Tommaso

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “Who said anything about home, compadre?” Zac said. “You’re not safe to roam freely with the masses.”

  Zac looked at Miss Flower-Power Panties and instructed her to retrieve Tommaso’s keys from his pocket.

  “But Zac,” Tula protested, “a man’s pocket is his private space. Next to his privates.”

  She was standing in the middle of a public parking lot in broad daylight, wearing only her undergarments—albeit, very unsexy undergarments, but undergarments nonetheless—and she was concerned about improper behavior?

  “My keys are in the ignition,” Tommaso groaned, the splitting pain in his head and heart only worsening. “And I’m sorry about all the blood in the car.” Sorrier than anyone could ever know. Please don’t let it be my mate’s. Please.

  Zac bent his head and gave Tommaso a whiff. “Hate to break it to you, evil buddy, but if what’s in your car is the same stuff that’s on your shirt, that’s not blood. Cherry Slurpee is my guess.”

  Really? Tommaso looked down at his sticky gray shirt. “I killed a woman and went to get a Slurpee? I am a monster.”

  “Do you specifically remember killing someone?” Zac asked.

  “No, but—”

  Sirens began wailing off in the distance.

  “Time to go, big man. Let’s get you to a secure location. We’ll sort it all out later.” Zac turned toward Tula, who was already getting into Tommaso’s Mercedes. “I’ll meet you back at the office.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  “And, woman?” Zac said, his deep voice filled with agitation.

  “Yes?” she answered.

  “The next time I see you, you’d better be wearing proper office apparel. We hold to certain standards at Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. Even on casual Friday.”

  “For the last time, I am not going to work naked, Zac!” She slammed the driver-side door shut and zoomed out of the parking lot.

  “Humans,” Zac grumbled. “So damned uppity! You know what I mean?” Zac looked at Tommaso, fishing for validation.

  Tommaso frowned up at the deity, whose face was becoming a mishmash of swirls. I’m losing my mind. “Sure. Yeah. Wearing clothes is so last year.”

  “I know, right?” Zac grabbed Tommaso’s arm to steady him as he began falling sideways. “All right, let’s get you off to jail.”

  “You’re taking me to jail?” Tommaso stumbled along toward the Mustang, without a hope or a prayer of getting free. Not in my condition.

  “Well, I’m really taking you to Cimil’s basement until we can get you moved to our real prison. But where else would I take an evil, bloodthirsty Maaskab to rot for eternity?”

  Rot? Eternity? Oh hell. Maybe Zac was right; that was where he needed to go. Because if Tommaso had harmed a hair on his mate’s head, he deserved to putrefy in a dark dungeon for all time.

  But what if she’s not dead? He had seen an image of him untying her and of her running away. Gods be damned. I have to find out what I did… He needed to know she was all right. Okay, and his heart demanded to see her again and beg her forgiveness.

  But who was she? He’d only seen her for a moment in passing as she left the mixer—that part was clear. As for how would he go looking for her when he could barely see straight? Not to mention you’re going off to immortal jail.

  There was only one person he could turn to.

  Gods help me…

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Where the hell is Tommaso?” boomed a deep, annoying voice, ricocheting off the rainbow-painted walls, through a dizzying ocean of low-hanging disco balls, and bouncing off of piles of…stuff. All making up what had to be the most frightening place on Earth: Cimil’s basement.

  “I’m here,” Tommaso replied miserably, prying himself from his bale of “Cimil-certified” organic free-range hay. So stupid.

  Tommaso bellied up to the hot pink steel bars of his cell, which was really a giant bird cage.

  Like he’d said: Scariest. Place. On. Earth.

  Not that he was afraid.

  Men like him, who had been trained by the best of the best and deadliest of the deadliest in the gods’ army, were lethal weapons and feared nothing. His polished exterior—manicured nails, fine Italian suits, neatly trimmed black scruff, and salon-cut “messy” short hair—were a façade. One he enjoyed maintaining, of course.

  A man should always look his best. Even when kicking ass.

