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Some prayed to a random god, never mentioning a name. He snorted and shook his head. If they couldn’t be bothered to make the request specific, no god was going to answer.

And if he didn’t have magic, it was a terrifying probability that none of the gods or goddesses had magic. It was also reassuring that he wasn’t the only one stumbling around without magic.

He wasn’t alone.

“It’s the monsters,” a man hissed from the dark alleyway.

Pan jerked back. He’d been so busy watching the fire that he hadn’t paid attention to the dangers in the shadows. He wasn’t used to paying attention to dangers at all. He was used to solving everything with magic.

His toes curled against the smooth stone beneath his feet. Run or stay and talk to the man. Curiosity about the monsters won.

“Monsters?” Pan asked. The word felt odd on his tongue. He hadn’t spoken any human language in so long.

“I saw them. They fell out of the sky. And grew out of the ground.” The man stank as though he hadn’t had a bath in the better part of a month. He held a bottle of alcohol in one hand and the handle of a cart in the other.

Hadhefallen out of the sky?

Had the selkies? Every time he blinked, he saw them splayed out, raw and broken.

Were the monsters this man referred to Tarikians?

If this man had seen others, he wasn’t alone. He needed to find them…no he needed to hide from them. They couldn’t see their god like this. But if he found them, they’d worship him…and he’d be able to reach magic again. “Where are the monsters?”

The man took his gaze off the fire on the other side of the road and stared at Pan for several heartbeats before shrinking back. “You’re one of them.”

Anger flared bright and impotent at being called a monster. But he couldn’t smite this man for the insult. No, he needed this man’s help. “I’m not one of them…how much have you had to drink?”

He hoped the curls of his hair and the darkness hid most of the horns. There was nothing he could do about the coat. No one seemed to wear fur coats anymore, which made him stand out in an unfortunate fashion.

The man’s eyes narrowed. He stared at Pan and then at the bottle.

Pan took a step forward. “I’ve been running from them. They’re on the beach.”

That wasn’t a lie.

Pan sniffed dramatically. “They took everything except this coat.” His stomach heaved as he shoved aside the memory. “I need food.”

The man stared at him and pointed to a large box overflowing with trash.

He was a fucking god. He did not eat out of the rubbish pile like a wild pig. No one should be eating rubbish. “Where does the rubbish come from?”

“The restaurants.”

“And they do not give you food?”

The man laughed and took a drink. “Where did you get the coat? It looks nice and warm.” His gaze hardened as if sizing up Pan for a fight.

He was shorter than the man, and he had no magic and no weapons. And no one to fight for him. He licked his lower lip. It stung where it had split open, too dry from thirst. “The humans are busy with fire. I’m going to take some food. You are welcome to join me.”

He remembered restaurants. But back then, there’d also been stalls on the street selling cheap food to the workers.

He didn’t dare walk deeper into the alley, where the shadows thickened, and the man, or others like him, might steal the fur off his back. So even though he didn’t want to be in well-lit areas until he wore more human attire, he didn’t have a choice. He turned back onto the street and walked away from the man.

He paid attention to the buildings, and since he couldn’t read the signs, he peered in the windows looking for tables and chairs, and when he saw them, he tested the doors, hoping to find one unlocked. Each time he failed, he muttered a curse and wished for a little fucking magic to smooth the path.

He shoved a door, and it opened. “Thank magic for small mercies.”

He stepped inside, noting the light coming from the back.