GODDESSES INC

8

The buzzer blared. A thunderous cheer rose up from the crowd. Duncan's team was crushing their opponents. Inna, sitting courtside at the basketball game, inhaled the heady spice of sweaty players and adoring fans. Of beer and chilidogs. Of over-perfumed women and cigar-smoking men. The fragrance of mortals. A scent Inna had taken for granted since...always.

The arena was deafening, a thousand people talking, laughing, and complaining. Alive with life and mortality.

The sensations sank into Inna's skin. It didn't help. The overwhelming sounds were not enough to drive out the worry that wrapped around her soul like a python suffocating its prey. It squeezed all hope from her.

Never in a thousand years did Inna ever hear of a goddess being fired. It was outrageous! A divine miscarriage of justice of epic proportions! The CEO of FEM threw her—the Nigerian goddess of the harvest, protection, and justice—out like rotten meat. Inna looked down at her lap, found her fingers curled into fists.

Inna's house was paid for. Shee provided that perk at least. Inna unfurled her fingers, picked up her phone, and checked her bank balance. Not another withdrawal. A wine club payment. Another luxury that had to go. Inna scrolled down the page, mentally added the list of monthly expenditures. Even if she only paid the necessities like gas and electricity, Inna figured she had maybe, maybe five months at most before the FEM well ran dry.

A bump on the shoulder made Inna look up.

"Inna." The center's wife, Alyssa, pointed to Inna's breasts. "You look fabulous! That tie!"

"You like?" Inna touched the tie. It was Duncan's, one of the samples she took earlier. Duncan wanted her to check the quality and fabric. 'I know basketball. You're into all that designer crap,' he had said. After examining the bias cut, interlining, and hand-sewn stitches, Inna deemed it superior and added it to three others on the preferred makers pile. This evening, as she dressed for the game, Inna wore two of those ties on a whim. One encircled her neck, the knot positioned for maximum cleavage-enhancing effect. The other she wound in her hair, part headband, part twisted into her thick braid.

"Your style is seriously swoon-worthy." Alyssa tugged on her tie.

"Ladies, smile," called a photographer.

Inna and Alyssa drew together, their bright smiles photo perfect. A few snaps later, the photographer turned his attention to the ex-supermodel currently dating the shooting guard, a lanky Black-Asian with dreamy eyes and a nightmarish knack for stealing the ball.

Inna stretched out her arm, her phone clasp between her fingers. "Let's take a few more." While they posed and laughed, she snapped away, then posted the best photo.

The basketball game was a blur. Sweaty mortals pounded back and forth across the court. The arena swelled with noise. Duncan might have scored a point, but Inna wasn't sure. Her eyes faced forward, yet her mind was far away. To liquidating her assets and returning to Nigeria. To finding a job. To figuring out what she was going to do with the time she had left in this world. However long that was.

The buzzer sounded and the crowded erupted into cheers. Inna checked the scoreboard. A hundred-and-one to a hundred-and-three. Duncan's team won.

Team. The word took on new meaning. Inna was booted from Team Goddess. She was alone. More alone than ever before in her life.

Inna scrolled through InstaPics and glanced briefly at the photo posted earlier. Her brows lifted in surprise. Three hundred likes. Inna didn't have that many followers! She didn't bother reading the comments. Photos of pretty women always received lots of likes. People preferred the young and beautiful. The world had not changed one bit since its inception.

Alyssa leaned into Inna. "Wow, that many already?"

Inna shrugged. It was a photograph. It didn't matter in the greater scheme of life. It was one photo of probably a billion posted every day on InstaPic.

Alyssa shouldered her Chanel bag. "Time to go home and wait for Devon. He's always horny after a winning game. You'd think he would be exhausted but, no, he wants to grind all night."

Inna smiled, was about to slide her phone back into her purse, when it pinged. It was a message, or rather a photo—a horrifying photo—from Axtis, Persian goddess of peace, justice, and victory.

Inna's mouth dropped open, her heart thumping in her throat.

The arena was too loud to make a call. A message wasn't enough. She needed to contact Axtis now!

Muttering Nigerian expletives under her breath, Inna worked her way through a crowd drunk on victory, the image of Axtis burning in her mind like a brand. The photo left no room for debate. Axtis, goddess of peace, justice, and victory sat cross-legged with an ancient scimitar across her lap.

Inna and Mnem were not the only ones who lost their goddesshood.

Up several flights of steps. Through the corridor. Out the door. Each minute was a countdown.

The parking lot wasn't much better. A few swear words later, Inna decided there was only one option. She forwarded Axtis's photo to Mnem. Mnem would know what to do.

Inna burst through a pack of fans and sprinted for the car. She hoped Mnem arrived there in time.

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