Little Gods Read Online Free PDF Page B

climbed, finally settling himself, arms extended for balance.
    “Now?” Samaelle asked.
    “Soon."
    The unicyclist pointed to a small boy in the audience. “Hey, kid! See those torches? Pick them up—by the white ends, not the black ends—and throw them to me one at a time!"
    The boy threw the torches underhand to the unicyclist, who caught them to “oohs” and “ahhs” from the audience. The unicyclist lit the torches and juggled them while pedaling inches from the edge of the crowd. The audience applauded wildly.
    “I've got an idea,” Madisen said. He knelt and touched the little boy on the shoulder. He whispered without speaking, and the boy giggled. Madisen stood up.
    “What'd you do?” Samaelle asked.
    “What we always do. I made a suggestion."
    The boy ran into the square and shoved the unicycle. The rider shouted as he fell forward into the crowd. The torches flew from his hands. People screamed and tried to dodge out of the way. The falling unicycle didn't hit anyone, but the rider tumbled to the edge of the church steps. One arm twisted under him unnaturally, and he screamed.
    “That's entertaining,” Samaelle said.
    “Look at Thalia.” Madisen pointed.
    The Muse pressed her hands to her face and shook her head, as if denying what she saw. A few people helped the cyclist get up, but Thalia didn't approach him.
    Madisen and Samaelle sauntered toward her. “Hi, Thalia,” Samaelle said. “That was a hell of a show. I loved the grand finale."
    She looked at them, bewildered. “What? I—"
    “We know who you are, Muse,” Madisen said. “Do you know us?"
    “Imagine me with wings,” Samaelle said.
    Thalia took a step backward, toward the wrought-iron fence surrounding Jackson square.
    “The sword might have tipped you off,” Madisen said. “Didn't you wonder why she was wearing it?"
    Thalia looked at them, wide-eyed. “People do weird things in New Orleans. I don't associate swords with ... angels?"
    “You should,” Samaelle said. “We're fond of them."
    “We're fallen angels, actually. Not so different from you. We both put ... ideas into people's heads."
    Thalia stiffened. “You did this? Why? What have I ever done to you?"
    Madisen and Samaelle exchanged glances. “You haven't done anything to us,” Madisen said.
    “We do things to others,” Samaelle said. “Because we like to. Because it's fun."
    “Certainly you can relate."
    Thalia tightened her hands into fists. “I'm nothing like you. I help people, inspire them, and you...” She shook her head.
    “Drive them to destruction. Like you do, if I recall. A matter of a few dead comedians?"
    “Your kind did that,” she said bitterly. “If anyone did, if they didn't do it to themselves. Zeus blamed me, but I made their lives better. Not like you."
    “You talk pretty big for somebody who's been kicked out of her own has-been pantheon,” Samaelle said. “Do you know how many artists we have in Hell? Do you think their painting, or singing, or whatever stupid crap they did, keeps them from the fires?"
    “I'm almost certain it does,” Thalia said. “Inside, where it counts, I'm sure it does."
    “Don't you have some other artists to attend to, Thalia?” Madisen said casually.
    Thalia crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you going to do?"
    “Follow you around,” Samaelle said. “Ruin some careers. Tempt a few artists to more interesting pursuits. See how long it takes you to crumble."
    “Then we'll probably report you to Zeus."
    “Why?” Thalia backed up against the iron fence.
    “We're on vacation,” Madisen said.
    “It beats the hell out of sitting in a bar."
    Thalia drew herself up. She barely topped five feet, but she seemed much taller for a moment. For the first time, Madisen felt uneasy. The Muses were old, maybe older than he was.
    “No,” Thalia said. “I won't allow it. Not this time."
    “How're you going to stop us?” Samaelle said. “Inspire us to death?"
    “Good idea,” Thalia