by G. R. Ashford
My clients arrived ten minutes early. I left them waiting for a few minutes before I emerged from my office. Looking across them, they were what I expected. Four women, dressed casually, their faces richly made up. They smelled of perfume, with an undertone of alcohol. Clearly they had some glasses of courage with their lunch. In my line of business, it’s more common than you might think.
My assistant, Amanda, smiled at me uneasily. She hadn’t been in my employ long and was still getting used to my ways. “Doctor, this is your next group,” she chirped.
“Thank you,” I said, sincerely, without a smile. Stepping closer to the group, I bowed slightly. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
The women’s eyes widened in surprise as they saw me, one took a step back. It’s a common reaction. My website has photos of me, but it always seems to take my visitors by surprise that I am exactly as it depicts. The height, the suit—cut for a man’s body— and bare feet. In this culture, in any culture, women weren’t meant to look this way. We were meant to be pretty ornaments for men.
The ladies standing in front of me knew that all too well, for all that they dressed their business up as empowering other women. Bright Empress Beauty: a small chain of beauticians with a small sideline in producing handmade cosmetics to purchase in store, or by mail order. Their logo, a version of the Empress Tarot card, was on every product: one of them was a believer. Perhaps that was why they came to me.
The oldest woman stepped forward and held out a hand. “Hi, good, good afternoon,” she gushed. “I’m Carol, I spoke with your assistant on the phone.”
I nodded my head. “It is good to meet you, Carol. Please, call me Adhama.” It’s not my name, I gave that to the spirits long ago. In Swahili, the word means Glory.
“Adhama,” she repeated, trying the name in her mouth as if it was an exotic flavour of chocolate. Glancing back at one of her friends, a pretty black girl with long braids, like she was checking she’s saying it right. Turning back, she added, “It’s lovely to meet you. I hope it’s okay, but we brought you this as a gift.”
Taking a bag from one of her group, a pale woman with slightly puffy eyes, she held it out to me. A tote, emblazoned with the Empress card and the company name. Inside, there were pots of cream, sachets with face masks and hair colour in them. Useless to me, though I knew enough about the English to feign gratitude.
“Thank you, what a thoughtful gift.” We exchanged pleasantries as Carol introduced the rest of her party: the black girl was Ruby, their marketing and social media person. The woman with puffy eyes, Mary, looked after the manufacturing side of the business. She was Carol’s daughter, and within a few words, I knew she was the believer.
The fourth woman, Zelda, was the sceptic. The others had bought in even before we had begun to work together, but she hung back. Her gaze flicked around the office with a touch of unease mixed with disdain. The second oldest, she didn’t believe in magic, only in hard work, good customer service, and luck.
It was almost a shame; even the takeaway coffee she held had provided tribute to a spirit, even if it had been shaped by someone else, in a different office, thousands of miles away.
Bowing slightly, I gestured to the double doors. “Please, come into my work room, and we’ll begin your consultation.” Leading them inside I let them adjust to the atmosphere. Once used for board meetings, it didn’t resemble a corporate space any more. Cushions sat around a low table with candles in the centre. The walls were dominated by my artwork: spirit pictures of London and other cities, showing their true faces.
London’s painting was the biggest, and showed the city stretching into the distance as it gobbled up other places, its dark goddess-a woman of fire and darkness-rising into the sky above it. Her skirt was a tapestry of buildings and lights, and from the look upon her face, she didn’t care for them at all.
The women milled about for a moment, their nerves mounting as they looked around. “This is weird,” Zelda whispered to Carol, flicking a glance in my direction. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Carol shushed her, but looked across at me too. “It’s a little, um, ethnic in here, isn’t it?” she asked.
“I work with what I can,” I said, coolly. Gesturing to the cushions, I added, “Please sit and we will talk about your needs.”
Mary peeled herself away from the London painting, and sat down almost as soon as I’d finished speaking. “Did you do these paintings, they’re amazing? They remind me of some Aboriginal art I saw in Australia.”
