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As disasters go, it wasn't spectacular or even awe-inspiring. The earth didn't tremble, pillars of fire didn't speak, and locusts didn't darken the sky. All I did was turn the key in the ignition of my piece of shit car. It lurched forward hard and hit the curb in front of Hector's house.
"No," I groaned. By the time I shoved open the door and stepped out of my car, dark smoke poured from the engine compartment. Tapping my God power, I summoned a fire extinguisher and cautiously touched the hood. It wasn't hot, but to be safe, I carefully raised it and stood back. The smoke made me cough. I waved it away and peered into the engine compartment. There was no fire, but every hose was melted into black goo. The timing belt was shredded into pieces. How could that happen? I was a God. Why wasn't my life perfect?
Being a God was nothing like I imagined it to be. I thought that the Gods did whatever they wanted. It sure seemed that way. In reality, being the God of Sex was a job. A twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week job. Not that I was complaining--much. I got paid in worship, which gave me power. The catch--and there was always a catch--was that I couldn't keep all of it. No God who hoarded power kept believers happy for long, so most of what I took in went right back to my worshippers in the form of answered prayers. Since so many people appealed for my help, I could have been one of the most powerful Gods, but my Master Hector only let me keep a small allowance of that power. Even though he was the God of Love, he was one strict, badass leather-daddy and he kept me on a very short leash. I worshipped him for that.
As I stared stupidly down at the devastation in theengine compartment of my car, Hector stood on the narrow strip of grass between the curb and the sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of his pleated dress pants. "Sam, those are your new shoes," he said.
Was he speaking English? Because what he said made no sense.
He clenched his jaw. "Look what you're standing in."
That I understood. A vile pool of motor oil and coolant seeped from under the car and surrounded me. The buckskin leather of my new shoes sucked up the liquid and turned sickly green where the stain had spread.
I reached for my cell phone.
"Who are you calling?" Hector asked.
He rolled his eyes. "Sam, a car doesn't get any deader than that."
"Ray can fix it. He can fix anything." I had near religious reverence for my mechanic. He wasn't a God, but he rated as a deity in my book. As I was dialing, fate delivered the coupe de grace. My car let out a terrible death groan and the engine block shattered into three pieces.
"Even Ray can't fix that." Hector seemed so pleased. I glared at him. He scratched his forehead. "Okay. Call for a tow truck if you want to, you stubborn little mule. But I'm telling you that there's no power on earth that can make your car run again."
Knowing better, I still put a hand on my hip and sneered at Hector. "Oh, ye of little faith. Just watch. Ray will work his magic and it'll be running in no time."