“Fantastic,” the DFZ said, scraping all of her ledgers into the drawer again before sinking the whole desk back under the ground without a trace. “Just make sure you do it on your own time. You’ve got a lot of work to do, and you’re losing enough hours to training as it is.”
“My training was your idea,” I reminded her.
“And it was a wonderful one,” she agreed. “You’re making marvelous progress! But that doesn’t mean your other priestly duties don’t still need to get done.” She sighed. “When you’re a real priestess, I’ll be able to take over your body and remove your need for sleep. Until then, we’ll just have to limp by on aggressive scheduling.”
She smiled eagerly at me. I did my best to return it, but my face was already slipping. I knew she didn’t mean to be creepy, and again, I liked my life with the DFZ for the most part. The training was great, and my work was interesting. If that was all there was to it, I’d probably have agreed to join her priesthood already, but then she went and said stuff like this that made me want to run for the hills.
I knew she didn’t mean to be a tyrant, but the DFZ wasn’t exactly a city known for her relaxed pace or healthy work-life balance. People died of overwork here on the regular. I’d almost died of it during the crazy three weeks Nik and I were raiding. My service was supposed to be strictly voluntary, just a temporary gig, but I’d clearly been here too long. Now she was talking about taking away my sleep like it was a done deal, and I just couldn’t. I had to get my dad up, get this debt paid off, and get away from this situation before I slipped and accidentally ended up in the DFZ’s service for the rest of eternity.
“Thank you for the help,” I said, bowing reverently to hide the nervous sweat rolling down my face. “I promise I won’t fall behind on my duties while attending to my father.”
“You never do,” she said in a voice that was equal parts praise and warning. “Just make sure to stay on your guard when you do the summoning. This may come as a shock, but the Spirit of Dragons has a bad habit of taking what isn’t hers. I know she’s stolen priests from other spirits. Not saying it’ll happen to you, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “The last thing I want to be is owned by a dragon ever again.”
“That’s my girl,” the DFZ said proudly. “Dr. Kowalski is getting nervous, so I’ll go ahead and give you back to her. Good luck on the rest of your training today, and keep me posted on what happens with your dad. I’ll already know, of course, but I still like to hear your version.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly, but the god was already gone, fading back into Dr. Kowalski, who gave herself a shake.
“She’s chatty today,” my teacher said, blinking rapidly as if she were getting used to being back in her own head. “Not that I mind being a vessel for the divine, but I don’t understand why she feels the need to check in on you so often. She can see your progress through my mind anytime she wants.”
“You mean she doesn’t do this to all her priests?” I asked, carrying my crate of liquor over to the kitchen door so I wouldn’t forget it when I left.
“No way,” Dr. Kowalski said. “She’s normally pretty hands-off, but I guess she doesn’t need to keep tabs on those of us who’ve already committed like she does for you.”
I could have done with far less tabbing, but arguing with gods didn’t normally end well for mortals, so I let it go and moved on. “Ready to get back to the trellis?”
“Absolutely,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “But let’s do it by hand this time. We don’t want to overwork your magic, and a strong body is also part of being a good Shaman!”
I shrank back with a shudder. I know I’d just been complaining that pulling up stakes with magic was hard, but that was a lot of holes to dig by hand.
“Don’t make that face,” Dr. Kowalski scolded. “Weren’t you a Cleaner? You should be used to hard labor, so grab a shovel and let’s do this. Gardens don’t tend themselves, you know.”
With a mournful look at the sun riding dangerously close its zenith, I retied my sweat-damp hair into a higher ponytail and got back to work, reminding myself over and over that this was my chosen torture and a lot better than the alternative, which was dead.
***
By the time we got the trellis set up in its new location two hours later, I was done both physically and mentally. Dr. Kowalski fed me lunch as always, setting out the usual spread of boiled beans, grains, and fresh vegetables from the garden. There was steamed pumpkin this time as well, which I didn’t have the heart to tell her I couldn’t stand. Even though the orange North American pumpkins tasted nothing like kabocha, the smell still made me ill. I couldn’t even eat pumpkin pie, which was a tragic loss if American holiday specials were anywhere close to reality.
Technically, Dr. Kowalski didn’t need to eat since she wasn’t actually alive, but that didn’t stop her from wolfing down her half of the meal, encouraging me to eat more between giant bites. I did so to be polite, though to be honest, I was getting pretty sick of the leafy greens and quinoa parade. But free food was free food, so I forced down as much as I could stomach, washing my plate in the sink and placing it on the drying rack before grabbing
