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The God-Raiser

“It’s Lloyd-Henry, right? Or do you prefer Lloyd?” The therapist welcomes me with a smile.

“Lloyd is fine.” I’d prefer my true name, but no one has spoken it aloud in centuries.

“Come on in. I’m Dr. Jekyll.” His voice is low, soothing. Designed to put people at ease, to lower their resistance.

I know that sort of voice all too well. If I had enough time with this doctor, I could charm him into doing anything I wanted. And I won’t lie—it’s tempting.

But I’m not here to exercise my powers today. I’m here because I could use some fucking therapy. I’ve tried almost everything else to cope with what’s happening to me.

This is my final stop before I go to them . This man is my last chance. The best in the business of healing minds…or at least the best in Nashville, Tennessee, where fate has led me. No, “led” is too gentle a word—I was discarded here. Cast away like a piece of garbage.

“Have a seat wherever you’re comfortable.” Dr. Jekyll glances down at his clipboard as I drop into an armchair. “You mentioned you’re feeling a lot of stress from work? Do you want to maybe talk about that a little bit?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Tell me about what you do.”

“I manage a lot of projects, a lot of people.” I prop my ankle on my knee and try to look relaxed. “Lately I’ve been letting things slip. I’ve been…failing.”

The word tastes bitter in my mouth, but it’s time to say it.

“Failing.” The doctor leans back in his desk chair, tapping his chin with the end of his pen. “That’s a strong word. What’s an instance where you believe you failed?”

What would he say if I told him the truth?

That I’ve been working tirelessly for decades—no, centuries—to become Earth’s ruler and protector, the balm for all its ills?

I have allies throughout the world, research in progress to find a cure for that greatest of evils—death.

Vampirism, soul-infused portraits, necromancy, the return of the gods—each strategy was one piece in a plan, a gear in a great machine that should still function, even if one part is fractured.

And yet somehow, each piece has managed to contort itself into an unrecognizable, unusable shape.

The vampire factions turned on each other, then rebelled against me.

The first god I raised didn’t possess any power; he needed more of his fellow gods at his side before he could do anything useful.

Raising the second god proved disappointing, to say the least.

Oh, and I’ve died twice—once quite recently.

Let’s talk about that, Doctor. Let’s explore how it feels to be shot in the head and ejected from my body into the afterworld, where I waited in the dark until a necromancer dragged me back into my body again.

It took me weeks to recover, and yet I still managed to keep my plans in motion.

I summoned a second god, who was ruined by the interference of the vampires. He’s practically useless to me.

I’m on the verge of giving up. I’m so fucking tired.

Coming back from death the second time wasn’t good for me, and I’m terrified that I’m…

unraveling. My insides feel different, ill-fitting.

Sometimes they writhe . I can see the bubbling and surging of my essence under my skin, and when that happens I’m compelled to take a different form—raven, wolf, crow, stag, anything but a human shape.

I’m less and less comfortable as a man, and the only time I can find any peace is in beast form.

Maybe I’ve been alive too long.

Dr. Jekyll’s calm voice penetrates the churning cloud of my thoughts. “It’s all right if you can’t think of a specific instance right now.”

“I think I’m trying to do too much,” I reply.

“I’ve always preferred to set things in motion and let others do the work while I observe them and nudge them in the right direction as needed—but lately that hasn’t been working out for me.

It’s so hard to find good, hardworking, self-motivated people. ”

“So you feel you’ve been counting on people who aren’t reliable. They’ve broken your trust.”

“Yes.”

“Typically we can’t control how other people act.

” Dr. Jekyll gives me a sympathetic smile.

“They may hurt us or disappoint us, and there’s not much we can do about it.

What we can work on is our reaction…how we respond.

And that’s where stress management comes in.

Let’s talk about some ways you can cope with the pressure you’re feeling. Have you tried meditation?”

I stare at him. “Meditation?”

“Sure. Meditation and mindfulness can be very helpful tools to—”

“I don’t want to fucking meditate.”

