Page 4

CHAPTER 4

P an stumbled along the street. He’d spent most of the day hiding, too scared to sleep, annoyed at being scared, and consumed by hunger. Once dusk settled, he ventured out, knowing that he needed to move and that heading away from the beach and bodies and toward the town seemed like the smart thing to do. His stomach was a knot of hunger, and he was thirsty. He hated that he couldn’t solve his own problems. He hated the fear that a human might not recognize him and attack him. And he hated the weight of the fucking fur coat.

He had no idea where he was or where he was going, only that he wasn’t ready to deal with anyone. Every time a human in their horseless chariots screamed past—literally screamed, all noise and red and blue lights cutting through his pounding head—he crouched, not wanting to be seen. The fur coat was big enough that when he hunkered down and pulled it up, he disappeared. He wanted to make the humans in their noisy mobile boxes disappear.

He wanted to make this entire world disappear.

He wanted to go home.

The ache in his chest and the wrongness in his blood were something he was trying to ignore. But it was like home had been cut out of him. He blamed it on the missing magic. The magic was so absent he hadn’t even turned into a seal when he slipped on the coat. By rights, he should have. A selkie’s coat turned the wearer into a selkie.

Or maybe it hadn’t turned him because he was a god.

The last time he’d been in the human world, he’d had magic. It had been a rather glorious time. Opium, orgies, art, absinthe… He’d quite enjoyed Paris.

This was not Paris because every place had its own vibration.

It had been longer since he’d been in this place.

Had it been a thousand years?

Whenever it was, back then, there’d been people who still worshipped him, though not as Pan. Not that it mattered, as he had many names. All he needed was someone to worship him, and the magic would return. That thought kept him afloat.

But every time he breathed or tasted the air, it lacked a certain something. Was that the reason he was so hungry?

So thirsty?

He swallowed, his throat filled with dry rocks.

He didn’t even remember the last time he had been so inconvenienced and never for this amount of time. He stepped over cracks in the ground, cutting his feet on sharp stones and cursing everything and everyone.

It was probably a good thing he didn’t have magic; otherwise, he’d be the only one alive on this magic-forsaken world. No, there’d always been magic in the human world. There was just less of it and harder to find.

It had been more difficult to find every time he visited.

He swore again. What if there was no magic in the human world?

Had magic vanishing from the human world been the cause of this unprecedented disaster?

He ducked behind a fallen fence as another noisy human box sped past. As soon as he got his magic back, he was going to silence them. Well, as soon as he sated his thirst and hunger and got rid of the pounding in his skull.

His temples throbbed, and rubbing them only reminded him he currently had horns. Horns…but no hooves. Which was ridiculous.

And he couldn’t even change his form.

He must look like some kind of curly-horned incubus.

It was a good thing he wasn’t an incubus because he doubted anyone would want to fuck him while wearing a stolen fur coat and covered in blood, so he’d still be starving.

He walked past houses, tempted to bang on the door and demand food and praise. If he was on Tariko, he would have.

He was a god. He didn’t beg.

He stamped his foot and immediately regretted it as pain shot up his leg. This body was…it took a moment for him to realize what the sensation was. It wasn’t only the lack of magic in his veins or the loss of connection to magic and everything it touched.

His body was mortal.

It ached and bled and needed to be fed.

He stopped, staring up at a flickering light. Was he mortal without magic?

His stomach twisted as he remembered the beach. A selkie without magic had no skin. He was wearing one of their skins. He gagged but resisted the urge to tear off the coat and wander the streets naked. From what he remembered, humans did not like nudity on the street, and he didn’t want to be cold.

He had enough problems.

He kept walking until he smelled food.

The building was burning, and humans were trying to put out the flames. Other humans were watching. He slunk past, unable to offer assistance even if they’d asked him.

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.

Had he fallen 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.

“What are you doing?” The man said behind him.

“Getting food.”

The man made an uncertain noise like a pained animal. “I don’t like this.”

“So do not follow.” Pan took another step in and paused for a moment to see if anyone would yell. No one did.

The man shoved past him. “Don’t dawdle.” He pulled open an illuminated cupboard and helped himself to several bottles. “Want some water?”

