Hour of Mischief (23 page)

“Not really, no,” I said. “I know I fought one today, but I’m not exactly clear on what she was. She seemed as if she could control wind, or something. And even though she was in human shape she looked. . . .”

“Not entirely solid?” Itazura finished for me.

“More or less,” I said.

“That’s because wendigoes were first created by the master of winds. Autumn, the Elder God. He was the most chaotic of those four,” Itazura said. “He created the wendigoes for a bit of fun, because he didn’t relate to the ways of humans. After all, weather and seasons go on, even when humans do not exist. Wendigoes were more to his liking.”

“And what do they do?” I asked. “They eat people?”

“Not exactly,” Itazura paused with his tweezers. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glance of his heavy expression. He seemed to be trying to find the best words to minimize my likely strong reaction. “They dine on human souls. Not their bodies.” He rubbed a hand nervously over the back of his head. “Basically, since the soul is what moves on into one of the realms of afterlife–Paradise, the Abyss or Purgatory–the wendigo keeps the human it consumes from moving on. It traps the soul in an eternity of torment surrounded by other souls as it is slowly driven insane.”

I guess Itazura pretty much gave up on finding the best words, because his explanation was probably the worst possible thing I could hear. My throat closed up. The invisible noose returned, but this time it wasn’t a dream. More tears sprang to my eyes, the beginnings of a flood I couldn’t stop.

“Then . . . when they went through the prison, my friends were–”

“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion so soon,” Itazura said.

“Why not?” My voice cracked. “It seems pretty obvious. My friends were trapped in a cell with no weapons. If one of those creatures found them, they wouldn’t be able to run or fight back.” Hysteria started to take hold and my flood kept coming, much to my horror. I could count on two hands how many times I had cried in my life and yet in the last two days, I had cried twice. Both in front of the damn God of Mischief. “They’re gone. One of those things ate their souls and now they’re suffering because of me.”

“Janet.”

“If I had acted faster, or given in to Meroquio or
something,
then maybe they would be alive. But I didn’t. And now they’re all suffering because of me, because I couldn’t save them.”

“Janet, stop,” Itazura said, but I kept going like he hadn’t spoken at all.

“You said the clock wasn’t ticking on them. That they would be fine. ‘They aren’t in a burning building, little human,’ that’s what you told me.”

My fingers dug into the cushions. I wanted to rip them apart. I wanted to rip
something
other than my heart apart. “Well, they
were
on a ticking clock and I failed them. Just like I failed before. Just like I’ve
always
failed. I’m–”

“Janet,
shut up.”
Itazura snapped, gripping my shoulder hard enough to make me wince. The words died in my throat at his hard tone. I’d never heard him speak in such a severe voice. “Great Abyss, I
hate
it when you humans do this. You go over all the things you should have done in your head as if somehow that will make things any better.

“I may not believe our world is completely governed by fate in time but I
do
know this about the clock. It can’t be turned back. Not by guilt. Not by anger. Not by placing blame. Not by cursing or wishing or wallowing around in our sorrow. Time keeps on going. And it’s cruel, but you can’t do a damn thing about it. Even the gods can’t turn back time.”

I turned my head into the cushion, as if I could block out his words but he jerked my shoulder.

“Janet, look at me.” Slowly I turned my head and found Itazura kneeling beside the couch looking straight into my eyes. “Whatever happened to your friends isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have protected them. And even if you had persuaded Meroquio, the word wouldn’t have gotten out in time. I said I would release them after the majority of the human race found out about this.

“Rumors take time. If I had known this would happen. . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Look, if you want to blame someone, if that really makes you feel better, you might as well blame me.

“Isn’t that what a lot of humans do when they’re angry? Blame the gods.” He looked back at me. “Just don’t blame yourself. It really gets under my skin. This wasn’t your fault. This happened because of circumstances a whole lot bigger than you. More than you can even understand.”

“I know it’s bigger than me,” I murmured. “That’s why I can’t understand why you would go to me. Why not someone else? Anyone else?”

“It doesn’t matter why I chose you,” Itazura said. “But I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think you would succeed. I’m sorry about what happened to your friends along the way. I didn’t want them to be hurt. Do you trust me on that?”

I laughed weakly. “Trust the God of Mischief?”

Itazura’s mouth twitched. “I don’t lie all the time, little human, as fun as it is.” He reached out and grasped a strand of my hair between his fingers, twirling it absently. “And I’m trying not to lie to you.”

I bit my lip and closed my eyes as more tears threatened to spill over. “I just wish–”

“I know.” Itazura murmured. “Don’t devote your wishes to the past, Janet. Those never come true. The future comes with so many more possibilities.” He shrugged. “Besides, they could have survived. There would have been a commotion. The vigilants wouldn’t be concerned with the prisoners. They could be all right.”

“Do you really believe that?” I stared up at him.

“There’s always a possibility,” Itazura said slowly. “But whatever the case . . . don’t blame this on yourself anymore. Blame me if you have to.”