“Yes, they’re my work. Thank you for your kind words.” I gave her a small smile.
The others followed, clearly less comfortable. Lowering themselves into seats, exchanging glances and then looking around the room. Carol perched on the cushion, fiddling with her charm bracelet. At the end of the table, Zelda’s arms were folded. Ruby looked uncertain, glancing around the table nervously. Only Mary seemed relaxed.
“Are you going to give us plant medicine?” she asked. “I had some in Peru, and it was the most profound thing I’ve ever done.” She glanced across at Carol and flinched, even though her mother was absorbed in her own thoughts. Clearly, Mary’s spiritual adventures had been a point of contention at some point, and she feared they still might be.
“I’ll have Amanda make us some tea, shall I?” Without waiting for a reply, I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted her, instructing her to prepare the brew we always serve at the consultations. It’s a slightly hallucinogenic blend which expands the clients’ perceptions. Mary wasn’t far off, but with the English, it’s hard to suggest they take a shamanic journey. They believe themselves too practical and worldly, citing the lack of religious belief the nation is famous for. I remain unconvinced, the people of these isles believe in many gods, they simply mistake their faith for other activities.
Putting the phone away again, I asked, “What brings you to me today? You’ve come far, all the way from Bournemouth, I think?”
Carol’s eyes widened but she nodded and recovered her composure. “How did,” she started, then stopped as she realised. Of course I’d looked them up online, I may work magic, but I’m not an idiot.
“Mum,” Mary chided, shaking her head. She turned to me, face settling into a serious expression. “We need your help. One of our rivals is starting to edge us out in Bournemouth and Dorchester, and we’re barely hanging on in Swanage and Poole. The mail order business has taken a hit and even bringing Ruby in to run our marketing hasn’t turned the situation around.”
“Mary, you’re not meant to say things like that,” Zelda hissed.
“Please don’t worry,” I interjected. “What you say within this room will stay here. Nobody else will know your concerns.” Turning to the younger woman, I added, “Thank you for your honesty.”
Carol looked pensive for a moment, then sighed. “I wish she’d been more discreet, but what she said is true. We heard you’d helped some other businesses. One of the forums Ruby’s on mentioned a company from Wigan. The campaign you put together really turned things around for them. Since Ruby’s quite new in post and we’re in new territory, we thought we should get some extra help.”
I remembered the group from Wigan, a small electronics company looking to boost sales and expand. Their leader, Peter Jenkins almost walked out when he saw the room we sat in, complaining loudly he hadn’t come to consult a ‘new age hippy’. All the same, he’d given me a bonus when the company’s revenue rose.
A nice gesture which hadn’t covered what I’d paid to help them. My stomach roiled and I pressed my hand to it.
What would I pay to help Bright Empress?
“I’m glad I could help.” I looked around them. “I know a little about your company, but why don’t you tell me what’s at the heart of the business, the motivations you have and what you want to achieve.” My gaze flickered to Mary, and I added, “Aside from protecting the business, of course. I think we can all agree that’s a given.”
Carol froze at the question, glancing helplessly around her colleagues. Ruby pulled out a pencil and paper and scribbled something down — thrusting it across the table to her boss. Carol fished her reading glasses out of her bag and squinted at the handwriting.
“We seek to empower women through beauty and wellbeing,” she read. “We want women to feel good about themselves and prosper in their own lives, through good customer service and synergising our efforts to kindle their inner fire.”
The door slid open, Amanda stopped inside, carrying a tray with five cups. Kneeling at the far end, beside Zelda, she set them out.
Zelda sniffed the steam rising from her mug. “What’s this?”
“Just a blend of my own,” I reassured her. “It’s a soothing tea to promote wellbeing and inner beauty.”
