Chapter Nine

The second Quill drove her home the following morning, Twyla took off the torture devices that were her heels, but any aspirations she had of sneaking into her own house first thing Allgodsday morning without her daughter catching her were dashed when she found Hope waiting for her in the parlor, sipping a cup of coffee and smiling smugly. "Good morning, you lucky bitch."

"Language! Why do you kids think you can talk that way around me? I'm your mother, no matter how old you are."

"You're my mother, who was out all night with Professor Cute Accent. How was your walk of shame this morning?"

Twyla sniffed. "It's not a walk if someone drives you."

"Oh? Did he drive you?"

"I am not going to dignify that with a response."

"I hate to be awkward here, but since you're getting it on with Dr. Vanderlinden, I have to ask: You're using protection, aren't you?"

Twyla had never thought she'd have these particular words thrown back in her face. She needed an aspirin.

"You do realize I'm postmenopausal, right?"

"You do realize you can catch a venereal disease, right?"

"Fine! I was careful, Dr. Banneker! Happy now?"

"Yes. Was it good? Was it great?"

"Pfft. I am not discussing this with you." Twyla waved a hand through the air as if she could erase the entire conversation. "Are you coming with me to temple?"

"No. I have a shift at eleven, and also I don't want to."

"It wouldn't kill you to thank the gods of creation every now and again."

"Thank you, gods of creation!" Hope shouted at the ceiling.

"Heathen."

With that parting shot, one that did not affect her daughter in the least, Twyla went to her bedroom to get ready for temple. How different was her reflection in the closet mirror this morning compared to last night? Her black pants and borrowed top were wrinkled from having spent the night on a hotel room floor. Last night's eye makeup formed a pair of black half-moon smudges under her eyes, even though she had tried to wash off the mascara in Quill's bathroom at the hotel. Her hair, frizzy at the best of times, looked like she'd spent a couple of hours driving along the waterway with the top down, which, come to think of it, she had. And she was more than thrilled to remove the bra, which had made ruddy marks on her skin where it had dug into her middle-aged softness, not to mention the supposedly sexy underwear that was taking a ride in her crack. The miracle of it was that Dr. Quill Vanderlinden, professor of dracology at the University of Quindaro and son of the seventh Earl of Alcomworth, wanted this. And she had willingly given it. And she found that she did not regret it one single bit.

That would be fodder for meditation at the altar of a god.

She made herself presentable as quickly as she could and walked to All Gods Temple, where the devout population of Eternity filed in with their weekly offerings to the New Gods.

Twyla meandered down the center aisle, contemplating to which god she would make an offering today. The ceiling arching above her was painted deep black, with all the constellations depicted in soft white, a replica of the altar of the sky with the gods that had come and gone long before. It reminded her of riding in Quill's autoduck under the stars. In the center of the ceiling was the skylight that represented the Unknown God, the first of all the gods, their life the only life that would truly last forever in the Void Beyond the Sky.

Although the temple was crowded today, it was also quiet. Friends and neighbors might murmur hello to each other, but temple was a place for quiet reflection, not socializing.

There were many alcoves lining the long aisle of the building. The six largest were dedicated to the gods of life and death. Twyla usually prayed at the altar of the Mother of Sorrows, the god to whom one went to let go of one's hardships and be reminded of one's joys. But there were good reasons to pray to any and all of the gods.

After Doug died, Twyla had done the requisite mourning in the death gods' alcoves, but the gods of death had other qualities, too. As the god of doorways, the Warden was the deity of introspection and change, of looking to the past and the future. As the divine being who separated body and soul, Grandfather Bones was the god of peace and acceptance, of the fleetingness of all things. The Salt Sea was the god of journeys, of treading new paths and trying new things.

Even so, the faithful tended to drift toward the alcoves of the gods of life. In addition to the Mother of Sorrows, there were the Bride of Fortune and Grandmother Wisdom. The Bride of Fortune was the god of hope but also the god of balance, of finding positive in the negative. As the god of aging with grace and dignity, Grandmother Wisdom also guided the faithful through life's moral dilemmas, helping a person untie the knotty problems that kept them awake at night.

Twyla decided to pray in the alcove of Grandmother Wisdom this morning. The marble-topped altar stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling mosaic depicting the god, an old woman who sat at a loom. Her many-colored threads snarled together in a tapestry of living complexity, a symbol of the beauty that could be found in facing life's complications. Twyla placed her offering—a cream cheese pastry she had picked up at the bakery on the way over—on the god's altar, then sat in one of the pews in the alcove to pray.

