"Oooohhh God, it's way too early in the morning," Nathan growled.
"It ams eleven o'clock," Toki pointed out in a petulant voice. "I beens up since seven thirtys."
"Being a morning person is your worst fucking trait, Toki," Nathan announced. "You should work on that."
Toki's face screwed up into a pout. The pair was standing on the dock as Gears and dive shop employees loaded the dive gear onto a boat. The two heavy metal gods had bought out the boat, so they wouldn't be bothered by regular jackoffs. Nathan and Toki crawled from the dock onto the boat. The dive master introduced himself and the captain of the boat and a few helpers before explaining the plan for the dive.
"What about her?" Nathan asked, pointing. "What's she here for?"
There was a woman sitting on the other end of the boat, eating a sandwich. She was long and tall, but obviously native – Incan or Mayan or whatever the local flavor was. She wore a pair of cutoff jeans and a bikini and those big, round sunglasses that were popular with chicks.
Nathan was used to women pretending to ignore him while putting themselves on display. This woman didn't sit like that. She sat like she really didn't think anyone was looking at her, which was weird because she was actually pretty hot.
The dive master turned, looked directly at the woman and looked back to Nathan Explosion with a confused expression.
"Um . . . who?"
"What do you mean, who? That chick right there!"
Said chick paused while chewing and straightened slightly. The dive master looked at her again, then looked back at Nathan.
"Um . . . sir, there is nobody there."
"Are you fucking blind? She's sitting right there!"
"Nathans, you high?" Toki inquired.
"What? You can't see her either? Are you serious? There's a hot chick with big tits in Daisy Dukes and a bikini top sitting right there."
From what he could tell behind the big bug-eyed sunglasses, the hot chick was staring at him in confusion.
"Ah . . . . yes. Yes sir, I can see her. A beautiful lady oiling herself up for sunbathing . . ." the dive master offered.
"She's eating a sandwich!"
"Oh."
"Look, just take two steps that way and grab the rail; you'll have to touch her," Nathan ordered.
The dive master stared miserably at the singer, cast a look at the two attendant Gears, then took two steps to his left and grabbed the rail. The woman carefully got up and moved out of the way.
"Damn it, she moved! Now she's gone."
"Yeah, Nat'an, dat's what a lady what ain'ts dere no more looks like," Toki said. "Whats did yous take? Gots any more?"
"I . . . didn't take anything," Nathan stated.
The strange woman moved across to the other side of the cabin and Nathan lost sight of her.
"Don'ts fucking flips out when we's down dere; Charles never lets us goes divings again," Toki chided.
"Fuck you, Toki," Nathan growled without much heat.
The boat took off across the waves, ferrying the men towards their target reef. Toki took the opportunity to ask questions of the crew in fractured English and get the answers in even more fractured English. Nathan watched the rhythm guitarist surmount not one but two language barriers for a while, then looked around the boat.
The woman no one else could see was sitting on the bow, dangling her legs over the edge. The front man gingerly picked his way to the front of the boat and sat down next to her.
"So . . . . like, how come no one can see you but me?" he asked.
"A better question would be: How come you can see me?" she countered. She slipped her sunglasses down and peered at Nathan critically over the rims. "Are you Aware?"
"Aware of what?"
"That's a 'No,'" she said, pushing her sunglasses back up. "You must have a really strong connection to water. I guess that means DethWater was your idea."
"Yeah," Nathan said.
"That album rocked, by the way," she said grudgingly. "I really liked Water God. It was pretty . . . accurate."
"'Accurate'?"
"Honestly, I thought if I had troubles with the Glamour it would be with him." The woman nodded towards Toki. "If he had any more troll blood he'd have a tail."
"Are you like . . . a sea witch or something?"
The woman snorted.
"File me under 'or something'," she said with a grin. "I'm here to keep an eye on you two and make sure you don't fuck up my reefs." The woman slid her sunglasses down again and fixed Nathan with a look. "Don't fuck up my reefs."
"We are legally exempt from any responsibility concerning our . . . our . . . uh . . . what's that word that means we're close to something?"
The woman thought for a minute.
"Vicinity?"
"Yeah. We are legally exempt from any responsibility concerning any disasters that take place in our vicinity," Nathan said in a laboriously slow tone, as though he were repeating something that had been drilled into him.
"Yeah, that's nice, but if you fuck up my reefs, I ain't gonna take you to court. I'm going to hit you somewhere your demon lawyer can't protect you."