Mary and Ruby lifted their mugs and drank deeply. Carol followed them more slowly. She sipped, closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Not proper tea, but okay,” she said. Turning to Zelda, she added, “Are you not drinking yours, Zelly?”
The other woman pulled a face, then lifted her mug, moistening her lips with the contents. “I don’t understand what we’re meant to be doing. I was expecting something more professional.”
“What you call ‘professional’ is a shield you put between you and the world. In order for this to work you must discard it and let your true face shine through,” I told her. Taking a deep gulp of my own tea, I held out a hand to her. “Tell me, Zelda, what inspired you to work for Bright Empress?”
She shrugged. “I dunno, Carol and I were at the same hair salon and there was friction with the owner, wasn’t there Caz?”
“Don’t get me started on her,” Carol said.
“You’d got the money together to start something – just a mobile business and you worked out that between the two of us, we could make a decent living. I wasn’t sure, but then Laura -–our old boss-–fired me, so I ended up with no choice. After that we were thick as thieves. Within five years, we had our first shop, on Christchurch Road. It all snowballed from there, really.”
Carol leant in, taking another sip of tea. “It wasn’t really a big vision thing, we just needed work, and we were both good at beauty. I’d spent loads of time as a kid mucking about with Mum’s makeup, trying all sorts of looks. Zelda was the same. We got lucky.”
That had a ring of truth, far more so than the marketing speak had.
“Oh God, our first shop was so much fun, wasn’t it? I remember Mary running about in the school holidays, helping-–if you want to call it that,” Zelda said. “Everyone was so friendly, we had the radio on and the girls bopped away while they cut hair.”
Carol and Mary joined her, reminiscing about that little place, about music and tea, laughter and tears. There had been weddings and births, divorces and funerals. All of human life squeezed beneath the roof, emotions fashioned into bright, gleaming, memories.
I sat back, letting everything wash over me. Their tongues had been loosened by the tea, and they were giving me what I needed to tease the parts of the puzzle into place. Carol’s face was brighter, her eyes sparkled.
It was time.
Drawing a deep breath I gripped the bone tight, feeling my knuckles blanch as I muttered an incantation to a goddess whose name I’d forgotten, and who had forgotten me. A slight pain stabbed at the back of my mouth as a tooth grew thin, but I ignored it.
#
My vision blurred, small rips opened in the world, expanding until they were all connected. I felt my body fall away. A sliver of consciousness remained in the room so I could monitor the conversation. Around me, the walls melted away to reveal the immensity of London’s Dream. I caught the honking of feral taxi horns and the buzz of ghostly plane engines, punctuated with staccato bursts of phantom gun fire as the Battle of Britain continued to wheel above the city. World War Two is never far away here, always ready to draw the present in.
Neither type of spirit was any good to me. Nor were the pigeons or rats that infested the Dream. I had to wait for whatever the women’s passion called as it manifested in the spirit world. I saw it breaking through, a beacon of emotion rising into the sky.
That would be the basis of their totem and what gave them power. Scanning the horizon, I saw the flickering of the other spirits: the mermaid, the clown, and others as they stalked the city, drawing in the power of millions of prayers. Humans forget that they have always made gods; every act is one of faith. So the corporate deities fed.
That was what the women needed, something to draw in their customers that would leave them feeling enriched. No amount of polish would help them, that was for other businesses and other gods.
From the corner of my eye, something moved. A spirit, ethereal — even waiflike, approached, skirting across the rooftops, keeping to the shadows. It was vaguely human shaped, clad in gossamer and cobweb. Bright bands of colour flashed along its legs.
At the same time, another made its presence known: a simurgh, with crimson and gold plumage covering its breast. Swooping from the sky, out of the clouds, the bird veered away at the last moment, gliding in a wide perimeter. Understandable, the beacon was a lure for them, the promise of a feast. None of the interested parties would want to share such a bounty.
Letting them approach, I drew my weapons. A bone knife and spear, fashioned from animals I had killed myself, and a lasso. If things went well, I wouldn’t need to use them.