  “Make a right turn,” Tommaso yelled, “just after the guillotine urinal, and then left after the giant wooden box marked ‘Danger: Randy clowns inside.’” Yes, Cimil had a wooden crate the size of an elephant filled with…well…clowns. The sounds—sadistic laughter mixed with intermittent weeping—emanating from inside were enough to make a grown warrior’s gonads want to tuck and take cover.

  “What?” Votan yelled. “I can’t hear you over all the moaning! And what in the gods’ names is that fucking smell? And why are there disco balls everywhere? It’s maddening.”

  “She’s your damned sister, Votan. Do you really need to ask?”

  “Guy. My name is Guy!” he yelled, his voice getting closer. Votan, who also went by Guy Santiago (his human name), was believed to be the most lethal of the fourteen gods—the likely reason for which he was the God of Death and War. Or was it War and Death? Tommaso couldn’t remember. In any case, Guy was seven feet of pompous muscle with long blue-black hair and the deity-trademark turquoise eyes—actually, the same color eyes as anyone who had been given the light of the gods and immortality. He himself had been given immortality after being infected by the Maaskab’s dark powers, but only because Guy’s wife, Emma, begged him to make it happen. Emma was beautiful, gracious, and forgiving and probably the closest thing he had to family aside from his best friend, Andrus. Guy was simply a jealous dip-tard.

  “There you are, Tommaso.” Guy scowled. “Wow. You’re just as fucking ugly as the last time I saw you. No wait, you’re uglier.”

  If I’m considered ugly, then you’re considered a nice person. “Good to see you, too, asshole. Love the extra-tight T-shirt. Did you start shopping at Baby Gap, or did Emma finally leave you, so you’re on your own with the washer and drier?”

  Guy crossed his beefy arms over his chest, further stretching his too tight baby blue tee. His black and gray camo cargo pants looked like they might split at the seams any second now.

  What’s with this guy? Seriously. Tommaso was a muscular man—of normal height, thank goodness—and you didn’t see him running around, trying to show off every inch. His six-two frame was always dressed in clothing that fit, that exuded confidence, not neediness. Look at me, I’m The God of Death and War, Tommaso whined inside his head.

  “Jackass,” Tommaso muttered.

  “Watch your tongue, human,” said Guy. “Or I will squash you like the man-whoring vermin that you are. Nice pants, by the way. But you do realize that dressing like a real man won’t make you one.”

  Though Tommaso much preferred a finely tailored suit, at the moment he wore some ridiculous black leather pants and a plain white T-shirt that Cimil had had in her “guest prisoner” wardrobe box. Tommaso felt like he was trying to impersonate the kind of men he liked to beat the crap out of—men who had no class, no balls, and big mouths.

  Basically Guy.

  Tommaso shrugged. “Just because your wife, Emma, thinks I’m hot doesn’t mean you have to start throwing insults, Guy.”

  The angular plains of Guy’s face seemed to harden as his cheeks turned rage-red. “I’ll fucking kill—”

  “Boys!” called a female voice that was music to Tommaso’s ears. “I can hear you! And will someone tell me what the hell is inside that giant box?”

  “Clowns!” Guy and Tommaso replied in unison.

  Just then, Emma’s head of copper red curls popped through a curtain of purple streamers hanging to the side of the room. “I swear something was just following me. This place is horrifying.” Wearing a flowing green dress that almost matched her eyes,
and holding a small bundle to her chest, Emma weaved through several piles of fuzzy pink beanbag chairs and unopened cases of confetti cake frosting to make her way over. “Dear gods, what’s with all of the disco balls? And why does anyone need so much damned frosting?”

  “My love,” said Guy, “have you not learned that when it comes to Cimil, it is best not to ask? And to forget anything she says? Or does? Or shows you—okay, you should really forget everything related to her. She’s not right in the head.”

  That’s what I said, thought Tommaso.

  Emma nodded. “Point taken. So. What’s this I’m hearing, Tommaso, about you being detained because you’re a ‘threat to humanity’? Because we all know that’s a bunch of bull crap.”

  Guy turned toward her and frowned, his turquoise eyes flickering to a dark blue for a quick second. “Is that why you called me to meet you here? You said you needed to speak to me and Tommaso, that it was ‘important.’” He made little air quotes with his fingers.

