Tendril Hearts (Immortals Book 11)

by LJ Vickery

  For now, Shamash took over, you’re never going to believe how this whole thing got started. His face turned serious. First let me say, we found census records in the old city hall building, and both of the twins that I, uh, got to know…he looked apologetically to Quinn…Arwi and Abi, we think, gave birth nine months after my little…episode with them in 256 BC.

  “Both of them…you think,” Verrie stated. Wow. So it was a given. Her family and Franks, together for centuries, were really related.

  Yeah. It sure looks like it. But get this. The only twin’s child recorded was Arwi’s. Two days later, however, at the exact time that Abi’s baby would have arrived, the birth records for the household indicate a servant girl gave birth. There was total silence in the room as everyone waited for Sham to continue. Just a little too much of a coincidence, don’t you think, especially since the sisters kept diaries showing they raised both babies.

  Clearly, he’d made up his mind the second child was Abi’s. Verrie concurred.

  We searched forward in time for as many generations as were recorded on buried cuneiform…

  “How come you didn’t bring back some tablets?” Kulla asked. “It would have been nice to handle some real communication for nostalgia’s sake.”

  We thought about it, Sham answered, but figured the gods in charge had gone to so much trouble burying them, they might be pissed if we snatched some. And on top of all the other shit going on, we don’t need to bring overgods down on our asses.

  Everyone dipped their heads in agreement. Low profile was definitely to their advantage.

  Anyway, after the stone records, we went to more current archives. What we found didn’t surprise us. The female descendants of Arwi and the line springing from the supposed servant never parted ways. Arwi’s descendants were linked to Abi’s from that first birth onward. To this day, the lines have remained together.

  “My mother and Frank,” Verrie confirmed. “Me and Nancy, Si and Riles.”

  Relatives, for sure, Sham confirmed. Not just friends. When we get the results of the DNA test on you guys, not just the Enlil sniff, we can be certain baby number two was Abi’s. The child was simply designated as a servant in the records.

  “But why?” Glory asked the question which had been about to spring from Verrie’s lips.

  Most likely to save face. Now Sham looked uncomfortable. Records were forged to make it look like I wed Arwi. He glanced at his mate, Quinn, reassuringly. But that’s impossible because I had already been pulled to hell by that time. Obviously, Arwi’s family looked for me and was told I wouldn’t be back, so they felt safe with the lie. Abi, on the other hand, would have produced an illegitimate child. Therefore, the need for subterfuge.

  “The good news to all this as I see it,” Marduk qualified, “is whoever is behind the demons attempt to drive Verrie and her ancestors mad never knew of the second child from Shamash’s loins, and therefore, the voices only went after one paternal line.”

  “And that had to have begun in 239 BC when Arwi’s child was seventeen because that’s when I had my first demon episode,” Dumuzi finished.

  Now back to that. Shamash had that shit-eating grin on again. The defining moment which got Muze involved actually occurred before the twins figured out they were pregnant, and when I was still busy celebrating my great victory in court that had freed their uncle. It was mere days before the factions I opposed framed me and had me sent to hell. He shrugged. So, here’s the story. I met up with my good buddy Muze one night in Aham-nishi’s Inn.

  “That sounds like a really shifty place, along the lines of the Mos-Eisley Cantina in Star Wars,” Candy smirked.

  “You’ve got the picture,” Dumuzi said with a nod. “I remember going there a good many times, but I never remember getting home.”

  Well apparently neither of us remembered this particular episode, Shamash concurred, and if you hadn’t insisted―as evidenced by some accompanying documentation―we draw things up legally after you lost our bet, none of this, Sham waved a hand between Muze and Verrie, would have happened.

  “So tell us already.” Anshar loved a good wager. “Don’t leave anything out.”

  Oh, I won’t, Sham grinned. I especially won’t leave out the instigator of the wager. The god narrowed his cat-eyes at Anshar, and the sky god lost all his color.

  “Me?” he yelped.

  Right in one, Sham nodded, shoveling more of the parmesan into his mouth. Now, do you want me to tell it or not?

