Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The apocalypse can wait. Grandpa wants a beach day.
The world was a rather busy place with a wave of spirit-related activity.
Last I saw on the news, the church had gotten involved and was positioning itself as a powerhouse of sanctuary.
Nothing like the barefaced threat of one’s mortality to improve your engagement with that which you believed bought you afterlife brownie points.
God, however, wasn’t hanging around pulpits and cemeteries; he was perched on an armchair in my sitting room sipping on peppermint tea and nibbling on a raisin and oatmeal cookie courtesy of Maggie’s recent batch.
“I have to say, these are the best cookies I’ve ever tasted,” God declared.
Maggie’s cheeks heated, and she scooped up several empty plates that had been divested of Aunt Liz’s sandwiches. “It’s a new recipe. I added a little orange peel.”
“Amazing. I’d love to take a few home.”
Maggie giggled before scuttling off to the kitchen, hopefully to find one of our best tins and not a warped Tupperware box to send God off with home-baked goodness.
I side-eyed Hudson when his leg brushed against mine.
His gaze still held the heat from last night and the promise of a thousand more to come.
I was eager to be done with my apocalypse era and ready for my small-town wifey one.
Imagine getting up and the top of your to-do list was no longer “kill grandmother” or “fulfill date blood oath with a god.” Instead, it could be “check what mate wants for dinner” and “did I wash my favorite sweater for our date?”
Strike that. I never cooked or washed even before the world was ending.
“How are you doing, really?” God asked me.
I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. When the Almighty was checking in on you, you knew things were fucked. “I don’t want to bore you with the details.”
He chuckled. “All I get are the details, Cora. I’ve learned to filter out the need to know from the noise.”
“I bet, but I’m not here to add to your noise.”
He sighed as he placed his empty cup back on the saucer. “Stop disparaging yourself, Granddaughter. I might have the noise, but you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
He knew. About the seals, about the choice, about the entire thing. Of course he did—he was God.
Hudson nudged my shoulder. I could practically hear him shouting What have you got to lose?
I glanced around the room. The spirits were busy taking note of the wallpaper pattern and the cracks on the ceiling. They were terrible actors. I clenched my jaw and dropped my shoulders back before closing my eyes. “I need more privacy for this conversation.”
God snapped his fingers, the world blinked, and heat wrapped around us like we’d stepped into a tropical oven set to “slow roast your supernatural problems.” My sun lounger was warm, the sky a perfect impossible blue, and the ocean shimmered in welcome.
Then came the scent. Tequila. Coconut. Sunshine.
“Heaven is a five-star seaside resort?” Hudson asked.
God snorted. “No, this is Hawaii.”
“Oh.”
I sniffed. “Why do I smell like a cocktail?”
God leaned back on his lounger, sunglasses perched on his nose like he was on sabbatical. “Hydration and sun protection are sacred. I don’t want to return my granddaughter all crispy.”
A waiter materialized beside the loungers, balancing a tray stacked with hollowed-out coconuts topped with sparklers, umbrellas, and flamingo-shaped straws.
He tilted his head as if he were trying to remember if we’d been there a second ago.
“Aloha! Welcome back, sir. The usual Pina-Bless-Me, with extra foam.” He handed God a coconut the size of his head.
Hudson mouthed, “The usual?”
God sipped his drink. “I pop in from time to time.”
The waiter turned to us with a professional but bright smile. “I’m Graham, head waiter. Congratulations! You two newlyweds are absolutely glowing.”
I blinked. “What? No, we aren’t married.”
“Yet,” Hudson supplied, and I shot him a sharp look.
The waiter nodded, a delighted smile stretching across his face. “Oh, of course. You are scouting out locations.” He clapped his hands. “And per house policy, complimentary couple sunscreen!”
Another employee appeared beside him, holding a silver tray loaded with a variety of tiny glass bottles.
God pointed to one of the tall, thin ones. “Use the honey and oat one. It’s my favorite. Smells like Heaven.”
I stared at him. “Heaven smells of honey and oats?”
God shrugged. “Heaven smells of home. Whatever that means to you.”
What if home smelled of crap? That would be unfortunate.
“Also, you can never be too careful,” God added. “The sun is powerful. Just ask Dracula.”
“Dracula’s fictional,” Hudson muttered as he accepted a matching coconut to my own.
God snorted. “He wishes.”
Wait, what? Dracula was real? I had questions for my bestie once we got back.
The waiter leaned toward me. “Don’t worry, couples always argue about sunscreen on honeymoon. Very normal. Very healthy.”
Hudson choked. “We’re not on our—”
The waiter uncapped a bottle and squirted lotion onto Hudson’s forearm. A thick coconut cloud puffed into the air, and my nose twitched. Was that alcohol smell coming from the cocktail or the sunscreen?
The waiter beamed. “We use only our premium island blend. Tequila-infused. Moisturizes deeply and spiritually.”
A deep spiritual tequila? Sounded about right if you wanted to worship at the porcelain altar.
Hudson scrubbed at his skin. “Why is there alcohol in sunscreen?”
God sipped his drink. “It evaporates quickly and kills bacteria. It also tastes good.”
Who the hell was eating the sunscreen?
The waiter’s gaze slid between me and Hudson, softening. “You two really are adorable. Just imagine saying ‘I do’ against the magical sunset.”
My brain hiccuped. No, wait, that was me hiccuping. I’d drunk half the cocktail without realizing.