  Tommaso’s one phone call had been to Emma because she was the only one besides his best friend, Andrus, he could trust. But Andrus, like himself, was considered a bad boy of the immortal community—which said a lot because they were all highly dysfunctional beings. In any case, Tommaso had needed someone with influence to get him out of “jail.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Tommaso is locked up in Cimil’s basement. That is important. He’s our friend.”

  “Friend?” Votan growled. “He is not your friend. He is a traitor, a spy, a—”

  “His mind was poisoned by the Maaskab,” she snapped. “And don’t forget that he was captured by them because he was working for you gods! He’s nothing but kind and loyal and…”

  This was why Tommaso cared so deeply for Emma. She never gave up on him, even after everything he’d done to her, including handing her over to the Scabs (aka Maaskab) for a ritual sacrifice. Of course, the Maaskab had infected him with their dark voodoo bullcrap and he had tried to fight his evil urges. In the end, however, he’d failed. Then he’d tried to help kill her. Not his best day.

  Guy’s facial features contorted with irritation. “Woman, I was in a summit meeting with my brethren, discussing the situation. That was important.”

  Tommaso could only assume that the “situation” was in reference to Cimil’s big announcement at the immortal singles mixer party she and Zac had given a few days ago. Basically, she advised everyone that the Universe—for reasons unknown—had been thrown into some sort of moral tailspin: Any unmated immortals were about to undergo a personality change. I.e., those who were inherently evil would find themselves playing for Team Good. Those who were good, Team Evil.

  Cimil’s declaration sounded like a bunch of BS construed for the sole purpose of her amusement. Regrettably, however, the evidence to support her claim could not be ignored. Case in point, Cimil’s new Maaskab nanny and Tommaso’s inexplicable evil relapse. There were other cases of flip-flopping popping up all over the immortal community, too. And according to Cimil, the only way to avoid such a switch was to find a mate to keep one’s moral compass in check. He supposed it made sense, but only hard evidence would prove this out.

  If I can just get someone to help me find my woman. Tommaso glanced at Emma and Guy through his shiny pink birdcage bars. They were bickering away like a couple who’d been married for fifty years.

  “I, uhhh…” Tommaso cleared his throat, trying to think of a way to get their attention back on his cause. “Is that your new baby?”

  Emma immediately dropped her rant midstream. “That’s right!” she said cheerfully. “You haven’t met K’as Pa’achi Dzuuy Ool.”

  That was a mouthful. “Errr…Cazzpoochi—”

  “K’as Pa’achi Dzuuy Ool,” she repeated. “It means ‘Badass, Tough Heart.’”

  Tommaso nodded slowly, trying not to seem disrespectful. “That is…certainly…a unique name.”

  “We call him Kaz for short,” she added and then pulled back the little blue blanket to reveal a drowsy-looking baby with long eyelashes, red hair, and pouty lips.

  He’s adorable. Tommaso resisted awww-ing, because that would be a very unmanly thing to do. And if Tommaso was one thing in this world, it was manly. Okay, and chivalrous. And, while he was on the subject, loyal, too. His only major flaw was being unable to let go of the past. It was at the center of his being and the reason he couldn’t allow this evil change to occur. Bluntly put, he’d rather die than return to being a Maaskab minion. Those evil priests had taken everything from him—his parents, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. No one had been spared that day. He never did learn what occurred exactly, but his job at the time had been tracking and killing Maaskab in the gods’ army. His best guess, knowing everything he now knew, was that the priests used Uchben soldiers (aka members of the human gods’ army) who were under the Maaskab’s mind control to execute his family in retaliation. Then they came for him. They captured him, tortured him, and made him their mindless slave. Later, they returned him to spy on the gods’ army.

  In the end, he lost everything: his family, his sense of self, and his job. He wasn’t about to give up his life all over again. And certainly not now, when he had a chance at a real one. Wife, children, a family. This woman was his chance to get that all back.

  Who the fuck are you kidding, man? You’re a ticking time bomb. If he overcame this current obstacle, the best he could hope for was to have a complicated relationship with this woman. One where she would always be unhappy and he would always need to keep his distance.