  Anshar nodded reluctantly.

  This is all according to an eyewitness account that was included as a codicil to Muze’s signed instrument. It seems, on the night in question, the three of us were stumbling drunk, and I began making claims—bragging I could tell truth from fiction, no matter the source. He cleared his virtual throat. You have to understand, I was young and still high from the biggest court case of my career. But Muze…Muze was even younger and stupider, and Anshar, never bright to being with, was there to egg him on.

  That earned Shamash a one fingered salute which he ignored. So, when I made my self-important statement, our dear sky-god friend took Dumuzi off for yet another drink, and they discussed the terms of a possible wager. A wager the gods on high took note of.

  Sham took a big swallow of water, and before he drained the glass, his wife misted out and back in, carrying another for her cat-man. He put the finishing touches on his food and sighed appreciably.

  “Now, for those of you who don’t quite understand how it is for an immortal, let me tell you time is all relative amongst the gods, and according to the whims of the higher powers, it can be very loosely construed. Those who are a rung ahead of us on the power scale can foresee a lot of what will happen and like to think past is present and present is future. They’ve always sounded like your current day quantum physics guys, only a little more arrogant.”

  Verrie, with a few of the others, looked suitably puzzled but remained patient despite their ignorance.

  “So, when Dumuzi finally came back to me and challenged me with a statement―with a little help from Anshar―I was tasked to determine whether what he told me was true or false. Apparently, I got a rather confused look on my face. I was purported to mumble something about ‘from a human perspective or something higher?’ but eventually, I made my decision and spit out the verdict.”

  “So, what was Muze’s statement? And what was the verdict?” Huxley had been very quiet, but Verrie had been told he’d been the butt of a life-changing god-fuck before, so he seemed extra curious.

  “Wait. Wait. I remember.” Anshar’s face lit up with the biggest shit-eating grin Verrie had ever seen.

  “You do?” Lenore elbowed him in the ribs. “You fucker. I should nail your ass for messing with people’s lives the way you do,” she warned. “No more wagers for you.” She shook a finger under her mate’s nose. “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sweet thing,” he assuaged, but truly he didn’t look the least bit repentant.

  “So, anyway,” Sham cut in, not letting Anshar have the spotlight. “Muze’s big truth or untruth was: I know what it’s like to, uh, be between the legs of someone who is related to you.”

  Clearly, he cleaned up the language for the room full of listeners.

  “Now, I had to know that was a crock of shit because all my female relatives were happily married, and I was well aware Muze wasn’t hitting on the males, so I must have been about to call bullshit when it’s said I hesitated. I looked like I might be about to pass out or be sick or something. I had to have been wondering if the upper gods―who gave me the power of veracity― were taking note of the happenings, and construing the truth in their own way.

  “But I must have dismissed my intuition because when I finally came to a decision, I called the conjecture false. Dumuzi, who should have known better than to test me with such a simple premise, to begin with, easily conceded, and I won the wager…or so I thought.”

  “What were the stakes?” Now Nergal was rapt.


  “If I lost, which I didn’t think I had, I promised to give one of my female relations to Muze for his eternal pleasure. If Muze lost, he was to pledge his life and devotion to protecting my bloodlines from cruel and unusual harm.”

  That brought the assemblage to a total still point. Complete silence encompassed the room as Sham’s revelation was digested. Nergal was the first to speak again.

  “So, from this drunken agreement, because Muze lost, from that point on, he became the champion for all the ladies of your blood who suffered from the demon voices.” The king paused, letting that sink in. “And because the overgods are so bored and devious, they took Sham’s ruling as only partially correct because indeed, Dumuzi is currently sleeping with Verrie which to them, at the time, was something of which they were already aware.”

  Verrie followed his reasoning, albeit slowly.

  Sham tipped his head in agreement. “That they did. To make a neat, little, closed loop, they made good on my bet and gave one female relation, Verrie, to Muze for his eternal pleasure.” Sham finished with a flourish of his glass in the happy couple’s direction.