“Yes.” Pan held out his hand and accepted the bottle. It was cold against his skin. They didn’t use magic to keep things cold, so how did humans do it? He pushed the thought aside. “Where will the food be stored?”

The man pointed toward the light spilling through the doorway.

A woman stepped into the doorway. “Hey, you shouldn’t be in here.”

“Are you open?” Pan asked as though he had every right to be in there.

“No. You need to leave. Both of you.” Her voice was firm.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” the man hissed as he scuttled backwards.

Pan tilted his head and waited. Sure enough, the door slammed, leaving him on his own with the woman. He didn’t know how to do this without magic. Usually, he’d smile, hold out his hand, and offer a blessing.

Usually, he didn’t need to ask.

She should know who he was and offer him food. He resisted the urge to stamp his foot and make demands, but only just.

“Leave,” the woman said again as if she had the authority to tell a god what to do.

Pan took a step forward and tilted his head. He lowered his voice, hoping for some resonance…but there was none. “Not until I have been fed.”

Her gaze skimmed over him, taking in the fur coat and pausing on the top of his head. Were his horns catching in the light?

Her lips parted. “You’re one of them.”

“One of what?” He silently dared her to say monster.

“There’s been reports of…of…strange beings. Mythological beings.”

Mythological beings. That was better than monsters. Though he was hardly mythological. “Has there?”

“You caused the earthquake.”

“I caused no earthquake.” That was not something he was capable of. Other gods might be able to if tested. “I woke up here. And I would very much like some food and to go home.” He forced a smile. “You want to go home?”

She nodded.

“Give me some food, and I will leave.”

“What about your friend?”

“He’s not my friend. He’s a drunk from the alley who expected me to eat rubbish.” Pan snapped. The woman flinched and stepped back. “I’m not going to hurt you. But I am very hungry and very tired.” He didn’t understand how a perfectly normal day had ended up like this.

But he’d figure it out.

He would get his magic back and fix things. Because he was not spending the rest of his life as a mortal, begging for food.

This was a pile of steaming minotaur crap.

Annoyance filled every heartbeat, ticking up with every breath.

Finally, the woman nodded. “Stay here. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“You might go out the back and call for help.”

Her lips pressed together into a grim smile. “You may not have noticed that everyone is rather busy dealing with the earthquake.”

“Yet you’re here.”

“We closed because of the earthquake, and I’m prepping food for my husband. He’s a firefighter.”

“Was it an earthquake?”

“I don’t think so.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, the news is on out the back. You can sit with me while I finish cleaning up.”

Pan stared at her, distrust growing in his stomach, along with hunger. He didn’t like either sensation. “Why are you suddenly helping me?”

She snorted. “You’re a kid with horns wearing a fur coat. If you wanted to attack me, you would’ve already. Plus, I know where the knives are and how to use them.”

Pan wasn’t sure he could take her on in a fight. She looked like she’d give an ogre a run for their money in an arm wrestle. Which meant he stood no chance.

While each god had different attributes, this was not the first time he wished to be built more like Zeus or Hera. But he was definitely not a kid. He had no idea how old he was. Not as old as magic.

Which made him younger than the stars. As they were already in existence when he first walked the ground. He was old enough to have forgotten his parents, the ones who had created the gods. He had been a child once, not that he remembered much more than a vague sensation of being held. It was as though those memories had been seared away the first time he connected with magic.

“I don’t like attacking people.” He wasn’t an angry, vengeful god; that had never been his thing. He liked parties and music and fucking. He actually enjoyed giving people blessings. After all, a happy worshipper was more likely to continue worshipping him, and he loved a little praise.

Or a lot.

Could he convince this woman to offer him a prayer?

“What do you like?” She said as she walked out the back into a room filled with shiny metal and sharp blades.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want in your sandwich?”

Oh… “Anything.”

It took him two goes to figure out how to open the drink bottle, and then gulped down half, the icy water hitting his stomach like a punch to the gut.

The woman sliced bread and buttered it. His mouth watered, which was embarrassing for such a simple offering.

In the background, a voice talked. It wasn’t the language they’d been speaking. He tilted his head, trying to listen better. It wouldn’t take much for him to learn it.

“Shall I put on the English news?”

“Where am I?”

She studied him for several seconds. “Why do you speak English?”

Pan gave her the truthful explanation. “It’s not the first time I’ve been in your world.”