Wedding? Here? With this insane view? With no spirits, no demons, no politics, no grandmother from Hell?
“Could we?” I asked before my sanity caught up.
Hudson’s head snapped to face me. “What?”
I shrugged, defensive. “I’m just asking. Hypothetically.”
God lifted his Pina-Bless-Me with a thoughtful look in his eye. “You could have your wedding here. Beaches are free, and I can block paparazzi with cloud cover.”
Why would there be paparazzi?
“Cora, if you want to get married here, say the word.”
I wanted to start our marriage—it was the wedding part that was stressful.
If we just did it here and now, with only God and Graham as our witnesses, it would be done and we could start the rest of our lives without cake tasting and first dances.
But the disappointed faces of my family and friends crossed my mind, and I shook my head with a sigh. “No, we can’t do that to them.”
“Always thinking of others,” God mused. “You really are my granddaughter.”
Graham nodded. “If you change your mind, we have a popular elopement package. Fire dancers. Dolphins. A rainbow on demand. Very tasteful.”
God lifted his drink. “Bring me another round, Graham. And maybe the new nachos you added to the menu last week.”
“Right away, sir!” the waiter chirped, scampering off.
I turned to God. “How often do you come here?”
He gave an innocent shrug. “Sometimes weekly, more so when I can manage it. It’s all about self-care.”
“They don’t have a spirit problem here?” I checked, finding not a single wandering dead soul, just a scattering of people enjoying their vacation. Maybe this is where the super-rich came to live out the looming end of the world.
“Less so than White Castle. But if you stay here long enough, they will follow you.”
Hmm, guess we were done pretending I wasn’t the supernatural equivalent of a lightning rod. “Now tell me how you are doing before we get invaded with Casper.”
The thought of God watching the popular film made my lips quirk. “I’m being torn in too many directions. Mate, doctor, friend, niece, granddaughter, some magical seal thing that links back to the testament. You know, the run-of-the-mill worries for a woman running a supernatural bed-and-breakfast.”
“Stop doing that.”
I didn’t bother pretending to be clueless about his meaning.
“She does that a lot,” Hudson agreed.
Oh, goodie, I was being ganged up on.
God tipped his head back and closed his eyes as the sun kissed his cheeks. “It is the simple things that give us the greatest pleasure. That is what you’re fighting for. What we’re all fighting for.”
“They think I’m not strong enough to handle what I’ve endured. How can I face evil if the people I love the most consider me weak? All of them, not just my mate. I am not who my friends and family want me to be. I am less, and they know it deep down, which is why they stole my memories.”
He hummed in the back of his throat. “If a patient came to you with stage four cancer, would you tell them the realities of what they are facing?”
“Yes.”
“Would you explain how they might feel like giving up and dying during the treatment?”
“Not in those words, but I wouldn’t hide how hard it would be on them and their family.”
“If you could switch off their body’s response to chemo and allow the treatment to take place—the destruction needed to allow health to rebuild—would you do it?”
I folded my arms. “I don’t like your analogy.”
“Just because it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t mean that transformation isn’t taking place.
The number of prayers I hear, even now, from loved ones who want to endure the pain for someone, is by far the most demanded thing.
It doesn’t mean that those people aren’t strong enough, or that their loved ones believe them weak.
It’s both the curse and the beauty of human nature to shield those who hold your heart.
Your mate treads a line closer than most to that despair because of who you are.
Your pain, your suffering, your breaking heart could not only destroy both you and him, but everything humanity has built.
Stop giving them a hard time for loving you.
You want your memories back? Go get them.
Nothing is stopping you but you. Perhaps it is not they who think you’re weak, but yourself. ”
I just got schooled by God. “Our world is being threatened by huge power players, and I’m meant to stop them.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“No one said you had to stop them.”
I scoffed and folded my arms. “The alternative is to what? Let it go and hope Eloise doesn’t set fire to the world?”
“That’s one choice, yes. But what I meant was, you aren’t responsible. No hero works alone. Even the Avengers worked that out.”
I blinked. “You’re an Avengers fan?”
His lips twitched. “They make a lot of good points. They excelled at writing a villain you could understand the motivations for, even if the cost was too high and not their choice to make. Someone always has to make that choice. The hero always has backup until the last minute, when the weight of that final choice comes down to them. But getting there? That takes bonds, Cora.”
And now I was being schooled by Marvel.
Hudson chuckled beside me as my mind got sidetracked by the idea of God watching back-to-back superhero movies.
I fisted my hands before forcing them to relax. “Eloise is on the cusp of altering the future.”
“The future is not yet written. You cannot alter what has not yet passed.”
A woman drifted over the pool toward us, her head tilted at an odd angle. “Time is up, Granddaughter. The dead have found you once more.”
“As is my curse.”
He stood and stretched his arms toward the sky, then leaned down to kiss my forehead before shifting his mouth to my ear.
“Wrong, Cora. Death is your gift, not your curse.” Light flashed, and we found ourselves back on my couch.
Dave jerked in the armchair God had vacated not long ago.
If he’d been in his wolf form, his hackles would have been raised and he’d be growling at us.
“Why do you smell like tequila and coconut oil?”
I waved my hand at Hudson. “You explain,” I said as I jumped to my feet and strode toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To stop being weak and get my memories back.”
It was time for action. I was done being the woman everyone made choices for. I was not a whispered prayer for salvation; I was a weapon. And it was time I stopped being pathetic and running from my responsibilities. Eloise Roberts was a disease, and it was time I cut her out.