Dr. Jekyll’s eyes widen slightly at my tone. “Well, there are other techniques, but let me explain what I mean by meditation. There’s so much misinformation out there…”

He continues, but I’m barely listening. I’m staring at my hand, where my veins are arching up like inchworms, stretching the skin. All through my arm I can feel that writhing, squirming sensation, the contortion of a soul that doesn’t belong in this body, in this world.

“You seem very agitated,” Dr. Jekyll says, interrupting my thoughts. “Do you want to talk about someone who betrayed you?”

Betrayal…

Dorian …I betrayed Dorian…

For the greater good, for a larger cause…

Something twists violently in my chest, and I gasp.

“This was a mistake.” I rise from the couch.

“Lloyd, let’s talk just a little longer,” pleads the doctor.

“Do you see this?” I hold out my hand, where the veins and tendons are knotting and coiling under the skin. My very bones ache until I can hardly stand upright.

“Good god,” mutters Dr. Jekyll. “What is that?”

“You can see it?” I confirm. “I haven’t lost my mind?”

“I can see it, and I think you need a different kind of doctor,” he falters.

“Usually I have more time between episodes.” I pull my hand close to my chest. In a moment the small bones will begin to disconnect from each other, and I will have to transform or watch my body disassemble itself.

“It’s happening at shorter and shorter intervals now.

Do you think meditation will help, Doctor? ” I laugh, shrill and wild.

The doctor rolls backward in his chair, putting distance between us. “What’s happening to you?”

“I’m shifting , motherfucker. I’m a Gancanagh and a púca, a bastard hybrid of two ancient races, a survivor.

I came to Nashville because there are other shifters here, and I thought perhaps I could ingratiate myself to them, but I’ve been sick, as you can see, and I haven’t had the time .

” My spine rolls involuntarily, and I grit my teeth, forcing out my next words.

“They’re a close-knit group, not easy to penetrate.

But I may have to go to them and beg them to help me, to cure me.

I thought I would try this first—mind over matter, you know. ”

“That’s not really a thing,” murmurs the doctor.

“I should have known this wouldn’t work. You humans pretend to know the mind, but the chasms in your knowledge are vast, and you are confidently wrong about so many things—aagghh!” I grimace as my shoulder pops. “Open that window, will you?”

“Look, I’m not just a therapist,” says Dr. Jekyll. “I was premed and bio-chem once, before…well, that’s not important. Maybe I can take a blood sample, figure something out to help you—”

“The window,” I gasp.

He hurries over to it, but the latch barely budges. “It’s an old building,” he apologizes. “We never open the windows because there aren’t any screens—”

“Hurry!” I roar.

He wrenches one last time and manages to shove the window wide, just as I lurch forward and transform into a raven. I soar past him, cawing with the sheer relief of being out of that body.

Maybe I had it wrong. Maybe I was never meant to save the world from itself. Maybe I should leave humanity behind and become a beast or a bird forever.

If that is my path, I will first have to make some arrangements for Cernunnos, my useless, pathetic, lost puppy of a god, before I disappear.

And perhaps I will go to the Shifter Collective in Nashville, just once, to ask for their help.

Imprisonment or death at their hands can’t be worse than my current torturous existence.

I wheel in the sky, cawing again for the benefit of Dr. Jekyll, who is gaping at me from the window far below. Perhaps I’ll give him a vial of my blood before I take beast form forever. He can amuse himself studying it.

Higher I rise, into the crisp air of the September sky.

I’ve seen beautiful cities, but this one is unmatched for its mystical energies.

I sense the power of the ancients everywhere, traces of the muses, the Leannan Sídhe, lingering in the blood of everyday citizens.

A resurgence is occurring, new powers unfurling and old ones awakening.

But for once, my heart doesn’t thrill at the thought of being a part of it all. For once, I’m not energized by the possibility of the future but exhausted.

After millennia, I believe I have finally grown old.