  Tommaso looked at the beautiful baby in Emma’s arms and noted the way her eyes lit up. It made him jealous. Not that he would admit it. Because he was manly. Very, very manly.

  “He’s beautiful, Emma,” Tommaso said. “Congratulations to both of you.”

  “Enough with the pleasantries and ass kissing, Tommy,” said Guy. “I must return to the summit meeting and—”

  Hardball time. “You can’t leave. Not until you’ve heard me out,” Tommaso said firmly. “Because Emma is right. This is important.”

  Emma flashed Guy a warning with her eyes.

  “I’ll give you one minute,” Guy said.

  This was the part he would dread saying aloud. “I think I…” he covered his mouth, half mumbling, “found my may-mumble-mumble.”

  “You found a mare? Who the hell cares if you’re into horses,” said Guy.

  “Not a mare. A mate,” he said begrudgingly.

  Emma squealed, and the baby cried out. “Oh. Sorry, honey. Mommy’s sorry. Shushshushshush…” She began swaying. “This is so exciting,” she whispered loudly.

  “Once again, I ask: Who the hell cares?” Guy said.

  Tommaso hated to play this card, just like he’d hated that his one phone call from Cimil’s Crazy Dungeon of Pink Disco Horror and Irrational Fetishes had gone to Emma, but there’d been no other choice.

  Tommaso cleared his throat. “When I was cured and given immortality by the gods, it was you, Guy, who vouched for me.” Because no one, including himself, knew if being given the light of the gods would truly cure him.

  “I only did it to make Emma happy,” Guy said.

  “Yes. And I know how much you care for her, which is why I’m sure you don’t want to leave her.”

  “Leave her?” Guy scoffed. “Why would I do such a thing?”

  “Because you vouched for me. Don’t you remember? If I am convicted of any crimes, you will also have to endure the same punishment—those are your stupid rules, by the way, not mine.”

  Guy’s mouth fell open just a little, and Emma’s turquoise eyes went wide. Yes, she was now immortal, too. Just like Tommaso. Or, at least, he had been. Now that his eyes had darkened, he wasn’t sure what he was.

  “But-but,” Guy stuttered.

  “You wrote the laws, so don’t blame me,” Tommaso said.

  “Guy? Is that right?” Emma asked, looking terrified.

  “Well, I, uh…” Guy planted his hands
on his waist and exhaled. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

  “What are we going to do?” she asked. “It’s bad enough that we have to deal with an entire community of single immortals whose nice-switches are about to flip, but having you locked away, too?”

  “That’s my point,” Tommaso said. “If you get me out of here and help me find this woman, I can convince her to forgive me and perhaps accept me as her mate. I won’t turn evil and there’ll be no reason to imprison me and Guy.”

  Guy crossed his arms. “I’m not going to jail. I’ll change the law.”

  Emma shook her head. “You know how hard that’s going to be. You need a majority vote, and your brothers and sisters aren’t going to give it to you.”

  That was likely true. The gods were like children and wouldn’t want to pass up the chance to see Guy in prison. Pure entertainment.

  “Wait,” Emma said to Tommaso. “What did you say—that part about ‘convincing her to forgive’ you?”

  Tommaso scratched the back of his head. “I, uhh…may have kidnapped her.”

  “What? Why would you do that?” Emma barked.

  “I don’t know. I woke up this morning in that parking lot. All I remember is seeing her tied up in my closet. And then I let her go and she was running away, screaming.”

  Guy chuckled. “Nice going there, ladies’ man.”

  “Don’t start, babies’ man. Or I’ll bring up the fact you were hot for Emma when she was still in diapers.”

  It wasn’t exactly true, of course, but before Emma was born, Guy had been trapped by the Maaskab in a cenote—one of the underground springs the gods used as portals between this world and theirs. Guy couldn’t go anywhere, and Emma was the only person who could hear him for some strange reason. Their long-distance telepathic connection started the day she was born, and later, once she became a woman, Guy’s jealousy almost drove her mad.

  Funny, how so little has changed.

  “Shut your hole,” Guy said, “or I’ll shove something in there to shut it for you.”