" . . . there's nowhere Charles couldn't protect us," Nathan said after a moment's hesitation. "He came back from the dead for us."
"Don't say I didn't warn you," the stranger said, then rolled off of the side of the boat and landed in the ocean with a splash.
"Whats was dat? Was dat a dolphin?" Toki asked, crawling up onto the bow with Nathan.
"Uh . . . . yeah. You missed it."
"Awwww . . . . maybe we sees one on de dive!"
"Yeah, maybe. Hey, do you think there's any way Charles couldn't protect us?"
"Whats? No ways; he ams Charles," the young Norwegian said dismissively.
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Fuck that chick."
" . . . what?"
"Sirs? We are ready to go down!" The dive master called.
"Fuck that chick," Nathan repeated. "Let's go see some fucking sharks."
"Mr. Offdensen, are you alive?"
A mangled groan rumbled up from Charles' throat. Holy shit, his head . . . it tasted like Murderface had taken a piss in his mouth. Something was stabbing him in the face, but he recognized the vague shape of his own glasses from a lifetime of wearing corrective lenses. He lifted his head slightly to note that he was lying face down across a hotel bed.
"Are you still drunk?"
A burning started rushing up his throat.
"Trash can . . ." Charles rasped, pulling himself to the edge.
He wasn't sure if Conway had anticipated this request or if he did something magic, but a hotel trash can materialized under his mouth and Offdensen heaved messily. His glasses started to slip.
"No . . ."
The spectacles dropped, but were caught by a very quick-thinking Matthias.
"Oh God, remind me to give you a raise," Charles grunted.
"I will," Conway stated with a smile, holding up a glass of water.
The manager swished and spat into the trash can.
"The boys are fine, before you ask. Murderface went shopping, Pickles is still sleeping, Nathan and Toki are on their dive trip WITH a supernatural chaperone, and Skwisgaar went to tour the ruins of San Grevasio."
Charles took a hesitant swallow of water.
"Skwisgaar went to see ruins?"
"He said he wanted to," Matthias said with a shrug. "But the ruins of San Grevasio used to be the temple of the local fertility goddess, so I can see how it would call to him."
"Muuuhh . . . ." Charles offered, laying his head back down. "I think I'm still drunk."
"Well, you can sleep more if you want, sir. You've still got a good four hours before your ladies arrive."
"Oh good," Charles sighed, lying back down. "Wait; WHAT?"
Conway had started to leave, but stopped and looked down into the wide and slightly unfocused gaze of his boss.
"Your . . . your ladies? They'll arrive in about three hours, but it will take them another hour to get through customs."
"Th-the . . . what? They're coming here? Why? H-how . . . they couldn't afford to drop everything and fly to Mexico! Who paid for all this?"
" . . uh . . . . you did," Matthias said weakly. "You called them last night and invited them, then told me to see to the details."
"That's . . . Mercy couldn't just drop work; she teaches grade school!"
"As totally adorable that it is that you're dating an elementary teacher, there's a teachers' strike going on in California right now."
"But – but this is a boys' vacation! I'm supposed to be hanging out with the boys! Arrgh; they're going to be pissed!"
"Well . . . . I have an idea," Conway offered.
"I'm open to suggestions."
"You and the boys have been fairly spread out this trip; why not give the girls a credit card and send them shopping during the day? Then by the time the boys are starting to get trashed and pass out, you can go find your girls and give them a little whey-hey."
"It's not all about sex," Charles growled, pulling the trash can towards himself. "Get me some orange juice and Vitamin B shots. Send a limo to the airport when the girls arrive. Have three dozen roses in the car – one red, one pink, and one white. The red ones are for Faith, the white ones are for Mercy and the pink ones are for Hope. Have some very sweet white wine in the car – maybe they won't notice I'm hung over if they're drunk, too."
"I'll see to it, sir," Conway said, heading for the door.
"Conway!" Charles called. "This friend of yours – she'll really protect Nathan and Toki?"
"I'd trust her to have my back," Matthias said.
Skwisgaar stood at the end of an ancient promenade, staring up at the lump of rock that used to be a temple.
There was something . . . . . something . . . he didn't know what there was. But there was something. And it was niggling at the back of his mind. And it wouldn't leave him alone.
But what could be here that called to him? He had only felt like this a time or two before and it had been back at home in Scandinavia. His homeland had absolutely nothing in common with this hot, tropical swamp. He almost thought he could hear whispers.
"Very lucky, sir!"
The tall Swede didn't jump, but he tore his eyes away from the middle distance and focused on the tour guide for the ruins.