  “So both of you were correct…or became correct.” Verrie was having a hard time following it all, but it seemed to work for the gods who were nodding sagely. She was just relieved the mystery of why Dumuzi reacted to her episodes had been solved. Apparently, Muze felt the same way.

  “So, now that my protective instincts have boiled down to a drunken bet, we only have to find out why the demons haunt the descendants of Arwi and Sham.”

  “Which, if I’m not mistaken, was the reason you called this meeting in the first place,” Marduk reminded the swamp-god.

  “Correct.” Now Dumuzi’s eyes lit up in a dangerous way. “We need Verrie to talk to the demons again.”

  “But we’ve already tried that,” Kulla intervened. “And a bunch of us searched while she did and couldn’t come up with their location.”

  “That’s because you weren’t the women’s protector.” Dumuzi’s eyes glowed. “And now that I know a legally binding document found in the hall of gods proclaims me as such, I’m even more certain my plan will succeed.”

  “And what is your plan?” Marduk clearly wanted it stated even though everyone in the room had already figured it out. Even Verrie, who’d been a little slow on the uptake, knew what Dumuzi was about to propose. She shivered, awaiting his pronouncement.

  “Easy pickings, guys. When Veronica calls the demons again, I will be the one going into the depths of hell to search out the voices and put an end to this bullshit.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Dumuzi saw the narrow-eyed glance Veronica sent his way. He’d known she wouldn’t be pleased about his trip to hell, but really…who better? Once he was in the demons’ realm, his protective reactions would kick in, he’d turn swamp monster, and consequently, kick some demon ass. It had occurred to him, of course, he might need back up.

  “Lavarette,” he honed in on the thoughtful, highly intelligent face of the glowie he’d invited to attend. “I know this is a lot to ask, but I was hoping you and a contingent of your security forces could join me. You know the terrain, and you work better than most in Underworld conditions.”

  “No fucking way,” King Waylon snapped, immediately squashing Dumuzi’s request. “I will not have her placed in danger with unknown demons in an unsecured location.”

  Dead quiet met his declaration. Lavarette crossed her arms over her chest while spearing Waylon with narrowed eyes.

  Dumuzi stifled a groan. Waylon did not just say that. Even the swamp monster would have known better than to undermine a powerful woman’s initiative

  There was a lot of uncomfortable shuffling amongst the gods. Man, was the blue guy out of touch with how things worked for females—whether human, goddess, or glowie. The king was in huge trouble. Dumuzi took a step back and waited for the shit to fly.

  “Excuse me?” Lavarette’s voice flowed like warm honey from her throat as she faced Waylon with the deceptively innocuous question. “Did you just answer for me?”

  The king looked down his haughty nose…and blinked, suddenly, seeming not so sure. “Uh, yes,” he managed after a strangled cough. “I may have overstepped, but I feel there is no need for you to accompany the god when he has so many other, more powerful friends at his disposal.”

  Yipes. What a masochist. Dumuzi almost smacked his temple. The king had done it again.

  Anshar was happy to take advantage with quiet bets ricocheting around the room in head-speak only the gods and goddesses could hear. Lenore didn’t even try to stop him although she’d previously ripped him up and down for placing wagers. The Chosens’ eyes were gleaming—waiting, anticipating…no, expecting a smack-down.

  “More powerful?” Lavarette repeated, still flowing honey, but this time barbed with stingers. “Do you recall the nature of my job for King Nergal?” Lavarette’s nose reached only to Waylon’s sternum, but suddenly, she was the most formidable presence in the room.

  “Why yes, my dear,” Waylon placed both hands on the glowie’s shoulders, still not seeing the danger. “You are the head of his security team.” He seemed to have found his footing as he answered.

  “That’s correct.” She inclined her head, never taking her eyes off of her large, blue target. “And do you have any idea what that entails?” she asked, maintaining a mild give and take with an amazing amount of control.

  “I assume it means you monitor his computer systems for problems, perhaps dispatch forces to take care of any bothersome issues that might arise.” Waylon shrugged. “I know you dabbled with your sword during the battle to rescue the god, Kulla.”

