Agave Kiss

a nod, encouraging him to go on, when I feared the conclusion of his revelation.

“Chance has shed his mortal skin and dwells among the gods now. He will assume the mantle of Daikokuten, as he was always meant to do.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

“You’re a clever woman,” he said approvingly. “He refuses to drink from the fountain of renewal and claim his godhood. He thinks of nothing but getting back to you, of keeping his promise. So I’ve come to appeal to your conscience. Do what’s best . . . and let him go.”

The request hit me like a blackjack in the back of the head, and the pain came as a shock in contrast to the sunny splendor of the meadow. For a few seconds, I couldn’t get my breath; the idea of never seeing him again felt like it might kill me.

Then I realized I didn’t care what Ebisu wanted. He’d let Min raise Chance alone all these years. If I could bring him back to her, I would. But I wasn’t that unselfish because I wanted him back for me too, for the life he’d promised me.

Yet it didn’t seem like a good idea to defy a god, even a small one, on his home turf. If I declined, maybe he wouldn’t let me go. So I prevaricated.

“Will I have the opportunity to say good-bye?”

“One last meeting, I can permit,” he said quietly. “But then, Daikokuten must accept his destiny. One cannot fight fate . . . and he is not meant for you.”

“So you had a son, knowing he would die?” That sounded so horrible, so calculating. And it reinforced my decision not to fall in with his plan.

“Everyone dies, Corine Solomon. I did not know the manner of his passing. It is not given to me to see the future, but I did know he would come to me in time.”

That was a little better than the Christian version of this story, anyway. At least he hadn’t known what would happen to Chance, when he lay down with Min in the orchard all those years ago. I offered a watery smile, trying to seem resigned.

Instead of dead stubborn, which was what I’d always been.

“It must’ve been hard to leave them,” I said softly.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But all great deeds are done with purpose. I will summon Daikokuten. Please keep your conversation short, as my power is limited.” His friendly, open face grew wistful. “People do not visit the shrines as they once did.”

“I understand. I’ll be brief.”

What do I even say, I wondered. I can’t let on, even to Chance. No answers came to me; then my love was striding along the river, his steps quickening as he glimpsed me. He pushed into a run, and I met him. His arms came around me, and he buried his face in my hair. The wind blew, carrying the sweetness of blooming flowers and the gentle hint of mist from the river. It would’ve been perfect if I hadn’t known how the interlude ended. I breathed him in, trying to store up the memories for when he was lost to me for good, even in dreams.

You have to do this, I told myself. Otherwise, he’ll give the ruse away and Ebisu may keep you here, keep you from saving him.

“I missed you,” he whispered. “But I’ve got a lock on a solution. There’s a weak spot between the realms. I found out how my father passed into our world. There’s a particular festival when—”

I couldn’t let him continue. So I kissed him. He’d shut me up that way before, but it wasn’t a strategy I employed often. Fortunately, he fell into the kiss with a fierce hunger, tasting me as if I were a delectable treat he hadn’t enjoyed in months. I ran my fingers through his hair, traced down his neck and shoulders. My arms tightened around him compulsively; letting go might prove more than I could bear.

Then I said the words, praying he believed them, hoping he didn’t. “You can’t go down this road.”

He reacted as if I’d punched him. “Are you kidding? We can do this, I swear. I don’t have the same juice my father has because he’s stored it up from the years of reverences, but I have a little residual power from the shrines. I just need some help from your side, and I can come through. And unlike my father, I won’t leave again.”

Ebisu appeared beside us then, his face stern. “What he is not telling you, Corine Solomon, is that if he does this foolish thing, he yields all claim to immortality. He will be stripped of his power and become nothing more than a mortal man. No luck. No magick. No future.”

“No future, except the one I choose . . . with her,” Chance bit out, his eyes livid with rage. “I already told you once, I’m not staying. I don’t want to be a god. I don’t want to be worshipped. The whispers from the shrines are fucking creepy.”

“So you hear them.” Ebisu seemed pleased. “Good. Very good. Now then.” He turned to me. “It’s time for you to go . . . and you will not be welcome here again.”

I opened my mouth to convince Ebisu I’d lost my resolve, but somehow, what came out was: “I love you, Chance.”

Please let that be enough. Let him know I won’t stop until he’s back with me.

When I woke, I had tears streaming down my cheeks, burning salt in the corners of my eyes. I swiped my hands across my cheeks and rolled out of bed. It was ridiculously early, considering what time I’d gotten to sleep, but four-hour bursts had been the norm since I got back from Sheol. If I wasn’t dreaming of Chance, I had nightmares about what happened in the demon realm. Gods, I was a fucking mess.

Butch roused when I went into the kitchen to put on some coffee, so I let him out and he did his business in the backyard. His nails clicked on the patio as he came back inside to investigate his dish, which I took the hint and filled, then freshened up his water. I knelt to pet him.

I wondered if I was being selfish, so single-minded in my intentions. Ebisu had seemed so positive it was Chance’s destiny. Would he be better off becoming a god? Such an odd question. But then Barachiel was certain I was destined to help him rewrite the world, and he couldn’t be more wrong.

Maybe the dog has an opinion.

“What do you think? Should I let Chance go?” I asked Butch.

Obviously, I didn’t mean it. There wasn’t a force on earth that could get me to deviate from this goal. But he took me seriously. Instead of eating his breakfast, he trotted into the living room to nudge my purse. I took that to mean he wanted the Scrabble tiles, so I got them out, then plopped on the floor to watch him sort them with his paws. After a few minutes of arranging them, the message emerged:

chance doesnt want to be a god

“How do you know that?” I demanded. “You don’t see my dreams, do you?”

The dog huffed out a disgusted sigh, as if he couldn’t believe I’d ask that. “How am I supposed to know what you can do?” I muttered. “How, then?”

chance is dead i see ghosts

Aha. I did remember that Butch had warned us once via that same skill. So that meant . . . “You see Chance sometimes? He’s here. I just can’t see or hear him.”

That earned me the affirmative yap. “Do you talk to him much?” He cocked his head, and I rephrased. “Fine, do you hear him much?”

Affirmative yap. “Oh, wow. Can you pass his messages along to me?”

thats why im doing this

“Okay, go for it.”

he says please dont give up

That meant he hadn’t been sure what to make of my mixed messages. So he was reduced to begging the dog to keep me on track. Regardless of Ebisu’s convictions, only what Chance wanted mattered to me. I’d push on, no matter what.

“Is he here now?” I glanced around, wishing I could see the world through Butch’s eyes.

But I got the negatory yaps. Then Butch trotted off to eat his breakfast, which I took to mean the conversation was over, so I scooped up the Scrabble tiles and put them away. My head ached from the interrupted sleep. The dreams, possibly because they were incredibly vivid, didn’t offer the same restorative quality as REM ones. I suspected energy might literally be drawn from me to make such communication possible. Certainly I felt more exhausted than before I went to bed, and that wasn’t a good sign, given everything I needed to accomplish