“I can’t blame you,” I muttered. “Even though I wish I could. You’re making it difficult.”

“Really? How so?” Itazura asked.

“You’ve sort of saved my life twice. I wouldn’t be very grateful if I blamed you for this now.”

“True, but that hasn’t stopped you from verbally abusing me every chance you get,” Itazura said.

“You ask for it,” I countered.

He chuckled and let my strand of hair fall from his fingers. “Perhaps I do.” For a moment, we just stared at each other again. And maybe it was my imagination, but his face seemed to drift a little closer to mine. A strange gleam lit his eyes, something I couldn’t name. My mind had gone startlingly blank.

After what seemed like an eternity, Itazura stood abruptly. “We should probably get the rest of this glass out of your back.”

“Yeah.” I released a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. “Good idea.”

We didn’t speak for the remainder of the night, an amazing feat considering how much we usually argued.

I guess in that moment, nothing more needed to be said.

woke the next morning to the feeling of a cool cloth dabbing against my still deep wounds. I flinched as the cloth pressed against a particularly nasty cut. “Ow.”

“Good morning,” Laetatia said, cheerfully. “Itazura said that your back might need cleaning this morning, so he sent me to handle it.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” I muttered.

“You slept through it for quite a while,” Laetatia said. “I’ve been at this for five minutes and you’re just now waking up. Wendigo fights take it out of you, don’t they?” She cracked her neck as if yesterday’s ordeal had made her sore as well. “Though I guess you would be worse off if Itazura hadn’t healed your ribs.”

I tensed. “Listen, I didn’t ask him to heal me. It just ended up being worse than we thought and he’s damn stubborn so–”

Laetatia laughed, “Relax, I’ve already heard the explanation from Itazura. Funny, he started babbling too, when I found out. There, that should do it.” She rose from her perch on the edge of the couch, carrying the wet, slightly bloody cloth with her. “Since your injury could have killed you, I gave him a free pass. If you died, we’d be even worse off.” She turned to look at me, leaning back against the counter top of her private bar. “Of course if you hadn’t rushed off after us like an idiot, you wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.”

“I know, I know. I’ve heard it from Itazura already.” I huffed.

“I imagine. He was worried about you,” Laetatia said. “I haven’t seen him so concerned over a human in a long time. Itazura usually isn’t one to let many things bother him.”

I shrugged, “I’m sort of the host of a portion of his power. I’m not surprised.”

“Not just because of his power,” Laetatia said. “Think about it. If that was the only reason, he wouldn’t have risked it by making a pact with you in the first place.”

“But why else would he care?” I yawned, sitting up on the couch.

Laetatia’s eyes twinkled. “Because he cares about you.”

I froze mid-stretch. “What now?”

“Gods can grow to care about humans,” Laetatia said. “As more than just pawns or worshipers. It’s happened to nearly every god, outside of Mother and Father. And the Clockmaker of course. Even Cheveyo has cared for a few humans, and he’s usually much too fascinated with animals. That’s why gods sometimes have children with humans. Not because we want them. But because we get . . . carried away.”

“Except for Meroquio,” I muttered. “He just lusts over them.”

Laetatia’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps it’s hard for you to believe, but Meroquio used to fall in love with humans all the time. Real love. That is his domain after all.” She wove her fingers together. “But it was hard on him falling in love so many times. Humans kept on dying. Or leaving. It just became easier for him to turn to lust as opposed to real love. That way he can’t get hurt. And that’s why your gears didn’t mesh quite as well with him.” She scratched her chin. “Also, he’s not the only one who sleeps around. It’s a God thing. We get bored sometimes, you know?”

“Uh . . . right.” I picked at the broken edge of a nail I had busted in my fight yesterday. “So you’ve . . . grown to care about humans before?”

“I have,” she said. “Sometimes I grew to care about them as friends. As really good drinking buddies. Like the founder of this tavern here. This place has been standing for nearly two hundred years now and I helped the owner get it as a token of my friendship. That’s why I’m so welcome here.” She observed her fingernails. “Being the Goddess of Festivities and Merriment, I don’t usually enjoy more serious emotions like love. I like fun. So I didn’t often become truly infatuated with a human.”

“But you have before,” I said.

“I have.” She nodded. “Once quite recently too. Only twenty years ago. He came into this tavern, just like you and challenged me to a drinking competition. He held his liquor even better than you did. An incredible talent. He had guts and I admired that. But I didn’t think much of our encounter when he left the next day. Then he came back. He came back every time I stopped by the tavern, just to drink with me. Before I knew it, I started to look forward to his presence. I got worried if he came late or didn’t show up. Worried like one of Meroquio’s silly lovers.” She smiled fondly and shook her head. “I knew it was foolish to fall in love with a human, but the gods have a hard time explaining emotion. Even Viden and Kaval, the all-knowing twins, struggle with the concept. It’s . . . hard to grasp.”