Gil and I could work out our differences without involving Rashid and Quincy, but the last time I’d spoken to Gil, he’d been acting particularly possessive, as if he could dictate the smallest aspects of my life.

Inanna sighed. Making love to my Gilgamesh has its rewards. It also comes with an uncompromising set of sometimes unbearable consequences.

No one I knew had a better handle on the ancient world of magical powers and how to harness them than Gil. But we’d had a fight and I refused to speak to him. Then he had the nerve to just leave town without saying anything. I only learned that he’d gone when I’d had Rashid run a trace on his cell.

If we aren’t speaking to him, why must we care where he is? Inanna asked. She was mad at him, too, but she was softening. As usual.

I’m not softening. I simply believe we’ve let enough time pass so that we can reconcile our differences and ...

You’re softening, I said.

Perhaps, Inanna said. You should consider doing the same if it will help our beloved Quincy.

The fact that the demigod had chosen this particular moment to have a hissy fit and screen my calls hurt more than I wanted to admit. It was the first time in the many years I’d known him that he’d gone away for an extended period of time without telling me where or for how long.

Please keep me posted on how he’s doing, my goddess, Rashid said, before stepping into the elevator and returning to work behind the bar. It was still an hour before the worst of the dinner rush.  One of us needed to be in the restaurant. I couldn’t bear to leave Quincy alone.

I’d been meaning to add bunk beds or some other kind of proper sleeping arrangements to the room but hadn’t gotten around to it. Seeing Quincy’s uncomfortable sprawl on the couch, knowing how sick he was, made me move that idea further up on my list of things to do. 

Evening sunlight spilled onto the bar in front of the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows and angled down to highlight a dusty dance in the center of the large living area with big screen TV. A neatly stacked set of workout mats sat in the mirror-lined area we used to engage in rigorous sparring. Custom-built racks near the mirrors held our swords, shields and knives, basically anything one might need for supernatural battles. Our arms room held a full array of weaponry for more conventional opponents, where we kept everything from pistols to shotguns, to automatic rifles and grenades behind a heavy, locked steel door.

Aside from Quincy’s deep breathing, the room was quieter than usual. No one had turned on any of the computers, usually one of the first things Quincy would do when he came to the bat cave ... the name he had assigned to the room. One which I had opposed, but like most of Quincy’s nicknames, it had stuck.

The multiple monitors and large CPUs sitting on the circular computer desk in the center of the space, stood blank and silent.

I knelt in front of Quincy, his pale face turned toward me, his brow wrinkled as if, even in sleep, he couldn’t relax. I resisted the urge to run my fingers through his rust-colored hair.

Poor boy. What is it that troubles him, my vessel?

I don’t know, Inanna. I wish I did.

Touch him. He feels so hot, doesn’t he? I think his fever might be worse.

The heat radiating from his forehead under my hand heightened my worry. Gods, I wish I knew how to help you.

As if my words had disturbed him, Quincy’s eyes flew open, wide and staring as if he’d seen something frightening. Then he sat up with a long cry of pain, causing him to curl up on himself.

Quincy. What’s wrong?

It burns! Oh my gods, it burns, he said, arching his back.

That’s when I saw, through the white of his t-shirt, the glowing eyes of the demon he had tattooed there. As I stared at it, the eyes glowed and dimmed, pulsing as if on fire. Quincy pushed himself off the sofa, tearing at his shirt until it came away in shreds. I stood back, my mouth open in shock, feeling helpless, the face of the demon with the glowing eyes staring back at me.

The tattoo covered his back from neck to waist, spilling across his shoulders and down to his elbows. I’d stared at that demon face, the red eyes, the mouth filled with teeth and dripping fangs, the horns that wound back and around like those of a ram, and never felt comfortable with it. The image had a 3D quality about it and I’d always wondered why he’d etched that image into his back. He’d never seemed inclined to talk about it and I’d never pushed him.

Now I wished I had.

Quincy, come with me. Come on, I said, tugging and dragging him to the locker room. He stumbled after me, his face drenched in sweat, pain clenching his body.

I managed to get him into a shower and turned on the cold water full blast. Tendrils of steam rose around him as the frigid water came into contact with the heat from his body. The eyes on his back continued to glow. With his hands pressed against the shower wall, I positioned him so the face of the demon took direct drenching from the rain shower head, his cries of pain slowly diminished as the glowing eyes dimmed and winked out.

I left him propped there while I got a towel. When I returned, he’d collapsed against the wall of the shower, his knees drawn up, his arms wrapped around them. I draped the towel over his shoulders, pushed his hair out of his face and felt him shivering, his lips blue with cold.

