Page 54 of The Deer and the Dragon
“Were you one of the tourists? You were, what, twenty-three when you wrote the secondPantheonbook? Did you soak up the sun in Mykonos to celebrate its release?”
“No,” I breathed quietly, glad for the change in conversation. I recalled the Thanksgiving release and the holidays alone in my apartment that had followed. Twenty-three had turned into twenty-four, but I hadn’t left the house until Christmas had come and gone. It had been all I could do to push the sermons, the candle-lit vigils, the Nativity sets, the carols, the traditions into the furthest reaches of my mind while I sat in the dark, microwaving burritos and binging chick flicks.
A strange numbness made it challenging to feel the steering wheel, the pedals, the very vibrations of the highway as it hummed through the beige leather interior and into my body. I didn’t dare flick my gaze to her in order to check her sincerity. I couldn’t explain how, but I knew she was telling the truth. I’d done something…good. I’d sparked human interest. I’d made not just one god butmany…happy with me.
“Hey, what happened?” Fauna asked, noting the sniffle I failed to subdue.
I shook my head.
She fetched my phone, punching the pause button on theaudiobook to frown at me. Her white and copper freckles bundled together like an earthbound galaxy as she pressed her back to the passenger door until she faced me fully. “Tell me.”
I laughed at the absurdity of it all. How could I possibly unpack church psychology, two decades of religious trauma, or two thousand years of theology for her in a sentence?
“How much time do you have?”
She didn’t falter. “All the time in the world.”
Eventually, I settled on, “The first eighteen years of my life revolved around whether or not I was disappointing God. Every action, every move, every thought hinged on me saying or doing or thinking the right thing. Every decision I made was rooted in terror that a deity might be angry with me, or that I was letting him down, or that he’d be mad. As if I didn’t already have enough mental illnesses before we factored in the shame and judgment… Just, give me a moment to process the concept that not one but multiple gods don’t hate me.” I used the back of my hand to wipe at a tear, grateful for the excuse of the road as I refused to look at her.
I’d expected her to laugh with me, but she didn’t.
“He’s a jealous dick,” she said quietly.
I continued to stare at the cut between the trees, weaving between the dwindling number of cars on the highway as we crept farther north. I didn’t say anything.
“At least the Nordes know Odin’s name. We know where our loyalties lie. At least the Greeks can address Zeus. At least on Hell’s side of the battle, they can speak to their leader. But with the angels…”
I didn’t breathe. A long-buried part of me felt a pit in my stomach as if the heresy would cause the ground to swallow me as I was plunged into the fiery pits, vehicle and all. I waited for the plague of locusts, for the impending accident, for the earthquake that was sure to shake us. It didn’t matter how long it had been, I was still terrified of speaking poorly of the God who ruled over the church—the one my mom had petitioned night in and night out for the destination of my soul.
“You know that verse in that book? The book you were raised with? It’s from your Ten Commandments—thou shalt have no other gods before me?”
My frown took on a life of its own as blasphemous discomfort raked through me. I squirmed in my seat, ready to be struck by lightning. It took me a while to realize she expected a real answer, so I nodded. Yes, of course I knew it.
Fauna raised a brow. “No one considers what’s spelled out there in the verse. If no other gods can come before him, he confirms the existence of other gods. And yet here we are. Look at the fae through your religious lens and call them whatever you want. Make them your angels and demons. But at the end of the day, pierce the veil and you’re left with us. The Nordes more or less keep to ourselves. Then you’ve got the Greeks, the Egyptians, the Chinese gods—who, by the way, were really disappointed that you chose South America over them. Seems like you’re neglecting the Global East, there, Miss Mythology. NextPantheonbook, eh?”
“I…” I swallowed before being honest. “I don’t understand.”
She frowned. “Whatdoyou understand?”
“Truthfully? …Nothing.”
That seemed to please her. She smiled as she said, “That’s a good place to start.”
The road highway hummed beneath me as I deflated. I knew nothing. My shoulders slumped. The shift in my mood must have been visible, because Fauna’s tone softened before she prodded me again.
“Come on, you love to annoy me with questions. I haven’t gotten you to shut up since we met. Ask me about something better. Ask me about the best lay of my life. Wanna know how good Azrames is in bed? Or what he can do with those horns?”
“Absolutely not,” I said, face burning so hot I had to glance in the rearview mirror to ensure I was merely blushing red instead of the shade of violet that pulsed from mydiscomfort at picturing that beautiful, gray-scale man using his horns in the bedroom.
She grinned and tried prodding me again. “Wanna know which goddesses I’ve boned? You know, people say the Mórrigan is a goddess of war, but—”
“Nope! Nope. Not sex. Not sex with you, not sex with the fae, not anything that’s going to make me crash this car.”
“Fair enough.” She shrugged, as if agreeing that whatever information she’d relay would probably result in a crumble of steel, rubber, and aluminum on the side of the road. She resumed the book, pointing out inaccuracies and laughing at the way I’d painted certain characters and locations until it was my turn to ask something.
“Fauna? I do have a question.”
She brightened. “Finally! It’s about Mórrigan, isn’t it? Gimme your queries. Let me make you smart.”