"Whats?"
"You are wearing all white," the guide pointed out, gesturing to Skwisgaar's white linen getup. "The Goddess Ixchel was also goddess of the moon and water lilies . . . she liked the color white!"
"Ixchel?" Skwisgaar echoed. It was pronounced like 'Michelle' but without the 'M'. "Whats . . . whats else she was ams goddess ofs?"
The shore dive they had taken to get certified was cool. When they dropped off the dive boat and descended sixty feet down onto an enormous coral formation, Nathan felt sad. He felt sad because he looked straight down into a ten thousand foot drop off and knew that all he would ever be able to do was scratch the surface.
That . . . that kind of blew.
But this was awesome. It was like being in the world's largest aquarium, only the glass was just on the other side of your eyes and you could chase the fish if you wanted. There were colorful angelfish a foot long and tiny little stripey fish that followed the divers like they had nothing better to do and a blowfish that had to be three feet long. Nathan didn't even know they got that big.
The respirator made his mouth dry, which made this throat parch, which made his stomach flip-flop. The dive master gave him a questioning thumbs-up just as Nathan tore the respirator out of his mouth and vomited into the open ocean.
In a blink, a cloud of fish swarmed up around the singer to eat the puke, which was seriously gross, but really beautiful to look at. A muffled giggle reached his ears and he realized that Toki was delighting in the sudden fish swarm, too.
Cool.
He wasn't sure he could write a song about fish eating puke, though.
Well . . . . maybe.
As the fish started to spread out again, Nathan caught sight of a large figure slipping behind a coral formation. It almost looked like a hot chick with big tits in a bikini . . . only the legs merged into a great big fin.
Water God was accurate, huh?
Fucking bad ass.
The dive master grabbed Nathan's respirator and shoved it back into his mouth. Ugh, this taste was going to be horrible until he got back to the surface, but fuck it. The lead singer pointed eagerly to a cave opening in the coral. He didn't say it out loud, but he wanted to yell 'Let's see some fucking sharks!'
Murderface had found the best restaurant on the whole island. It was perched at the top of a huge cliff on the empty side of the island. The waves pounded the cliff and sent up a cooling breeze across the open air dining room. The seafood was fresh and tasty, the beer was cheap and the underside of the roof was plastered with women's underwear and bras.
"I'm gonna have to build a vacation houshe here or shomething," he muttered. That might be kind of expensive. "Or jusht rent one," he quickly amended.
The restaurant seemed to do good business, but the bass player was still surprised when Skwisgaar loped up the steps and looked around the dining room. Spotting his fellow band member, the Swede ignored the host and plopped himself down in the chair opposite Murderface.
"Murdersface! Did joo knows whats dis islands usededs to bes?"
The bass player hadn't seen Skwisgaar this excited since they had hosted the U.S. Pornography Awards.
"Um . . . coral?"
"Whats? No; it's was de sacreds island of a fertilities goddess!" The Swede announced. "She was ams de goddess of womens and sex and babies and waters ands de moons!"
"Uh . . . . sho? I mean, that'sh kind of intereshting . . . . did she get human shacrificesh? That would be cool."
"I t'ink dey all dids arounds here. Buts! If you wanted to get sexies wit' tons of ladies, you makes de sacrifices to her! And hers ceno – shen - cyn – sacreds pool ams still opens!" Skwisgaar slapped the cheap plastic table. "I goes backs to towns and gets lots of jewelry and flowers to tosses in. You wants to comes wit'?"
"Flowersh and jewelry? That'sh really what she liked ash sacrifices?"
Skwisgaar shrugged.
"Ladies ams ladies; evens de immortal kinds. Charles probably nots lets us sacrifices a Gear anyways."
"What if we had one that wash already dead?" the bassist posed.
"Nos; de guide says dey hads to throws thems in stills alives. Dey painteds dems blue and pumped thems fulls of drugs and throwed thems ins de pool. If dey drowned, den de goddess likededs the sacrifice and if dey survived, dey brought back messages from her."
"They got to die high? Don't tell Picklesh; he'll volunteer."
Skwisgaar let out an uncharacteristic bark of laughter.
"Comes wit' me; we gets yous goods mojo for de ladies!"
"What makesh you think I need it?" Murderface demanded.
Skwisgaar stared at the bass player for a long, long moment, then snorted.
"All rights; stays here. I keeps it alls for myself," he murmured, heaving himself to his feet.
Murderface watched him stride across the dining room for a moment.
"Fuck! Wait for me, asshole!"