Dionysus gave only slight regard to the murmurings around him. City Hall was a small building, its hallways cramped. Outside, a small conclave of curious passersby stood in silent vigil, all wondering if or when a mysterious Descendant would come to register. There had been a myriad of hoaxes. Today’s venture had included at least one that Dionysus had witnessed. A man claiming to be Zeus was indelicately expelled when his fingerprints proved him to be not only human born but wanted in several states for fraud. No doubt any fingerprints at all would yield a similar result. Dionysus knew that Descended did not, in fact, have fingerprints. Their fingers were smooth and bare. Silenus assumed it was a peculiar byproduct of having Descended. Dionysus had to agree.

“Just look at the hands.” Silenus explained. “They’ll be smooth as porcelain and featureless.” Featureless. Dionysus wished he could be so inconspicuous. Putting aside his misgivings, he approached a government officer.

“I’ve come to register.” Dionysus said.

“Oh really? Which one are you?” The officer replied without looking up from his desk.

I see. They’re in disbelief. Has nobody came?

Dionysus stooped and laid his bare palms in front of the man’s nose. Beneath the desk, Dionysus heard the man’s knee strike wood as he jumped to his feet. “Come with me.” He said in a mixture of fear and awe.

In another room, a vintage camera took a series of pictures. Dionysus smelled the jarring odors of disinfectants and bleach. The smell put his mind on sterilization which led it inevitably to Sadie.

She doesn’t stand a chance if one us is hunting her.  

Dionysus was led to another room and then another. He had his suspicions about the registry. He knew the process wasn’t for his benefit. But he also knew his memories and insights were of value. But to whom? What possible discernment could I provide in this place? That would be the jurisdiction of Apollo or Dike.

As he stepped into the foyer, onlookers filled the room. Word had gotten out that a Descendant had came. Dionysus missed his footing and grabbed onto the security officer for support. The man’s shoulders tightened and he instinctively pulled away. Dionysus quietly scanned the room. He did not know whether he was terrified or relieved that he didn’t recognize any of their faces.

“Will you be needing a ride home?” The officer asked.

“Yes as soon as possible.” Dionysus said.

The man nodded and walked back the way they’d came. “Wait here.” Dionysus turned and faced the wall. Voices called out for him to say something., cameras began clicking. He put his hood up and peered at a corner television displaying ‘breaking news’ at New Los Angeles City Hall. Dionysus shuddered and retreated further into the corner. A voice echoed from his side. “Perhaps it’s best if you didn’t cajole your heritage.” The speaker, moved deftly facing him. “I promised nothing.” Dionysus shot back.

“Conceded then.” The man responded. Dionysus looked up into dark, flaring eyes. Of African descent, the man wore a bulbous hat over short cropped hair. A thin frame, his arms seemed too long for his body making the suit he wore appear ill fitted. He leaned close to Dionysus’ ear: “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Dionysus studied the stranger. “You’re one of us. You’re an Other.”

“I am only Seth.” The man said.

“Ah, yes. I know that name. You’re far from home Egyptian.” Dionysus stared at the man. There was no way to be sure without checking his hands. Seth smiled and put his hands in his pockets.

“You error in speaking to me Greek. You must never recognize another of us. Do you offer fealty?”

“Fealty?”

“If the Greek man has usurped the god that it  once was, you may offer allegiance to Egypt and she’ll have you.”

“You have not told me why you’re here.”

“Asylum then? We can hide you from Apollonian dissent or his twin.”

“I think not.”

“Ah right, you have chosen asylum with them.” He nodded toward the crowd that stood fidgeting a few feet away separated by a small barrier.

Seth pursed his lips and took off his bulbous hat.

“You speak to me like a Man when our kind should be in shadows…”

Dionysus brushed his hair back from his face. “Yet you’re here. Registering. If we should be invisible to them, why are you here Seth?”

“Ahhhhhh that.” Seth sneered. “I gave my word to an...associate.”

Dionysus felt a twinge in his temple. Descendant logic was a peculiar thing. Motives were at play. But which ones? Part of him wanted to know whom the mysterious associate was. The other part didn’t care and simply wanted to strike at the Egyptian.

“You’ve put a target on your back. They’ll never see you. And you’ll never be free of them. How do you like your new migrant status?”

“As opposed to what? A status of senility in your shadows?

