Damaged Gods

No.

Antonius never did a single thing to make my life easier. I was actually happy when his replacement showed up and he got to leave. He died in the back gardens—this was when the sanctuary was still located across the ocean in the Old World. He lived five minutes outside the walls after his spell was broken.

More than he deserved.

I walk out to the center of the grand reception hall and breathe deeply, trying to calm myself. But my mind is still hyper-focused on what is happening in the apothecary when a flutter of wings up in the ceiling makes me look up.

A tiny sparrow is in my grand hall.

“Huh.” I rub a hand over my face as I consider this. I have never seen a bird in the sanctuary. Not even outside. They can’t get in here. They can’t get past the magic. Everything that enters needs an invitation, including this bird.

So how did it get here?

Obviously, it came with the girl.

Wonderful. Pets. Now we have pets.

What else will this girl bring?

I forget about the bird and go back down the stairs, telling myself the entire way that this is why I stay out of the cathedral. I don’t like what happens in here. I don’t like the people in here and I don’t need to be reminded of my story, thank you. I lived it.

At the bottom of the stairs, I push through the doors and wander into the cemetery, picking my way around the hundreds and hundreds of tombs.

The cursed. This is the only place on the property where I truly feel I belong.

They like to keep us all together in one place, I suppose. Cuts down on the need for dozens of magical bloodlines to keep us all contained.

I go first to Tarq. I visit him each night. I like to keep him up to date on things. He can’t respond, obviously. He’s a fucking statue. But I like to imagine that he can hear me and that he appreciates my visits.

There are dozens of pathways that weave through all the tombs in the cemetery, but finding Tarq’s is easy because he’s smack in the middle of the west lawn.

At nearly eight feet tall in statue form, Tarq is incredibly imposing. But even back in his real-life body he was a big monster. Built like a warrior with broad shoulders and well-muscled arms and thighs as thick as tree trunks. We never fought each other, so it’s unknown who would win that fight if one ever took place, but most people would put their money on Tarq just due to his massive bulk.

In statue form he doesn’t just look dangerous, he looks… evil.

He is made of black marble that is so detailed, you want to run your hand down the slick rock just to test it out and see if that stone is made of hide. His fur, in real life, is slick, jet black like his long hair on his head. His skin is a light shade of brown and he has welted brands declaring him the property of the god Saturn on both biceps.

My legs are much the same, but they more resemble a ram’s than a bull’s, and they are covered in fur the color of wheat straw. I have the branded markings of an owner as well, but much to Saturn’s dismay, I never belonged to him. I was the property of the goddess Juno.

We, the monsters, we were all made by the infamous alchemist Ostanes for the gods to play with. But even though they are gods, they are not perfect. Far from it, in fact.

The gods I knew were petty, jealous creatures. Always competing with each other. Doesn’t matter what, they always needed to compete. Saturn and Juno were the most powerful. Mates at times. But their pairing was only out of necessity to keep their bloodlines going. They birthed the rest of the gods and then everyone went their separate ways. You can’t trust the gods. Even the gods don’t trust the gods. This is why they needed us. The monsters. We were their children. They lived through us. They used us.

This is how the curse starts. The killing of Ostanes, the alchemist in charge of making monsters.

No one knows how the curse ends, obviously. Since it’s still in place.

I exhale loudly and look back up at Tarq. His horns are minotaur-like in appearance, with the dark color of the water buffalo, while mine are more corkscrew in nature and belong on the head of a kudu.

We are chimera. Half god, half monster with fur, horns, hooves, and, in the case of myself and Tarq, we are well-endowed because we were originally part of an ancient monster-breeding program of satyrs.

At least I have that going for me.

The smile that begins to creep up my face cannot be stopped and eventually it turns into a grin.