“Oh. That’s why you’re in our myths. All that talk of dragons and such on the news… I knew they were real, and they just didn’t live here. So you popped through a portal to visit before?”

That wasn’t how it worked for him, though portals between the world existed. “There are dragons here?”

That was good news. Dragons meant a nearby city-state, and a city-state meant stability, and rulers always had a Strega. And while she wasn’t as powerful as a god, she might have answers and be able to contact others. The downside was there’d be Tarikians who might expect his help, and when they realized he was useless, they’d never pray to him again.

“Some have been sighted. Where are the portals?”

“That depends on where I am.”

She gave him that narrow-eyed look again. “Wales. The radio is speaking Welsh. Do you know where Wales is?” She pushed a plate stacked with cheese sandwiches towards him.

“It’s part of the British Empire.”

“The Empire no longer exists…it hasn’t existed for decades. What are you?”

Pan ignored her question and feigned confusion. “Decades? Time must move differently between the two worlds.”

“What two worlds?”

“Mine and yours, of course. I need to find the dragons.” Then he’d find out which Tarikian town was nearby. He took a bite of the sandwich, not caring what it tasted like, and chewed.

The woman put away the bread and cheese, then she turned, her gaze stuck on the floor. “You’re bleeding.”

Some of it was his. Some of it was not.

He’d tried to wash the selkie blood off in the sea. After all, it wasn’t a good look to walk around covered in someone else’s blood. Only a few gods pulled that look off, and he wasn’t one of them.

He swallowed, the bread almost sticking in his throat. “I cut my foot.”

The partial truth was near enough.

“Are you a demon with those little horns?”

Pan gave her a cold glare—he remembered that from last time. Humans tended to call anything with magic that they didn’t like a demon…or a monster. “I am not a demon. They don’t exist.”

“Huh.” She put a white box next to his plate. “First aid kit. So you can clean it and put a bandage on it.”

“That’s pretty pointless unless I have shoes.”

“I suppose not.” She returned to where there was food and knives on the bench, which is what she must’ve been doing before he’d let himself in. “What are you going to do?”

“Find the dragons.” He took a sip of water as an idea formed. “Pray to Pan.”

“I have got plenty of pans for you.” She laughed and waved her frying pan at him.

He didn’t laugh. “He is a god from my world.”

“One of the old gods?”

“Yes.” Or at least what humans thought of as old gods. The ones older than him. His parents were not the kind of beings humans should trouble.

Confusion flicked in her eyes. “Will he be here? Will the other gods be here?”

“I hope so.” Though he wasn’t sure how the humans would react, as even two hundred years ago, most humans hadn’t worshipped them, choosing instead to worship one—one who had been banished from Tariko.

Banishing him had been a mistake, though by the time they’d realized it was far too late.

As much as he wanted to eat the second sandwich, he should save it. “Can I wrap this? Then I will leave you to your work.”

She washed her hands and gave him a tub. “Here, take an apple and berries, too.”

“Thank you.” He was so grateful he’d give her a blessing without asking, except there wasn’t even a tingle of magic in his blood. “Would you like to pray with me?”

“Sure. Might as well get in the good books of the old gods since they’re back. Some people are saying we’re being punished.”

Pan couldn’t hold back the snort of derision. “I doubt that. Whatever happened had nothing to do with the gods.”

She lifted her eyebrows.

“That’s not how they usually work,” Pan hurried on. “I met a couple of them back home.”

“Really?”

“Yes…it’s all blessings and granting wishes. Only a few enjoy punishing…” He doubted any god had the power to create a cataclysmic earthquake that shook two worlds.

“And Pan is one of the nice ones?”

“As far as I am aware.” He offered the woman his hands, and she placed her much larger hands in his.

Great, now he needed to pray to himself and thank himself, which was weird but not the weirdest occurrence today. And it had been a very long day. He really wanted the illusion of normality, if only for a moment.

“Thank you, Pan, for leading me to this woman and the food she provided. Please bless her, your humble servant…” Fuck, he needed a name. He dragged out one he often used when he wanted to walk around untroubled. “Silas.”

The woman gave a heartfelt, “Amen.”

Pan held his breath, waiting for a spark of magic.

Nothing.

One thousand poxes on this godforsaken world.