“It was us! The gods that inspired them. We gave them fire. We gave them passion!”

“We gave them a reason to kill one another.”

“We gave them the stars and to the stars they went. They looked up and saw us in Nut’s design. In her, they imagined constellations of ideas! And now, the fire is nowhere to be found. No original ideas. Without us, they are impotent. And yet they stay terrified not of us but of what they could become.

“Lost?”

“Irrelevant.”

In this moment, Dionysus envied humanity. Perhaps it was better never having known grace. “Ignorance and bliss.”

“Ah yes. Bliss. The ecstasy of stupidity.”

“No, of salvation.”

“Salvation? What are they being saved from? Evil? Sin?”

“Of suffering. We are their redemption from suffering.”

“No, we are cursed mortals. Nothing else. We are cautionary tales.”

“You speak of hubris. Of pride. Was it not pride that inspired your fratricide? You speak of cautionary tales. Were we not more accurately stories of existence? They learned from our mistakes. They learned from our successes. Our joys and sorrows. Maybe they are learning still.”

“Our lost children.” Seth sneered. “You do know that our children want to devour their creators. You’ve put a target on your back. Your asylum here will end in defeat.”

“I’m just acceding to their wishes. I’m making a go of it. You’re here to see who slithers out of the woodwork.”

Seth shuddered deeply. He swiveled his body and leered out the window. It was an imposing view. One in which he could see the layout of the building. Anybody who entered or exited would be in his line of sight.

“As if anybody will come.”

“It’s a spectacle now. The press is here. But they’ll get bored as time goes on. And they’ll leave. Then ours will come. Pious has offered alms.”

Seth laughed. “Soon there’ll be thousands of us lined up around the block. The Descended will fill the city! I don’t have to tell you what Eleos means in your Greek. Your ‘alms.’”

“Pity.”

“Yes, pity. You see Dionysus, we are the pitiful. But they’ll feed us for life.”

“Our existence no longer depends on them.”

“I wasn’t talking about us.”

Dionysus stared outside at the picket signs and absorbed Seth’s remark. An unspoken appeal to faith? He knew that Seth was dangerous. Maybe the most dangerous of all but couldn’t permit himself the thought that he’d killed the Christian god. Dionysus had read the many stories of the Egyptian god of disorder and storms. Violence was certainly in his disposition. The use of guns seemed an aberration though. He’d use knives. Again his mind was brought to Sadie. The attackers had been knife wielders. He sensed Seth gazing at him and turned his head away. The effort contorted his usually mild mannerisms making it seem like he’d been struck. His eyes fell on Seth’s face and the god was expressionless. His face blank as a fearsome mask. Dionysus tried to think. Before he could find the words, Seth leaned in close and whispered: “Yes, my handmaidens nearly got her.”

“Who?” Dionysus squeaked.

The god groaned but recovered quickly. “These things happen. Mortals die. Gods die. And all the heavens are in abeyance.”

“You’re hunting her. Why?”

Seth smiled. The movement made him ghastly. Dionysus felt a tightness in his throat. He forced himself to be calm. The girl was important in some way. He had little doubt that his deduction was correct but important in  what way? What could be so threatening that it brought down the wrath of a god?

Suddenly, claps of thunder peeled outside and Dionysus felt something whiz past his face.

Hank Dolan exited a cab to find himself in the seedy back alleys of No Quarter. Overhead, a generator humming accompanied the buzzing of flies and stench of trash that littered the street. He stepped further in and knew the hostel was a few hundred yards ahead. Ten O’clock. Still early but you never really knew in this part of town.

Would Sadie flee here for refuge? He wondered. **************no spoilers***************** He felt unsure as to whether Sadie had even been there. The thought that she’d at least seek out help from someone she knew weighed heavily on him. Something didn’t add up.

Hank had seen much of No Quarter through the years, negotiated its shady areas and interacted with its inhabitants. It really was a different social ecosystem the further downtown one ventured. The closer one got to Hell in the south-east corner of the district, the rougher it got. At three to five am, no reasonable person would find themselves here unless stupid or desperate. When Pious McNally had built the hostel as part of a large network of retail spaces, it had been the hope that travelling tourists would inspire the city to invest in No Quarter. What actually occurred was a spike in robbery and other violent crime.