  Apparently, everyone but the hapless blue king felt the chill coming off of the normally warm being. They all watched the clusterfuck unfurl as he dug his own hell, deeper and deeper.

  “You know, my dear,” he added, “I have a head of security back in my home valley.”

  Lavarette’s eyes widened in what Muze could see was mock surprise. “Oh? You don’t say. And here I thought Razure was your head of security.”

  “My sweet girl,” King Waylon laughed. “Razure is a warrior. He is the head of my security forces,” he proclaimed loftily. “It’s an entirely different thing.”

  Dumuzi and everyone else knew Lavarette had handled more than her fair share of physical combat in hell when rescuing first Dagon, then Kulla. The blue king didn’t know of Dagon’s extraction and seemed to have wiped Lavarette’s heroics with Kulla from his mind.

  She’d set him straight.

  Without taking her eyes off of the royal, Lavarette called over her shoulder. “Raze?”

  Just that use of the tall guy’s nickname should have told Waylon something was brewing…that the two were well acquainted. “Tell your king what we did last night while he was on video conference with his home.”

  That got the king looking askance—jealousy if Muze was any judge.

  “Your lordship,” Razure stood tall and cleared his throat, but refused to look directly at his ruler. It was obvious he’d never crossed his boss before and wasn’t comfortable starting now. He remained respectful. “Ms. Lavarette and I were sparring in the gym.”

  The king’s brows came together, and he became thoughtful, letting go of whatever suspicion had clouded his face. “A good way to remain fit,” he allowed, clearly not quite happy the two were interacting but relieved, nonetheless. “I hope you were careful with her, Razure.”

  The top guard couldn’t hold back a snort. “Yeah…I mean, yes, sir. I was careful,” he agreed, before adding snarkily, “careful to remain alert.”

  “Alert?” Waylon looked suitably confused. “To what ends? I fail to see any danger to you or Lavarette in Marduk’s household.”

  Geeze. Dumuzi’s and a dozen other heads shook. The king was particularly thick.

  “Sweetness.” Butter would have melted in Lavarette’s mouth as she addressed Waylon. Her liquid tones as she reached up and
wrapped her hands behind the huge king’s head lulled the giant man. She stood on tiptoe and put her lips to his ear. “Raze didn’t mean he was looking for resident hostiles,” she crooned.

  “What then?” The royal bent so to better accommodate the glowie.

  “Silly. He was protecting himself from friendly fire.”

  “Friendly…”

  Lavarette brought her head sharply into contact with the king’s cranium, stopping anything else coming from his mouth. His head snapped back, then rocked forward, dropping so when the glowie lifted her skull, she caught him a hard clip under his chin.

  The blue gargantuan staggered backward and crashed against the wall. Everyone who had been behind him moved quickly away, fully aware what was about to happen. The toppling tree had plenty of room to fall, and when he did, Dumuzi bit back the urge to yell “timberrrr” because the king looked cross-eyed, but pissed off enough to start a fire with Muze’s tendrils.

  But speaking of pissed off…

  “Don’t mess with me, Waylon.” Lavarette glared down at him. “I’m the king’s Champion in the Underworld. If you’re interested in me, don’t think you’re going to take that away from me or forget who I am for a single moment.”

  “Bravo, Lavarette. Well done.” Nergal stood up and clapped. He’d clearly known from their first meeting how fierce the petite glowie was, and there hadn’t been any hesitation on his part before naming her as his Champion. He let the full extent of his amusement show on his face. Dumuzi thought him very brave, but perhaps Nergal―being a king himself―had some kind of immunity to royal retribution. Still, Muze wondered how it would go between the two kings after that PDA…public display of aggression.

  Lavarette was another who didn’t seem intimidated.

  “So, Dumuzi, you were saying?” The glowie turned to him and continued the conversation as if Waylon had never interceded.

  “Umm,” the swamp god coughed and regrouped. “I asked if you and a contingent of your warriors would like to accompany me to hunt down these rogue demons.”