She had intended to mull over her evening with Quill, but instead, it was her daughter who came to the forefront of her mind. She thought of Hope, sitting on the couch with her cup of coffee, home for a few weeks before returning to the grind of medical school. Would she and Everett wait two years, when the world would know her as Dr. Banneker, before they tied the knot, or would they get married sooner?

Tying a knot. What an apt metaphor it was, to commit oneself to something that was easily done and extremely difficult to undo, especially once children were involved. Yes, Everett was kind and considerate, but he was also a man.

Speaking of men, Twyla said to Grandmother Wisdom in the privacy of her mind, turning her thoughts to Quill. She contemplated what had transpired in his hotel room, her self-consciousness in removing her clothes in front of someone who was not her husband, and his delicate and generous appreciation of her middle-aged body. She'd been so worried about what he would think of her that she had not concerned herself overly much with what she thought of him. In hindsight, she could better admire how his body had felt under her hands, lean muscles and coarse hair, so different from what she was used to, an entirely new landscape to explore.

And yet.

He had certainly demonstrated a finesse and self-assurance that were markedly different from Doug's style, which, over the course of two decades of married life, had not evolved much past their first high school fumblings. But while Quill's touch had been welcome, it hadn't gotten her where she needed to go. This was not entirely his fault. It was much more difficult for her to find release at her age. But she had ended up faking it last night, which didn't sit well with her.

She did not regret having sex with Quill, but if she was being perfectly honest, she was disappointed. She had never been intimate with anyone other than Doug, and she had long suspected that sex was overrated. No one really had the life-altering sex that fictional characters experienced in the romance novels she devoured. Wasn't that why people—mostly women—read romance novels in the first place, to experience the kind of love and desire that existed only in the imagination?

And yet there was a tiny part of her that had hoped she was wrong, that men who could make love to her in a way that made her toes curl existed in reality. Sex with Quill wasn't bad, but it wasn't great either, and Twyla was now facing the unfortunate truth that she would never have sex with another human being that couldn't be outdone by a smutty book and a good vibrator.

I know, I know, Twyla prayed to Grandmother Wisdom. This is not a real problem, and I should get over myself. Please look after my Hope and make sure she doesn't get pregnant before age thirty at the earliest.

Twyla had nothing left to pray for, but she stayed where she was, her butt growing numb on the wooden seat. Quill was already heading into Tanria, which meant that he was going to see Frank before she did. Surely, he wouldn't tell him the specifics about what had transpired last night. She realized then that she had no intention of telling Frank the specifics either, which whiffed of lying to her best friend. But then again, Frank had never divulged the details of his own sex life to her, and he had most definitely had plenty of sex since his divorce. It had never bothered her, so why would it bother him that she was finally having sex again, too?

Why am I even worried about this? she asked Grandmother Wisdom.

Sunlight shone in from the Unknown God's skylight and struck the mosaic in such a way that it looked like Grandmother Wisdom's eyes were twinkling, as if she were laughing at Twyla.

Twyla pulled up outside Duckers's apartment building first thing Sorrowsday. He was waiting for her out front, holding hands with Zeddie Birdsall, who was pouting mightily.

"I can take you," Zeddie told Duckers as Twyla put the autoduck in park. "I don't have to be at Proserpina's until this afternoon."

"I know, but Twyla and I are working together. We're going to the same place at the same time. And she's already here."

Zeddie gave Duckers's hand a sulky yet affectionate shake. "Gods' tits, Pen, we barely get to spend time together as it is. Why are you making it so that we're spending even less time together?"

Twyla cringed. She did not want to overhear such a personal conversation, but there was no escape. She sank into the bench in a feeble attempt to disappear.

"Twyla offered to give me a ride. Don't read weird shit into it."

"But you're going to be gone for two whole weeks," Zeddie whined, although he somehow made it sound endearing. "Is it wrong that I'd like to spend twenty extra minutes with you?"

Twyla sank lower.

"I've got time off in the middle of this tour for the wedding. You'll see me in four days." Duckers relinquished his boyfriend's hand to chuck his pack into the hold. "I gotta go, Z. I love you."

"I love you, too, jerk face."

They kissed one last time before Duckers got into the cab and Twyla drove off, with Zeddie shrinking in her rearview mirror. The rookie stared out the passenger-side window, sulking.

Twyla nudged him. "Want to talk about it?"

"It's complicated."

"Try me. If you want. No pressure."