The bird flew closer, still wary of the offering.
The spirit in the shadows crept across the rooftop opposite. I caught a glimpse of a girl’s face, warped by hunger and fashion. Clashing makeup styles competed on her skin.
Their need was so strong I could feel it. Like many little gods, they lived on scraps, desperate for something that would make them more powerful. The women’s passion was a jackpot.
Zelda’s voice broke through the wall between worlds, warped and ghostly. “Do you remember when that band came in? Their singer was so handsome, I almost felt bad putting makeup on him.”
Laughter followed, crackling like static.
The waif was suddenly next to me, as if she’d floated across the street. Her costume trailed, thin strands of spiderweb floating out behind her, while her face warped between goth, punk, and hip hop before settling into something a movie villain would wear. Cruella de Ville via high end cosmetics.
She smelled like a nightclub, booze and smoke, mixed with notes of danger, anticipation and regret. The image of girls clustered in a corner, castling lascivious glances across at young men, flashed into my mind. I dismissed it, confident this spirit would capture the heady days the women were remembering.
Reaching towards the beacon, the spirit licked her lips with a tongue too serpentine to belong in a human mouth. Ignoring me, she crept closer. I readied the lasso, preparing to snare her. The chant to begin the negotiations rose to my lips.
The waif inched closer, almost touching the bubbling, bright, fountain that was the beacon. Her hands shook in anticipation.
Where was the simurgh? Surely it wouldn’t stand for this, not when there was a rich treasure to claim. All the same, I began to whirl the lasso, letting it rise in the air. The key was to let the spirit get close, but to keep it from claiming the beacon. I struck, lashing out at the spirit’s hand, the lasso snaring around her wrist.
She shrieked, spun to face me with a face that was more like a glam metal band’s look. Fierce eyes and chalk white skin. Her tongue protruded, and a hiss echoed around the area.
“This is my place, and my gift. What will you provide in return?” I asked. “I can provide you with a home and worship. You will grow fat, if you bond with these people.”
She struggled against the rope. “Let me go, interloper!”
I raised my chin. “I will not. I am no trespasser. This is my home as much as the grey world.”
The words were no sooner out of my mouth than I heard the simurgh’s cry. There was a flash of red and gold, and something struck me across the face. Staggering back, I felt the rope go limp. The waif was free.
A burst of anger, white hot but brief, ran through me. How dare it strike me, did it take me as a novice or a fool?
Yanking the spear from the ground, I spun it around my head and struck a fighting pose before I took stock of the situation. The two spirits faced each other across the beacon. Every time one of them reached for it, the other moved to block them. The simurgh had its back to me, the waif faced me, tracking from side to side, darting in then snatching back.
“Do you remember Danny, your first boyfriend?” Carol’s voice bubbled through the beacon. “He was so good with a pair of scissors and a razor. I wish he’d stuck with it instead of going off to do God knows what. Do you know what happened to him?” The ghostly sound of scissors cutting seeped through as well, underlying the words.
“Not a clue, Mum. Last I heard, he was teaching aerobics or something.” Mary’s words were accompanied with the impression of a shrug.
The waif spirit sucked them up, feinting to the left side of the bubbling light. The bird struck back.
The simurgh’s back was to me. That sank in. It was exposed, and the spirit had insulted me.
My breath caught in my throat. A plan began to form.
Swiftly, I circled, putting the bird between me and the waif. Waiting, watching before I struck.
Springing forward, I raised my spear, plunging it into the beast’s feathered back. The spirit shrieked, twisting against the weapon. Its head turned and saw me with a bright, black, eye which narrowed in recognition. Its wings beat, drawing it into the air, and the simurgh dived over the beacon, extending its talons to seize the waif.
With a triumphal cry, it snatched the other spirit up and flew upwards, dragging both of us into the sky. Suddenly, London stretched out before me looking just like it did in the painting in my work room. Thousands of flickering lights in the city goddess’ gown, as her crowned head rose high above, in the realm of eternally dog fighting planes.
