Age of Shiva (The Pantheon Series) by James Lovegrove

and drank. I was glad that I’d been wearing a t-shirt while swimming in order to avoid sunburn. Aanandi did not need to behold the pallid frame of an Englishman who spent far too much time indoors and did not know the meaning of the word exercise. In particular she did not need to be exposed to his puffy midriff and budding moobs.
    “How’ve things been?” I asked. “I’ve hardly seen you since it all kicked off.”
    “Good,” she said. Distantly, distractedly. “Good.”
    “This is a lark, isn’t it?” I said. “I mean, here we are, support team for a bunch of actual superheroes. The world out there is going nuts for them. Some people even think they’re gods. We know better. They’re not devas, they’re very naughty boys.” The Monty Python reference was lost on her. “How long’s it going to last, do you reckon?”
    “How long what?”
    “Until people cotton on to the truth.”
    “No idea. It doesn’t matter anyway. That’s not part of the...”
    She tailed off. I realised she was quite tipsy. There were at least three empties lying next to the cooler.
    “Part of the...?” I prompted.
    “Nothing.”
    “No, what were you going to say?”
    “Nothing,” she repeated, more insistently.
    “Oh. Okay.” I let it go. What did I care? It was her I was interested in, way more than the Trinity or the Dashavatara.
    We gazed out to sea for a while. The sun was setting fast, turning water to flame.
    “I’d like to draw you sometime,” I said. “You have a great profile.”
    “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Aanandi sighed. “Is that one of your pick-up lines? Is that how you get girls? ‘Hey, look at me, I’m an artist, I’ll draw you.’ Could you be any cheesier?”
    Guilty as charged. I’d pulled with that line, or tried to pull, on more than one occasion. Who wouldn’t be flattered when offered the opportunity to be immortalised on paper? It was a date without any of the usual pressures or expenditures of a date.
    “Yeah,” I admitted sheepishly. “I must be a little rusty. Not working?”
    “You think? Maybe if I was a Zak Zap fan I’d have gone weak at the knees, but I’m not and I haven’t.”
    “I thought you liked my work. That’s the impression I’ve been getting.”
    “You’re talented, no doubt, but it’s not as if I’m actually into comics. I have a life.”
    “Ah. Well. I see.” I got to my feet. I had no idea why Aanandi had turned all snarky like this, why she’d soured on me, but I did know that there was nothing to be gained by my sticking around. “Thanks for the bev. I’m sorry I’m not important enough for you to talk to any more. I thought we had a, you know, a connection, you and me. Obviously I was wrong.”
    I’d gone three paces when she said, “No. Wait. I’m sorry. Come back.”
    I hesitated.
    “I’m in a mood, I admit it,” she said. “And your huffy passive-aggressive self-pity is not attractive. But still. I could do with company.”
    “All right,” I relented. “But my fee is another Tiger.”
    “Done,” Aanandi said, fishing out a fresh bottle and patting the sand beside her.
    “I’m wondering why I’m still here,” I said after downing half the bottle. “I’ve done my bit, haven’t I? There isn’t really any reason to keep me around.”
    “I’m wondering that, too,” she said, adding quickly, “Kidding, I’m just kidding. I guess the Trinity think they still need you.”
    “Either that or they’ve forgotten about me.”
    “It’s perfectly possible. As you can imagine, they’re crazy busy right now. They’ve launched the Dashavatara. There’s endless maintenance and management to be done.”
    “That was all very corporate-speak.”
    “They’re corporate men. I spend a lot of time with them. Their influence must be rubbing off.”
    “But you make it sound like this is all some sort of grandiose business scheme. Isn’t it about saving the world? Protecting humanity from danger?”
    “Do you think that, Zak?