Hank paused at the doorway snuffing out a cigarette and loosened the grip on his sidearm. A decayed sign indicating the accommodations rested inert on the door. Ten dollars a night for a bunk and shared bathroom with god know’s who else.

Very unlikely. He thought.

Even on her best day, Sadie had an aversion to public bathrooms. Given her phobias, the likelihood of her sharing a bathroom here was doubtful and sleeping would be out of the question. Still, it was worth a look. He had seen what fear can do to somebody’s normal, everyday behaviors. Often, the pieces of their former self were shattered into tiny bits and left to be swept about in a breeze. If Sadie had come here it was also likely somebody would remember her or her eccentricities at the very least. No Quarter’s natives had a way of remembering the passerby who realized too late that the hostel was maybe not worth saving a few dollars in the budget.

Hank pushed open the door and stepped in. He heard loud chatter and the desk clerk admonish some poor addict. “I said no needles here!” Well this was a piss poor idea. He turned and made his way to the woman careful not to step on anything that might pierce his sneakers. He took out a photograph of Sadie and held it in front of the clerk’s spectacled eyes. Her rosy cheeks and round waist made her seem odd amongst the emaciated, drug-addled occupants that laid curled up and facing the wall on their bunks.

“You seen this girl in the last few days?”

The woman squinted. No doubt she was blind as a bat and the glasses virtually useless. “Can’t say I have.”

“She’d have maybe been here the night before last or yesterday evening.” Hank said.

“Alone?” The clerk stepped from behind the desk and crossed to Hank, her eyes focused on the photograph.

“It’s likely, yes.”

The woman picked up a clipboard and squinted some more. A heavy thumping and somebody yelling could be heard somewhere in the back. Hank stared at the kitchen, expecting someone to burst out with knives at any second.

“One moment.” The clerk said.

Turning around, the woman strode into the kitchen. “What is all this goddamn ruckus!” The violence in her outburst startled Hank, his body tensed ready to run.

“Sorry about that.” She said nonchalantly as she reentered the room. “Can’t let them walk all over you or that’s all they’ll do.” She folded a small switchblade and placed it on the desk. Hank closed his eyes and for a moment entertained the possibility of asking her where she was the night after last. In a low voice, he asked: “She didn’t stay here then?”

“Depends. You got a name?” The clerk said quickly. “We get a lot of one nighters and weekend guests.”

Guests? The woman made it sound like a resort.

“She probably would have skipped the spa and gym and just found a place to sleep.” Hank said drily.

“You are unbecoming sir.” The clerk responded.

“Sadie Fuller.”

The woman bent down until she was nearly touching the paper in front of her. Her eyes narrowed into slits. “No. Nothing under that name.”

Hank heard but his mind was elsewhere. It was likely that Sadie wouldn’t use her real name. She may have even put on one of Freya’s wigs as disguise.

“She would have been wearing gloves.”

“Gloves?”

“Yes, gloves.”

“What sort of gloves? It ain’t snowed here ever.”

“Not the snow kind or the boxing kind. Just gloves. To cover her hands, she doesn’t like germs.”

The clerk frowned. “Well, I don’t know. We see so many…”

Hank stood throughout her whole performance resisting the urge to grab the ledger out of her hand. “She wouldn’t have ordered room service or a movie. Probably just stuck to herself.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The clerk looked up sharply and slammed the clipboard onto the desk. She quickly stood and went to the door.

“I think I’ve answered your questions.”

Hank stepped out and zipped up his jacket. “I won’t be giving this place a four star review.” He muttered.

“I should think not.” She relied curtly.

Pious found Seth waiting in the antechamber of the Tower and staring up at the ‘Glory Of Man’ mural on the ceiling. He paused a few feet away and studied the god. He really did look like an ass. The egyptians had gotten that much right.

They had entered the antechamber through a secret entrance in his office that led to a flight of stairs and finally to the large oval room. The room was adorned by accent lights brilliantly cascading light up and towards the ceiling. A chest high wire fence separated much from exploration and acted as a barrier for tourists who wandered in seeking to take a picture.

Seth stood murmuring, his bulbous hat in his hands, eyes glaring upwards. As Pious approached, rage contorted his features into a terrifying mask and for a second, the Reverend perceived the god who crushed the demon Apep every night ensuring sunrise.

