Ricky's Watcher

According to Bast, a night that was darker than black and a day grimmer than gray was a time that the gods mourned, where neither Thoth nor Ra himself could muster the power to bring the moon or the sun up into the heavens.

But Kroy’wen was dark and dreadful enough already regardless of if they were mourning or not, but the sheets of rain that poured over the city lately sure did fall with godly force, battering pedestrians and streetlights like machine guns from the heavens. The storms that blanketed the sky these past few days really did make it seem like an endless night. Then again, I never really had time to wake up to see a sunrise or step out to see a sunset lately with all of the work and business of being swamped in the shop.

I recall myself running back to the antique store one night with one of my most honest grins behind my prayer mask, a holy black mask of my beautiful guardian goddess. I had to tuck my newest addition to the collection underneath my coat to keep it from getting drenched, quickly rounding the corner of Third and Fifth to push through the shop doors.

“Bast, I’m home!” I called, shaking my coat off and throwing it on the rack by the door, taking off shoes but tracking in rainwater from soaked socks. I slipped around a bit on the hardwood floors, trying to balance on the wooden pillars without knocking over any of the tapestries or masks mounted about.

“Are you, now?” she purred sarcastically, almost a sharpness in her tone as she laid next to the gold framed mirror on the back wall. “I rather thought I was experiencing a desert mirage. Are you sure it’s really you, Rakeem?”

“For the most part.” I huffed a laugh and tried to find a dry spot on the counter for my newest acquisition. “Did anybody come by the shop while I was busy?”

“Busy?” she hissed at me, stepping forward lightly and curling her tail about, her jeweled collar rustling on black fur. “I’d hardly call a trip to the toy shop business, boy.”

“The Black Market is hardly a toy shop,” I told her, trying to open the folds of the package to show her the contents. “I’ve found some of our best collections from there. How else am I supposed to expand?”

“Not by going to underground auction houses to buy illegal merchandise, Ricky.” Bast’s normal overprotective tone had gone bitter and harsh.

“Have mercy, goddess,” I pleaded, stopping what I was doing with the package. “Please, I need to bring in more things from around here to attract more business.”

“And who told you this?” The cat narrowed her eyes at me, pattering towards the counter and leaping up onto it gracefully. “Perhaps your little Transylvanian friend?”

I couldn’t help but frown, still trying to shake my clothes dry. “Dracula is our guest, Bast. You promised that you and I would both show him compassion and hospitality.”

“Just as he promised to help you get more stolen artifacts of the gods?”

“These are not stolen, Bast.” I snapped back. “They are merely recovered. Do not insult my friend’s intentions like that, please. Dracula is a good man who promised to help me make my shop the most incredible in the whole world- the largest modern collection of historic, divine, occult, and pagan artifacts to have ever existed. His knowledge of the gods and mythology is extraordinary, and should not be underestimated.”

Bast laid down across the counter, stretching her back and arching her tail. “And you’re not the slightest bit curious as to why he has so much hands-on knowledge of the gods, Ricky? Their powers, their weaknesses, their strengths, their flaws?”

I didn’t have a response of a comeback. Frankly, I didn’t know Dracula much beyond the records of his ancient battles, his disputes against the gods.

“Is this because of his vampirism, Bast?”

“It is because of his defiance,” she whipped back, batting me in the face with her tail. “I do not appreciate how he has barged into our lives, acting like he owns this place, as if we were his servants.”

I grumbled a bit, returning to the package to handle it with care and figure out precisely what to do with it. “He does not treat us like servants, Bast. He appreciates us dearly.”

“He takes you for a fool, Ricky,” she warned, stepping right up to my face and placing her paws on top of the package, uncaring of its contents. “Do you not care that he’s turned so many into vampire spawn and abuses the divine privileges to Ma’at that I’ve granted him? He takes my divine realm of the mirror for himself and has made it into his own personal nightclub hideout. How do you ever expect me to trust him when he’s made a laughing stock of us both?”

I sighed, gently pulling the wrapped package out from beneath her paws, causing her to stumble off to the side. “Well, I understand how much he approves of certain people. Perhaps by gaining their favor, we could change his behavior?” I moved to try to open up the package once again.

“And what would you possess now that could get him to bend the knee?”

“It’s not for him,” I told her, pulling forth the piece within, gnarled and spindly but firm with a ripe verdant shade along the shaft, a barbed point at the tip. “I was hoping that maybe his Asgardian friend might like this.”

“An arrow?”

“An Arrow of Mistletoe, crafted by Loki himself.” I brandished it closely in front of her to observe in detail. “I’m certain that Loki would be amused to see one of his creations resurface like this.”

Bast stepped around the arrow curiously, stepping over my wrists uncaringly. “You intend then to arrange some sort of deal with them all?”

I nodded to my guardian. “You are my goddess and protector, Bastet. I am loyal first and foremost to you. I will bring this arrow to Loki as an offering, request of him to speak on our behalf, and bequest of him to have Dracula treat you and your realm with more dignity and respect while he resides there. That is my hope.”

“How curious of you to bet a god’s cooperation on a silly little trinket.” Bastet gave me a doubtful look in the eye, leaning in close as if to sniff me for the scent of foolishness.

“Is that not how our pact was made in the first place though, my friend?” I smiled at her, admiring the ornate collar I had returned to her long ago from one of my finds. It was always fun to remind her of our accord- she always was so bashful and coy about it whenever I brought the matter up.

“Perhaps so… But an Egyptian goddess far honors her word more than an Asgardian trickster. I can only protect you so much from the treachery of others, my dear Ricky.”

“Then I will have to take my chances and hope that this treasure if of interest to him.” I smiled and stowed the arrow again in the package, trying to look around for a space behind the counter to mount it up on the wall.

“You do realize that the gods still mourn the fall of Hermes the Greek, yes?” Bast asked, sitting and cocking her head.

“Of course, Bast.” I decided to remove the Wand of Merlin from the wall to make room for the arrow. “Just as you said- that I should be wary of who among and alongside the gods I should trust- even you.”

“Then surely you must understand that, if Loki or Dracula came to carry the blame, that I would prioritize your safety and expel them from Ma’at, forbid them from this plot of land for you?” She began to lick her paw nonchalantly.

“Do you suspect that they are responsible?” I returned to the counter to lean against it, beginning to light some more candles.

“I wouldn’t like to rule out the possibility to soon,” she purred back, glancing casually about the dim antique store and all of its seas of my cluttered artifacts. “Though I will admit, it would be somewhat nice to hear it to be true so I could finally have my realm to myself once again rather than having to share it with your guest’s posse of vampires.”

I lit the candles and pushed them forward between us, trying to take in the dim firelight and the lavender scent radiating from it. “If Dracula, Loki, or any of their acquaintances ever did betray our trust, Bast, I give you permission and trust that you will deal with it properly. I am more than happy to leave the matter in your capable hands.”

“Paws, Ricky.”

“Ah, right.” I looked back up to the Arrow of Mistletoe on the wall behind me now. “Did you know that mistletoe arrows like this were capable of slaying Norse gods? One just like the one you see here killed Baldr himself.”

“How reassuring to have in our home,” Bast droned sarcastically. “I, a goddess, am overjoyed you have a godslaying weapon hanging on the wall.”

“Let’s simply pray that this doesn’t get used, Bast.” I folded my arms, thinking of the potential consequences I may have opened myself up to with these choices.

“A fair enough request, I suppose,” she groaned to me. “Praying is what this city does best, after all.”

“I know,” I said softly. “I only hope that it will be enough to keep this city from going up in flames.”