Oh my poor warrior, Inanna said. Help him. You have to help him.

Let’s get you out of the shower, Quincy. I called on Inanna’s strength to pull the six-foot-two inch man to his feet and almost carried him back to the sofa. I dried him off as much as I could, getting him out of his wet pants and covering him with piles of blankets. All the while I silently screamed the same thing over and over in my head.

The eyes. The demon eyes. Something supernatural is happening to my Quincy and it might just kill him.

I plugged in the kettle, hoping a mug of tea would help chase out the cold. As the tea steeped, I quickly changed clothes, kicking my soaking wet jeans and peasant top into a corner. I shoved my legs into shiny leather pants and pulled on a long-sleeved turtleneck that hugged my curves.

Then I sat next to Quincy, wrapping his fingers around a hot mug of chamomile. He looked dazed as he lay propped up with pillows. After a minute, the color returned to his face, his eyes still bruised in fatigue. He shivered and moaned despite the heavy blankets and the scalding brew. He squeezed his eyes closed as he took a sip and my heart clenched as a tear leaked out and left a damp trail across his cheeks dusted with reddish brown freckles.

I wiped his tear away only to have it replaced by another. I’ve never pushed you on this, but I’m going to now. Tell me about the tattoo, Quincy. Where did it come from? Why are you wearing it?

I’m so sorry, my queen. I’ve wanted to tell you since the day I met you. I just ... I just couldn’t.

I smiled and ran a hand over his head. The day you walked into the bar, you were so confused. It was one of the best days of my life. I ran my fingers across his forehead and down his cheek. You’ve got to tell me what’s going on Quincy. I can’t help you if I don’t know what it is.

The devotion-filled gaze he stared back at me with reminded me that his dedication to the goddess had healed him once. I hoped it would heal him again.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then he jerked and stood, dropping his tea. He froze, his body locked in attention, his eyes wide.

Oh no, he said, in a whisper so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.

Quincy? Quincy, what’s wrong?

He remained still, frozen, his face slowly draining of all color.

My phone rang. It was Rashid, so I answered it. This had better be important.

It is. Someone just walked in here, and I think you’d better come see.

I turned to Quincy and found him staring at me. He’s here, isn’t he? Quincy asked.

Who is here, Quincy? What is going on? I felt myself tearing up with my frustration. I tried to calm myself. Pressuring him wouldn’t loosen his tongue. His green eyes, laced in red, were full of fear. Quincy, please. Is this guy the reason for all of this?

He didn’t respond. Instead he deflated, lowering himself to the sofa and lay down, turning onto his side with his face buried into the back of the sofa.

Oh, Quincy, I said, my heart aching. Who’s here, Rashid?

But he’d already hung up. I almost threw the phone across the room, so frustrated at being left in the dark I wanted to break something.

I left Quincy there, the image of him trembling and broken burned into my memory and went to find out who the hell had done this to my warrior.

Chapter Three

My worry for Quincy had filled me with such dread for so many weeks, I’d felt disoriented and helpless. As I rushed downstairs, I hoped to have a target for my anger. At least knowing who the enemy was would help me focus and lower my frustration levels.

I was going to find out what the hell was going on with Quincy if I had to bust some heads to do it.

I left the elevator, strode through the kitchen and made my way into the restaurant, pushing through the saloon-style doors and ducking under the pass-through to get behind the bar. I moved to stand next to Rashid. 

He glanced at me, then poked his head at a man sitting at a table alone.

Light from the windows that lined the front of the restaurant poured into the room, bathing the dark tavern setting in orange warmth as reflections bounced blindingly between shiny tabletops, mirrors and silverware. While the restaurant was already bustling this time of day, the man sat surrounded on three sides by empty tables as if no one wanted to get near him. I had to squint to focus through the glare. 

As soon as I saw him, I felt Inanna jerk with shock.

Who is he, Inanna?

Oh my gods. What is he doing here?

Who is he?

I recognized her stubborn silence. This is not the time to have a hissy fit.

As she continued to ignore me, the man, with sunglasses pushed up to the top of his head, forcing thick black hair away from his face, turned his gaze to me, and smiled. A smile that felt familiar somehow.

Do you know who he is? I whispered to Rashid.

Don’t you?

I pressed my lips together in frustration. If I did, would I be asking?

He means nothing to us now. Ignore him and he will soon leave.

Somebody better tell me who this guy is. And I mean right now.