“This mockery! Damn you and your cult!” He bellowed. It was a curse that Pious knew stemmed from Ancient Egypt. The god still thought he was in the sand churning desert. Poor fool. He ignored the insult and put a hand soothingly on Seth’s shoulder.

“Dear Seth. We all have a part to play in this new world. Don’t deny me mine.”

“Mortals.” The god whispered. He looked into Pious’s eyes. “Oh how you’ve fallen.”

“Indeed. We all have god. But at the very least we can work for mutual benefit.”

“Then you know why I’m here?”

Pious glanced up at the mural and back to the deity standing shrouded in darkness. He could smell exotic spices wafting from the god. An unpleasant mixture of balsamic and blue lotus oil. The perfume was used as currency and had been traded for other precious goods in the Egyptian empire. There were manuscripts showing priests extracting oils from herbs and plants dating back to 1500BC. Pious wrinkled his nose and nodded.

“Of course I know.”

“When Reverend?”

“Soon.”

Seth gave him a curt nod and his eyes drifted back to the ceiling. Pious noted his fascination with the art and swelled with pride. He had commissioned the piece to evoke a feeling of hieroglyphics, his instincts had been correct. The painting was otherworldly and raw. He would have to commission a second sometime in the near future. Perhaps something even more bold, a depiction of Man stomping the gods under his heel might be fitting.

“What you are going to do is dangerous.:” He said. “I don’t know that here is the right place for it.”

Seth turned until they stood face to face. Pious hadn’t meant for this meeting to turn into a battle but this Descendent was stubborn. He knew that leverage was going to be necessary to keep the deity corralled.

“Why are you holding your breath Reverend?” Seth’s voice was alien and terrifying. Before Pious could respond, he advanced and was within striking distance. Pious realized abruptly that the god had moved like a snake. A sudden chill made him quiver and he was sure he could hear his own heartbeat.

“Enough!” He snapped. Seth smiled and said in a sullen voice. “This Tower is the only place in the city fitting for what needs to be done.”

“It will probably fail.” Pious said. “Are you prepared for that outcome?”

Before Seth could answer, Pious continued shrilly: “Besides, what assurances do I have?”

“The Tower is an adequate vessel. “ Seth said slowly. “If the Descendence can be reversed somehow-”

“The idea is ludicrous.” Pious interrupted. Seth stood back and sized up the Reverend. His face blank and large eyes glittering. Pious knew that now he was in real danger. He had seen this look on predators right before they attacked. Such predators were unpredictable and quick to total and unexpected savagery.

“If the rite can re-ascend then perhaps there is a chance I can return to before.”

Return to before. Pious thought angrily. The only before is your total dissolution into nothingness. That is the only before worth speaking of.

“Perhaps.” He whispered. “It will have to be after hours and completely secret. Dead of night.”

Pious’s eyes drifted into memory. “There will be things needed to carry out the ritual.”

“They can be procured.”

“I will need my handmaidens.”  

Pious swallowed. The witches of murder. Those three unnerved him whenever they entered a room. He supposed it was two now that one had met a dour end months back.

“Naturally.” He responded. “And if I allow access to my Tower for your experiment?”

Seth inhaled deeply noting the amusement in the Reverend’s tone of voice. “You will not be harassed in any way by the Descended. You may have your registry. You may have your political aspirations. It will not be a concern.”

I may have? “No it’s not just about a lack of interference. The first concern is safety, yes, but we both know that the registry will be difficult to implement.”

“We’re not going to line up.”

“No, you won’t.”

“So?”

“So, you’re a powerful ally. Some would follow your lead. Some would never act unless they saw you go in their stead. And that’s why you’ll be there.”

“Pious!”

“If someone such as yourself were there, others would, how do we say, come out of the woodwork.”

Pious smiled. “And so you’ll be registering at City Court. In full view of the cameras and press.”

Seth held his face in reposed while he considered the Reverend’s demand.

“You don’t know others will come.”

“You don’t know they won’t.” Pious countered.

Seth fell silent. “Is that all?”

“It’s not much but you may have your ceremony at the Tower. But be at the registry. Who knows? Maybe you’ll see family.”

April 19 2019 DAY 1 of The Fall. NEON GODS

April 19, 2019 The day the gods fell.....