I had to force it back to the beacon. Clinging to the spear’s haft with one hand, I drew my knife. In the next breath, I stabbed the other side of the spirit’s spine, ripping the blade down with a savage twist.
Our unwitting captor screeched in pain.
Beneath me, the waif struggled in the bird’s grip. I could hear her voice, spitting insults at our captor. An arm, impossibly long and shrouded in cobweb, thrust out. Her thin fingers twisted into talons, tearing at the simurgh’s wing. Feathers flew, spreading into the air. In different circumstances, I would have tried to catch them. There’s potent magic in such things.
The bird veered to one side as the waif’s assault continued. I yanked my knife free and stabbed again.
It banked, turned and banked again. Pain steered it, and though it wasn’t in real danger, its nerves were screaming. More feathers filled the air, trailing away to the dream below. I dismissed them, someone else would gain their bounty, but then a series of bright flashes burst below us. Pausing in my assault, I tried to get my bearings, catching sight of familiar landmarks. Somehow, we had crossed back over the beacon.
Some of the fallen feathers had brushed against it. The beacon flared.
It shone brighter, grew taller. The women’s voices became louder. Carol’s laugh echoed through the Dream.
The feathers had been absorbed, making the beacon stronger. That would only call other spirits.
For a moment, I panicked. Was this consultation entirely cursed? I had what I needed, I couldn’t handle any of the major spirits. I had to finish this fast, and that meant the battle had to end. I had to shift tactics.
“Simurgh, listen to me,” I bellowed. “You both want the power: what if you shared it?”
The bird turned its head, glowering at me, but turned to fly back to the rooftop. It circled the stream of energetic light that now rose up, almost punctuating the clouds. This close, with the beacon so big, it couldn’t help but drink in some of the power. Neither could the waif. They glowed brightly as the beacon dimmed. For an instant, I feared they’d consume it all—it would have been within their rights.
“Don’t,” I shouted, and fell quiet. What words would deter them?
It was only when we came to rest and I scrambled off the simurgh’s back, placing myself between the spirits and their prize that I realised something had changed. An air of wary respect radiated from both of them. They didn’t like me but I was enough of a nuisance they weren’t going to do anything stupid.
Something shifted in the Dream. A presence encroaching on the edge of my senses. A Groiler, something dark, dirty but essential for the city’s health.
“Do you think she’s fallen asleep?” Zelda’s voice intruded. “She hasn’t said anything for ages.” A pause, and she added. “This tea is rank, why couldn’t we have had something normal?”
A chill ran through me. The tea, why was the effect wearing off? Had the- I pushed the thought away. Speed was of the essence, there was no time to be scared.
Suddenly, the answer was obvious. Spirits, by their nature are malleable, they twist and change to suit their surroundings. Even ancient ones – like the simurgh – change all the time. What if, between the two of them, these spirits became the bright empress Carol and her friends so badly needed? They had the logo, all they needed was a real reason for it to exist.
“Look, I have a home for you.” My words sounded small. “These people can make you happy and provide you with regular food.”
The waif lunged. I thrust out my spear to create a barrier. At the same time the simurgh made its move, I threw up my free hand, barking a word in a dead language to create a ward.
“Listen to me!” I snarled. “I have a home, I can help you both. You can share.”
“Share,” the waif retorted. “I want it for myself!”
Another voice from the other side: Mary this time. “She doesn’t look well, should we call an ambulance?”
“How should I know, I don’t even know what she’s doing,” Zelda said. “Why don’t you ask that girl out there?”
I ignored them. So what if I looked like hell? That was nothing new. Still, this was taking too long, at least ten minutes had passed.