Duckers sat up straighter. "So, I love Zeddie, but he's driving me fucking nuts. I know I'm being a dick, but… here's the deal: I have my own place now, for the first time ever. I've never even had my own room before, and now I have a whole-ass apartment. And I like it. And sometimes when I come home from work, I want everyone—including my boyfriend—to leave me the fuck alone, and I mean that in the nicest possible way."

Twyla sympathized with this sentiment to her bones. "Have you told him that?"

"No. How am I supposed to tell my boyfriend to leave me the fuck alone?"

"There are probably better ways to put it," she conceded.

She assumed he would spend the trip staring out the window and stewing. Instead, he flashed her a strong side-eye.

"What is that look about?"

"I heard a certain someone went out to a fancy-ass restaurant with Dr. Vanderluscious?"

"Mother of Sorrows, have mercy. I've already been grilled by my daughter."

Duckers steepled his fingers. "Did he wear fancy shorts and a fancy ass-cot for his fancy dinner out with his fancy lady?"

"I am not discussing my love life with you."

"No fair. You know all about my love life."

"And whose choice was that?"

"Cruel woman."

Twyla thought about Quill, the impish look in his eyes when he said they should take his glorious autoduck out on the waterway. He had looked handsome last night.

"He wore a suit, for your information," she informed Duckers. "It was very dapper."

"Was tweed involved? Because I heard tweed was involved."

"Yes."

"Were there corduroy patches on the elbows?"

"Maybe."

Duckers gasped and clutched his non-existent pearls. "Twyla Middle Name Banneker, did you remove Professor Vander-elbow-patches's jacket?"

Twyla kept her eyes on the road and willed her blush from blooming across her cheeks. "Have you met my daughter yet? I think you two would get along like gangbusters. And it's Josephine."

"Who's Josephine? Are you telling me that Dr. Vanderlucky is into threesomes?"

"What? No! That's my middle name: Josephine."

"Throuples are a thing, Twyla. There's no shame here."

"We're not a throuple. We're hardly a couple. It was one dinner out. Good gods."

"I've seen his legs, and all I can say is, good on you, ma'am." He gave her a congratulatory salute.

"Did I just get ma'am-ed?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't make me sing at you, Duckers."

He mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

When they arrived at the West Station, they found Ellis, Banneker she knew they were harmless, but when you got up close, they were awfully big.

The babies were every bit as cute as Mary Georgina, and Twyla couldn't help but laugh indulgently as they frolicked together on the water, one of them splashing and trying to dunk the other. They reminded her of kittens pouncing on their litter mates.

"And they're all female?" Twyla asked Frank, but it was Quill who answered, popping his head out of the drooping willow branches like an actor sticking his head out of velvet theater curtains.

"I believe so, yes. Hallo, darling." He sauntered over to her and kissed her, nothing over the top, but she wasn't sure how she felt about being called darling or receiving a kiss while she was on the clock. Frank gave a start, his face a mask of revulsion, as if both Twyla and Quill had broken out into seeping boils. She could not specifically recall having seen Frank kiss one of his lady friends, but she was certain she must have at some point, and she was equally certain she hadn't responded with a look of sheer horror. Now she was annoyed with both men, one for mixing work and romance, the other for behaving as if her having a love life was revolting to behold.

"In answer to your question," said Quill, oblivious to Frank's disgust and Twyla's irritation, "I cannot say that I have gotten up close and personal with our Draconis family here, but as far as I can tell, none of them present demonstrable hemipenile bulges at the base of their tails."

"Is that your way of saying they don't have nuts?" asked Duckers. "Because all I heard from that was penile."

"Lizards do not have the same genital presentation as mammals, but you are correct in that they do not have the reproductive organs one might expect to find on a male dragon."

"So, where are all these babies coming from?" asked Twyla.

"That is the question that I have been discussing with Marshal Ellis and Chief Maguire. This particular family spends a significant amount of time here at the lake, but they do not seem to be nesting here. To better understand dragon behavior and reproduction, we must discover their nesting site."

"Which will also help us figure out next steps," said Maguire.

"Precisely. And, hopefully, we will be able to rehome Marshal Ellis's young dragon friend."

Meep, said Mary Georgina, as if she could sense that they were discussing her. What remained of Frank's smile disappeared entirely.

"On that note." Maguire dusted off the brim of her hat and put it on her head. "I miss my wife, and I'm going home. I'll check in with you soon. In the meantime, send a message with Hermia if anything comes up."