DAY 1

Outside, the rain is relentless and bashes against the window. Booms reverberate through the walls of the dingy speakeasy motel. A single twelve inch television broadcasts snow as streams of yellow light spill in from half closed blinds at the window. On the bed, a man lays sleeping. Covered from head to toe in a bedsheet, sweat from his chest and forehead seeps into the cotton. As he gasps, the sheet rises gently off his face. Somewhere in the motel, a couple is arguing. Screams can be heard over angry thunder. The man jolts awake and sits up. “Father?” he grabs the sheet and pulls it off of him. Squinting and shaking his head, he hears the storm outside and it’s so loud. Unbearable. Covering his ears he falls out of bed. He stares in bewilderment at the chaos on television. A large bang outside the door makes him flinch. Father it hurts. Covering his head, he tries to block out the sounds but they consume him. He retreats to the corner of the room while tears stream down his face. A slow, guttural wail echoes through walls. Terrified, he crawls on hands and knees to the door. Clumsily, he turns the knob and on wobbling knees steps outside. A woman is standing outside the next room. She glances over and smirks. “Go put on some clothes bum.” The man blinks sweat out of his eyes. Lip trembling, he looks out in horror at the city street in front of him. As car horns blare and sirens sing past, the man stares at the scars on his wrists. Oh God no. He touches his face as if feeling it for the first time. Shivering, he wraps his arms close to his body and notices his teeth chattering. Father help me. The man notices a light emanating from above the street. Like a beacon, it blinks above as vehicles shoot past underneath. The light. In the light with Father.  The man steps into the road and stumbles in the direction of the lamp. His barefeet on the slick street, he slips and almost falls as a car narrowly misses him. Then he is blinded. Unable to see through tears and the headlights of traffic, he drops to his knees and begins to pray. Hands in front of him, eyes closed to the world, he cries out. “Father!” Suddenly, arms are pulling him out of the street. A beer bottle is thrown from a passing car and shatters in front of him. “Come on!” A woman hisses. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!” Uncomprehending, the man shakes his head. The pain like fire all over his body, he glances down at his feet and hands. Oh God, where am I? The woman shrugs. “I don’t understand your language. You speak English?” The man stares blankly at her. Tears returning, he slumps down to the ground. Sheol. I’m in Sheol. The woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he recoils violently. “Get away from me Shade! You are forbidden!” He lurches back and stumbles. “Hey asshole! I just saved your skinny ass from being road kill.” The man stumbles backward. His eyes wild with fear. “I don’t know what language that is but it sounds Jewish. Are you a tourist?” The man squints as if seeing her for the first time. “Yeshua.” He blurts and looks around him as if expecting something to come out of the darkness and consume him. “Yeshua.” He repeats. The woman nods. “I’m Sarah. Come on, let’s get you inside……..”

Neon Gods Synopsis

Just after midnight on the streets of New Los Angeles, rock star Jesus Christ is murdered. One of the Descended, no one knows just how many gods and goddesses woke up in mortal bodies two years ago. But detective Hank Dolan knows the murder isn't an isolated occurrence. Deep in the bowels of NLA, a serial killer is on the loose and the Descended are the target. 

Meanwhile, twenty three year old Sadie Fuller - mortal witness to the murder, now finds herself hunted by the killer. Setting into motion a devastating series of events where mortal and Descended must work to uncover the killer's identity before he strikes again. 

A story of power and belief and the enduring spirit of catharsis, Neon Gods will put you in the mind of deities after grace is lost. And will ask you: Who mourns for the Gods? 

Chapter Excerpt NEON GODS

Chapter excerpt NEON GODS

At half past ten, Eli and Veronica began the half mile trek into City Walk Park where they were set to meet up with Dionysus. The moon was bright and silvery threads of lights dripped down between tree branches. Although a warm night, Eli had still worn a long sleeve shirt and pants. Veronica seemed more appropriately attired. She had on a white spaghetti strapped sun dress and flip flops. Although she claimed it was comfort, Eli suspected it had more to do with her bare shoulders and catching the eye of the god that was meeting them at the groves.

He had insisted that a group meeting was best due to Dio’s anxiety with more intimate settings. Plus it had made him popular with the Society of Descendent Interactions to have been able to set up a meet and greet with a deity.

