self-actualization of any kind. Also, I could be wrong, I guess, but if the Asura were around, I think they’d have friends tagging along.”
“So, Mesopotamian, Nordic, Greek?” I nod slowly, trying to figure out how it adds up. “I’m going to say not Nordic,” my sister muses.
“Why’s that?”
“Similar to what you were saying about the Hindu pantheon. What’s the joke? What’s the lesson? Where’s the giant?”
“Fair enough. Which means it’s either a smaller pantheon, or Mesopotamian or Greek.”
“The smart money being on one of the big players,” she reiterates as she thinks out loud.
I nod again and park the car in front of the motel.
“So,” I turn to my sister once we’re back in our room. “Which do you want to get: the goat, or the incense and silk sheets?”
“A sentence not oft spoke. Since you’re offering, guess I’ll go for the things that don’t pee on other things.”
“A smart choice, and only fair, since you got the raven last time.”
“So much scat,” she whispers, her face tightened with pain at the memory.
I look over the pile of cash we took home from Finnegan’s two nights ago. It is very small, and it’s not because the bills are large.
“Welp. I don’t think this will buy us sheets, let alone a goat,” I comment.
“Do you think the Greek pantheon would accept mutton as a sacrifice?”
“Only if it was nice and lean,” I joke.
“Knew you were gonna say that.”
“But in all sincerity, I wouldn’t bet my life on it.”
“Say it, I know you want to.” My sister rolls her eyes.
“Iocaine powder!” I assert in a bad British accent. If you don’t know why that’s hilarious, I am adding you to my List of Things To Inspect In My Down Time, because you might be nonhuman.
“Is that out of your system now?” Lia asks dryly.
“For the moment, yes. And onto the grim game plan. We still don’t know what it is. We don’t have any money for the banishing ritual it will need when we do know what it is. So, I think we have to let the victims linger another day in limbo and work like hell for a good take tonight so we can end this ASAP.”
“You can really see why other people in the biz take to thievery. It’d be like playing Sims with the infinite money mod—just, way more enjoyable, with less waiting,” Ophelia grumbles.
“Yes, but I’m not ready to enter in the necessary cheat code for that particular mod into our actual life, though.”
“I am weak…”
“No, no. Don’t go there, sister-face. Come on. Have some self-respect. Put on your onesie.”
A few hours and energy drinks later, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be for our first official night as beer tub girls. We head over to Finnegan’s and help the rest of the staff set up for the Saturday crowd.
Everything starts off pretty standard. In order to be a successful beer tub girl, one must stand behind a huge keg and pour beer with maximum cleavage exposed at all times. This is apparently critical to the sale and consumption of alcohol. Lia and I are positioned directly across from each other, which is nice—it means I get to keep an eye on her without having to work too hard. I am able to perform the enormous task given to me and still adequately worry about the thing we’re chasing. I even start to get into the job a little. The energy is good in tonight’s crowd and it feels nice to be part of someone’s normal day. I’m cracking lame jokes and smiling at lamer come-ons by patrons frequenting my tub, no insinuation intended.
After a couple of hours warming to our new jobs, we’re feeling pretty good. I can tell Lia’s doing well, enjoying a little attention from the safety of her pedestal. It’s sort of intoxicating, being one of these people who have no idea what could go bump in the night. It’s loud, people are happy and ridiculous, and my sister is safe. I let myself relax a
“So, Mesopotamian, Nordic, Greek?” I nod slowly, trying to figure out how it adds up. “I’m going to say not Nordic,” my sister muses.
“Why’s that?”
“Similar to what you were saying about the Hindu pantheon. What’s the joke? What’s the lesson? Where’s the giant?”
“Fair enough. Which means it’s either a smaller pantheon, or Mesopotamian or Greek.”
“The smart money being on one of the big players,” she reiterates as she thinks out loud.
I nod again and park the car in front of the motel.
“So,” I turn to my sister once we’re back in our room. “Which do you want to get: the goat, or the incense and silk sheets?”
“A sentence not oft spoke. Since you’re offering, guess I’ll go for the things that don’t pee on other things.”
“A smart choice, and only fair, since you got the raven last time.”
“So much scat,” she whispers, her face tightened with pain at the memory.
I look over the pile of cash we took home from Finnegan’s two nights ago. It is very small, and it’s not because the bills are large.
“Welp. I don’t think this will buy us sheets, let alone a goat,” I comment.
“Do you think the Greek pantheon would accept mutton as a sacrifice?”
“Only if it was nice and lean,” I joke.
“Knew you were gonna say that.”
“But in all sincerity, I wouldn’t bet my life on it.”
“Say it, I know you want to.” My sister rolls her eyes.
“Iocaine powder!” I assert in a bad British accent. If you don’t know why that’s hilarious, I am adding you to my List of Things To Inspect In My Down Time, because you might be nonhuman.
“Is that out of your system now?” Lia asks dryly.
“For the moment, yes. And onto the grim game plan. We still don’t know what it is. We don’t have any money for the banishing ritual it will need when we do know what it is. So, I think we have to let the victims linger another day in limbo and work like hell for a good take tonight so we can end this ASAP.”
“You can really see why other people in the biz take to thievery. It’d be like playing Sims with the infinite money mod—just, way more enjoyable, with less waiting,” Ophelia grumbles.
“Yes, but I’m not ready to enter in the necessary cheat code for that particular mod into our actual life, though.”
“I am weak…”
“No, no. Don’t go there, sister-face. Come on. Have some self-respect. Put on your onesie.”
A few hours and energy drinks later, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be for our first official night as beer tub girls. We head over to Finnegan’s and help the rest of the staff set up for the Saturday crowd.
Everything starts off pretty standard. In order to be a successful beer tub girl, one must stand behind a huge keg and pour beer with maximum cleavage exposed at all times. This is apparently critical to the sale and consumption of alcohol. Lia and I are positioned directly across from each other, which is nice—it means I get to keep an eye on her without having to work too hard. I am able to perform the enormous task given to me and still adequately worry about the thing we’re chasing. I even start to get into the job a little. The energy is good in tonight’s crowd and it feels nice to be part of someone’s normal day. I’m cracking lame jokes and smiling at lamer come-ons by patrons frequenting my tub, no insinuation intended.
After a couple of hours warming to our new jobs, we’re feeling pretty good. I can tell Lia’s doing well, enjoying a little attention from the safety of her pedestal. It’s sort of intoxicating, being one of these people who have no idea what could go bump in the night. It’s loud, people are happy and ridiculous, and my sister is safe. I let myself relax a
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