He is Lord Dumuzi, my queen, Rashid said. And it appears he is about to introduce himself. He stepped aside and busied himself with washing glasses, his ebony gaze focused on me.

I watched as Dumuzi stood, fastened a single button on his jacket and made his way toward me while other customers moved away from him as if he were toxic. He ignored them as that familiar smile spread wider on his full lips. About my height, his dark brown complexion gave him a Middle Eastern appearance, possibly Egyptian. Large black eyes, thick lashes and heavy eyebrows made his stare intense and, somehow, threatening. I tried to figure out why he looked familiar, running through a short list of places I might have seen him. Even wondered if he’d been someone I’d met while deployed to Iraq, but nothing connected.

He wore an expensive-looking, deep purple, European-style suit. A crisp white shirt, dark shiny tie, jeweled cufflinks and a pocket scarf suggested a man who paid a bit too much attention to his appearance. He pulled sunglasses off his head, folded them and stuck them in an inside breast pocket as he sauntered over. He ran his fingers back through his shiny, dark hair, only for it to cascade back down in smooth, rich waves. Like a model walking a runway, he feigned boredom to hide the enjoyment my attention brought him.

The dude appeared to be even more full of himself than Gilgamesh.

Inanna huffed. You have no idea.

When he opened his mouth to speak, I noticed his bicuspids extended a bit longer than usual. With a sharp intake of breath, the pieces of recognition slammed together in my head and I realized where I’d seen his face before.

It was the face of the demon tattooed on Quincy’s back. The shock of that discovery sparked my fury, instantaneous and intense.

Why didn’t you tell me you knew that face, Inanna?

I did not associate him with the face on Quincy’s back until now. I would have told you if I had, my vessel. Something like that, I would not have kept from you.

My inner dialogue with the goddess made me miss what the man said to me.

I’m sorry, what did you say?

He chuckled, then crossed his elbows on the bar, leaning toward me with a slimy smile. I wanted to smash his face in. At the very least, beat him until he told me why his face, in the form of a demon, was tattooed on the back of a man I loved and cherished.

My murderous thoughts almost made me miss what he had repeated.

I said, it is good to see you again, my beautiful wife.

Chapter Four

E xcuse me? I said , hoping I’d misheard him.

He reached out and took my clenched fist into both of his soft hands, which felt clammy and uncomfortable over mine. I tried to pull away but he would have none of it. He lifted my fist to his mouth and planted his damp lips on my knuckles.

Yes, my darling, you heard correctly. What is wrong? Is Inanna not happy to see me? He pushed his lower lip out in a pout and made what I thought was a ridiculous attempt at a pout.

I sucked my teeth and snatched my hand away.

Is he telling the truth? Is this simpering little man your ... your HUSBAND?

I felt Inanna sigh. I’m not sure if she actually rolled her eyes, since technically she didn’t have any inside my head, but that was the sentiment I felt radiating from her.

Yes, he’s my husband. Or was. But I have not seen him for centuries.

If you’re Inanna’s husband, where have you been?

You mean, she did not tell you? He reacted with wide-eyed shock, replaced by something else entirely. His eyes darkened, and his face hardened. In seconds he went from a leering dandy, to a frightening guy, more like the glowing-eyed demon etched into Quincy’s skin. Then, as if I’d asked for it, I saw a bright flash of red in his eyes.

I retreated from him until my back hit the rack of bottles behind me causing them to rattle against each other. I felt Rashid moving closer to me.

Considering the sacrifice I made for her, you’d think I’d be the first thing she’d tell you about, he said through clenched teeth. I saved her from her fate. I gave up my freedom. I martyred myself for her! He slammed his fist on the bar. The thick wood beneath his fist cracked, bottles and glasses rattled causing diners in the restaurant and bar to murmur, glancing around themselves worriedly. 

He reached over the bar and snatched my hand, yanking me toward him with a violent jerk. This time, he didn’t intend a flirty kiss. He wrapped my fist in his fingers and squeezed until I hissed in pain, my knees weakening. Considering how strong I was and the level of pain my goddess powers allowed me to endure, my husband, or whoever this guy was, was strong. Supernaturally strong.

Rashid reacted with alarm. My Lord Dumuzi ...

Oh, please. Dizzy. People in this world call me Dizzy, he said. While he increased the pressure on my hand, his lips curled up in glee. He turned and lifted an eyebrow to Rashid. You are her warrior, yes?

Yes, my lord. And I must ask ... I beg you to let her go.

While Rashid uttered the honorific, his words rang cold as steel. I had no idea what he thought he could do against the man ... or god ... or demon,