As the second and then third car parked next to his Sedan, he wondered whether eight people would be too big a turnout. After all, Dionysus hadn’t seemed exactly eager at the prospect of cajoling with some random person. Who knows how he’d react to being accosted by a group of gawking fans. Is that what they were? The entire business was starting to feel like celebrity stalking. He cringed at the thought of somebody asking the deity for an autograph. But that’s what they were. Stardom coupled with the mystery of grace lost made the Descendents a popular social commodity. And popular they were. The shooting at the Basement only made their status more appealing to those on the outside.

Eli knew horribly better. And he knew Sadie would concur. He wondered if she would have come had he asked her. Probably not. She’d already met Dio and had her fill, he suspected, of the Descendents in general. Besides, she had been joined to Freya at the hip since the attack at her apartment and their relationship was likely more than platonic. Not that that was saying much. The goddess appeared ready to drop panties with anybody at any time. Still the thought clung him to him. If he was gonna lose to anybody he’d thought it would at least be to another man.

He gritted his teeth and watched Veronica skip to other members of the group. Her excitement was shared by all. He heard in their voices the nervous tension. No one knew quite what to expect but all knew ‘something’ was gonna happen. It was in the air. He remembered his first experience with a Descendent and couldn’t blame them. They were right. Something was gonna happen. It could be something great or a goddamn debacle.

He began walking the sidewalk path that led deeper into the park and smiled as the others fell into step behind him. He was officially a tour guide to this weird sideshow. He glanced at Veronica directly behind him. In the approaching dusk, she held up a kerosene lantern she’d brought for the occasion. He caught the fumes and frowned then realized that most had some sort of artificial light source. Some held lanterns, others had flashlights and even candles that had to be relit after every few steps.

Eli began to think this was a stupid idea. Even more than insulting the god, embarrassing him would be worse. The last thing he wanted was to make himself look foolish in front of his friend. Dio had trusted him and now there was a real chance that his trust would be spit back in his face by idle chatter and folly. Even if they meant well, this group seemed on the verge of doing or saying something ridiculous.

He silently wished he hadn’t mentioned anything to Veronica. But lust is a powerful motivator. He’d known she would sleep with him if he produced a god. And so he had. And so they did. Now, he was stuck and had to wait to see this play out.

They came to a clearing and Eli marveled at how well lit the space was by moonlight. It was as if a giant round spotlight was aimed at the ground. The grass was bathed in a luminescent silver glow. It almost had the texture of fog although Eli could see clearly. It reminded him of bioluminescent algae that he’d studied in school. As he took a few steps into the circle, he heard Veronica gasp behind him. Soon, the others were jabbering about the supernatural ‘god light’. He heard flashlights being clicked off and kerosene lanterns being deposited on the ground. From out of the shadows, a figure stepped into the light and Eli knew who it was immediately.

Dionysus stepped forward wearing a laurel wreath and little else. Although naked, the god didn’t appear out of place or strange in his nudity. He simply was. Eli waited for others in the group to comment or smirk or god forbid laugh but none did. Dio’s usual lanky frame and stringy hair was now gorgeous in the billowing moonlight. His lithe arms and legs captured the shadows in just a way as to make it seem like his body was in constant motion. As if every muscle moved and breathed in alternate moon shadow and light. The wreath that rested on his head was a luscious green. To Eli, it shouldn’t be so green yet it was. The god stepped closer and Eli was suddenly afraid. He’d never seen his friend powerful. Dionysus seemed to be secreting the same bioluminescent glow that covered the ground. He was strong and full of vitality. His eyes soaked up the moonlight. A sudden smile and Eli heard Veronica gasp again. She stood aghast and her lip began to quiver. “Are these my groves?” The god asked. Eli narrowed his eyes. “Dio?” The god looked up into the night sky. “I’ve roamed Greece for millenia yet still this place...unrecognized.” Veronica looked from Dionysus to Eli. “Uh-Eli?” “Dio?” he asked. Eli had never seen the always articulate deity look, for lack of a better word, confused. He placed his hand on the god’s shoulder and was met with a bemused smile. “You don’t know where you are?” “Athens.” the god answered. “No, Dio you’re not in Greece.” “You’re in City Walk.” Veronica blurted. He looked at her puzzled. Then slowly, confusion dissolved into recognition. He smiled.”Bit forgetful are we?” Eli asked. “A moment only. Some of the old rites take me home so to speak. They are here then?” “Yeah, they’re excited to meet you.” The god glanced at Veronica. “Meet me or be me.” “Excuse me?” She chimed. “For your renewal of course.” the god’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. “You mean like a baptism?” She asked. “Yes, something like that.” Her mouth open and eyes watery, Veronica appeared unsure as to whether he was real. Reaching out, she ran a finger across his arm and Eli heard her breath catch.