I pressed the waif, getting up in her face. “You’re limited and liminal, spirit. A parasite, chasing the next thing, with nothing to your name. These people could make you more than that. Think, no more chasing, no more fighting.” Switching my attention to the bird, I added, “And you, aren’t you tired of scavenging? Your kind is old but there is no veneration for you here.” I gestured to the flickering, ever changing woman. “You’ve been forced into the same situation as her.”
The spirit hesitated. It knew I was telling the truth. The modern world didn’t care for its kind at all. Still, neither of them were convinced. It was a risky manoeuvre: if they agreed to the merger, what would remain of either of them?
The waif wavered, pulled away. “Why can’t I have it all to myself?” she whined.
I understood, but she wasn’t strong enough. Worse, under her influence, my clients would be trapped in a narrow space dominated by fashion and fad. Their business wouldn’t have an identity because as soon as they settled into one niche, the waif’s influence would force them to adopt a new one. It didn’t matter how good she’d be for the company’s support for outsiders, she would eventually destroy them.
The simurgh made a sound in its throat, I saw a similar fear in its eyes. Holding out a hand, I said, “The choice is yours, but what could be worse than your current situation?”
At the same time, I reached out and down, into the sewers where the Groiler dwelled. I muttered something as I released an old cantrip, directing its stench upwards. A ruse to push the spirits into making a decision.
The waif straightened, looking confused. “What’s that smell?” She sniffed the air and panic crossed her New Romantic mask. “A Groiler, surely they won’t be here?”
Turning to the other spirit, she added, “You’re older than me, will you embrace me? I could be lost under your power.”
The bird spirit cawed quietly, shuffled its feet, and shook its wings. The fiery crest atop its head rose, lowered, then rose again.
I don’t understand much about the ancient spirits, but I’ve watched enough documentaries to recognise courting behaviour. While the waif worried, the simurgh seemed to welcome the idea.
“I don’t know. Will I still be me?” The waif’s voice quavered.
I didn’t have time for that sort of question, so I let the scent grow stronger and mixed the sewage spirit’s laugh into the world, letting that dark chuckle intrude.
The waif’s head whipped around. “It’s not coming here, is it?”
“It sounds like it is,” I replied. “I can’t imagine one of those spirits would leave its lair unless it sensed something good.”
The simurgh appeared unconcerned, just getting more into its dance. Wing spread, comb rising and falling, it strutted for the waif and spread its tail feathers wide.
I drew a breath and pushed the waif towards it. “Take your chance for glory, spirit! Before the Groiler comes.”
She stumbled forward, colliding with the bird. As they did, I shouted the words of the ritual, slamming the butt of my spear against the ground in a rhythm that sent shock waves across the Dream. The spirits flared bright, caught in a shining corona. Bands of colour wrapped around them and they changed. The air stank of ozone and I felt sick. My heart pounded and I sank to my knees, clutching at my chest. Pain shot through me and I screamed, thrashing on the ground.
In my consulting room, the women ran to the door. Zelda wrenched it open. “She’s having a fit, call an ambulance!” she bellowed.
When the light died away, what remained was a fusion of the two. A literal bright empress. Tall, fiery haired, green eyed, and clad in a long feathery gown.
“Let me help you up,” she said.
I took her hand, scrambled to my feet, and tried to step away.
The Empress didn’t release her grip.
“The Groiler was never a threat, was it?” she asked. “You tricked me.”
I didn’t reply.
Casually, the empress cupped my face, pressing her fingers into my flesh. “This insult cannot go unpunished. Let half your face show your true age.”
Pain shot through my cheek. Another scream escaped my mouth. I tumbled back down to the floor and out of the Dream, back into my body.
I was staring at the ceiling, screaming. My face felt like it was on fire.
#
The paramedics rushed me to the hospital. My face was beyond repair, leaving it a split mask I couldn’t hide. The fact I’d paid the price was small comfort. In the cold light of my private room, I wondered how much was left of me. Could I pay anything more without risking my life?