As the god moved, the wind moved with him and was redistributed in fantastic ways. Tree branches blew in opposite directions causing their leaves to funnel as they blew to the ground. The night air was both crisp and moist as if confused of the season. Overhead, the moon wafted in and out of racing clouds. All of City Walk was now divorced from time. Eli shielded his eyes and tried to get a fix on Veronica who had disappeared when the wind picked up.

His toe snagged something and he looked down to find the wreath that had been on Dio’s head. He picked it up and realized that he was virtually alone. The small group that had followed him were now dispersed in other areas of the park. He could make them out in the darkness but a mist had settled in that eschewed his sight after only a few feet. It reminded him of Avalon but he knew that was the wrong fable. Here, an amnesiac god was conjuring a maelstrom and causing people to get naked.

As they danced in circles slowly they came together like a coven. Foggy, Eli glimpsed the first pagans dancing in just the same way. He felt like screaming and could feel their screaming. Then he caught sight of Dionysus and Veronica. The god hooked his thumbs under the spaghetti straps of her dress and pulled it off of her and onto the ground. Naked, she looked up at him in utter abandonment. Dio produced a golden cup that he held to her lips. Eli could smell the sweetness of the wine and heard her gurgling as wine rand down her chin and onto her chest. Her eyes half closed, he smiled down at her as she brought her hands to the cup taking in more and more.

Holding the cup now to Eli, the god handed a thyrsus to Veronica and led her into the open moon lit circle. Eli watched as she began to dance and scream. She appeared in trance. Her milky body bathed in light. She was an animal raving. Soon, all the women that had come were dancing in the circle and howling. Crazed, they spun around the god leaping and crawling. To anybody who might have bore witness, the scene would have been terrifying. To Eli, it was the most erotic moment of his life. His loins on fire, he watched as the women pleasured themselves and each other while dancing. He watched them touch the god and be driven mad. And he felt mad as well. He felt crazy and beautiful and powerful. Somewhere in his mind, he wondered if the exorbitant amount of wine he’d drank had been laced with ecstasy or some other drug. But dismissed the thought as absurd immediately. This was the power of the god of wine. This was Dionysus unleashed and in his glory. Then the maenads with Veronica at the center began laying down with the men that had come. Moans and grunts began to permeate the darkness as multiple couples writhed in the circle. Veronica straddled and bucked furiously on a man she would have had no interest in an hour earlier. Eli felt soft lips on his bare chest and was laid down. Amidst animal groaning and wet moans, he felt himself consumed by the moon until nothing was left but the light and the hunger.   

Neon Gods (Chapter Excerpt-Rough)

The city became a powder keg. In the few short days after the news leaked of who had been shot backstage at the Basement, the heat rose exponentially in New Los Angeles. With no word yet whether the victim had survived, droves of people began to congregate at the club. The NLAPD realized within minutes that police tape and heightened senses were gonna be needed to keep some semblance of order. Like rival gangs, members of the Church of Man began gnashing their teeth at Christian believers who even after the god descended, still held to faith by a thread. They barked at each other under makeshift hand-painted signs. As officers taped off the club entrance, yelling evolved into pushing and it was apparent that arrests would soon be made. Apollo sifted through the crowd careful not to inadvertently cause a riot. He fought the urge to roll his eyes when a member of the Church exclaimed, “The gods have always been dead!” in his ear. “Perhaps so.” He said quickly and moved on.

As he got closer to the front entrance, he saw a semicircle of people on their knees. They appeared to be in submission to Allah but he knew that wasn’t right,. He knew it was mourning. Bouquets of flowers formed a mosaic of color in the middle. Like a campfire, mourners seemed to gather warmth from the assemblage. Crosses and bibles were strewn almost haphazardly around the shrine. Apollo witnessed terrible wailing. As if all the sorrow and grief bottled up after the gods descended was fully unleashed in an lament for Jesus Christ. Mourners wept openly. Unconcerned at etiquette, some lay down sobbing as if searing their faces against hot pavement was somehow prostrating themselves to god. The suffering was almost unimaginable.

Apollo couldn’t help but empathize. He had known his share of loss. He had also witnessed death. He wondered vaguely if his followers would lament in this way when he passed. He doubted it and couldn’t say why. Sure, there had been a time when social bonds in all forms would have crumpled at the death of Apollo. But not any more. It was clear the Middle East religions, once little more than tribal city gods, had now become profound and almost mystically influential.

He knew he still had a place called home. Greece was always calling. Greece called out to him every moment of every day but it had been in a cold ally in New Los Angeles that he’d awoke. And he’d remained. At least for now. Apollo fidgeted and felt eyes on him. A peculiar sensation as if somebody stood directly in back of him breathing on his neck. He knew he was being watched.

In the corner of his eye, he saw signs and fingers pointed at one another. Time seemed to slow as angry mouths screamed obscenities. Such hatred in a time of grief. He thought absently. Bodies moved around him, swallowing him in their center. He felt hands tugging at him; Smelled sweat and fear in the crowd. Then there were eyes locked onto his. They were expressionless and soft. As if working out a curiosity or mystery.

The man was surprisingly still given the action around him. He simply stood there looking at Apollo. Dumbfounded, Apollo watched the man approach him. He stopped a few feet from him. His eyes traveled up and down the god and he frowned. “ מה אתה רוצה עתיקה” He said. Apollo recognized the language as Hebrew but couldn’t say how he knew it. It just sounded familiar to him. Deciding to make a game of it, he answered in his native Greek tongue. “Δεν καταλαβαίνω.” The man’s eyebrows raised as if he too recognized the language as Greek but had no conception of what was said.

They stood staring at each other until both cracked a smile. “Do you use the common tongue?” The man said with a heavy accent. Apollo nodded. “I do.” The man looked around. His eyes taking in the scene around him. He was an old man. Once perhaps as athletic as Apollo yet not quite as lithe. His brown skin and bushy beard would have made him appear hipster if not for the feral look in his eyes. His head shaven, he hunched over as if carrying a tremendous weight. His heavily lined face had the impression that he’d suffered windburn. He wore rags. They seemed to slough off of him like skin. But his eyes were alert. Birdlike. Apollo wondered which one he was. That accent and dialect was obviously Jewish but he knew it was possible this one was some obscure Canaanite or Jordanian deity he knew nothing about. For all he knew, this one belonged in a pyramid. “El would be so dissatisfied.” The man said. El? Apollo thought quickly. A Canaanite god then. “Where are you from?” He asked nonchalantly. Not willing to give up the game just yet. The man fixed his eyes on Apollo. “I came to my people by way of caravan routes between Canaan and Egypt.” Not Canaanite then. “Look at them clamoring.” The man continued. “The death means nothing to them. Not really. Even those who weep have never sacrificed anything.”

Apollo found it surprisingly difficult to keep eye contact with this deity. He seemed ferocious and stormy. “And the man shot did?” He ventured. His bushy beard twitching, the man hesitated for a second. “Yes. He sacrificed all.” Apollo let his gaze fall on a woman kneeling at the shrine. Her face disfigured with grief, she clutched a rosary to her chest. “Still.” The god said quietly. “They mourn for him. They feel the loss perhaps more viscerally than we do.” There it was. Cards on the table. I know what you are. The man’s face darkened. “They perceive nothing. If they ever did. They fail at every turn. None remember the Shavuot! The Sukkot means nothing to them! And we wander still!” He looked around enraged. Apollo smiled inwardly. Stormy indeed. “And then there’s you.” The man spat. His face contorted into a grimace. The false idols.”

Apollo could feel the anger in him begin to stir. He noticed his palms sweaty. “No less false than you. They just no longer care to see your pillars of cloud and fire. Your miracles.” He said the last word slowly. Letting the insult seep in and fester. “Where are your miracles now?” The man spat in front of him. “The idols with their statues.” He said tauntingly. “Always with their statues. I needed no statue. The Temple had my cherubim and they were the empty throne! I cared not! My people bore witness. Even him.” He nodded towards the Basement. “Even he called out to me in his last moments.” Apollo smirked. “Condemn them if you must. YHWY.” Apollo accentuated his name. Letting every syllable drip off his tongue like milk and honey. He turned and strode off as a string of curses followed in his wake.