At the same time, I worked. Drawing, designing, making a home for the new goddess I’d created. A focus for her worship, a fetish she could call home. The Empress haunted me, not just when I closed my eyes; I saw her in the corner of the room, or standing behind me in the mirror. She wouldn’t leave me until she had a home and I could give that to the clients.
Her voice grated on my nerves, a constant commentary mixed with stinging barbs about my age, my face and how ugly I was. I had created something merciless.
When I went home, I poured myself into transforming my sketches into a clay figurine. I spent weeks crafting it, making sure it was perfect before I committed it to the kiln. Amanda helped, splitting her time between the office and the workshop.
The figure’s completion led to my return to the office, and I sent a message to Bright Empress. I received no reply.
I sent another, still no reply.
I began to wonder if they’d abandoned their quest to rebuild the company’s fortunes, or if they’d simply decided not to use my somewhat unorthodox services.
All the same, I sent a third message and when no reply came, raged at them. How dare they? I had given half my face for them, and they’d ghosted me. I slept poorly, and in the small hours of the morning, I plotted my revenge.
I would find a new home for the empress and her fetish, one far away from me. My face still hurt and I flinched every time I looked in the mirror. My pride was wounded as much as my body was, perhaps more so. I wanted the spirit that had hurt me so gone, and never to see her again.
Six weeks after the consultation, I arrived at the office to find a woman waiting for me. She was dressed in a pale blue parka, with the hood pulled up as she played with her phone. All the same, her stance told me who it was: Zelda.
Stirring as I walked past her, keys ready to open the door. “Oh, it’s you.”
I turned to look at her, feeling a stab of satisfaction when she winced. “How may I help you, Zelda?”
“I, I came for,” she paused, frowning. “Whatever you made for us, I’m here for that.”
Nodding, I invited her in and she inched into the foyer, standing as she had for the consultation. Arms crossed, her gaze flicking around in a mixture of fear and distrust.
“I thought you’d changed your minds,” I said, ducking behind the front desk.
“It’s difficult,” she said. “The others are terrified. Mary thinks you were possessed, Carol’s started going to church for the first time in years. Ruby quit and won’t return our calls.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I found the fetish and eased it free of its resting place. “She seemed like a nice person.”
“She’s a good kid, but I don’t think she’d have stayed with us long.”
“I understand.” Straightening, I lifted the fetish into view, cradling it like an infant, and saw amazement cross the woman’s face.
“I wasn’t expecting it to be so big.”
“She has to command attention,” I explained. “You want people to notice her.” I’d made gods who were content to lurk in the background, growing through osmosis. The Empress wasn’t like that at all.
“Oh. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Now, she came close, reaching out a shaking hand to touch the statue.
“Yes, she’ll serve you well.”
“If we serve her well?”
“Yes.”
I helped her wrap the statue, preparing her for transport. It had a ceremonial feeling, as great and solemn as preparing a Queen for burial. I sensed the new goddess’ approval.
As we worked, I asked, “Why did you come? It sounds as if your colleagues have given up.”
Zelda didn’t lift her gaze from the fetish. “You did something for us, you got hurt. I couldn’t let that go. It doesn’t matter what I think of you. You delivered a service and that deserves gratitude.” She lifted the Empress’ home and lowered it into a box. “She, she will do what you say, won’t she?”
“If you treat her right,” I replied, helping to seal the box. I glanced across at the Empress, who stood close to the window, watching with interest. “If you treat her right, she’ll give you the world.”
That set Zelda’s nerves at rest. I called her a cab and wished her luck, watching her leave with her precious cargo. It felt as if a weight lifted from my shoulders as the empress disappeared into the distance.
When I was sure they were both gone, I locked the door, went into the back and allowed myself to weep.
#
© G. R. Ashford 2026
I am a nonbinary novelist based on the South Coast of the UK and am fascinating with modern mythology and the nature of cities. I have an MA in Creative Writing from Birmingham City University.