“You are the seventh son of a seventh son. You are the chosen paladin of the Green Goddess!”
The woman finished her oration, which had involved far too much questionable history for Gabe’s patience and looked at him triumphantly.
Gabe sighed and rubbed his brow. “Does this one at least pay?”
“What?”
“We’re pretty low on seventh sons of seventh sons these days. I’m already the High Priest of the Cult of Odin’s Daughters, Dread Judge of the Order of Osiris, Guardian of the Dragon’s Sacred Flame, and Gatekeeper of the Underhill.”
“But”
Gabe ignored the bewildered interjection and kept talking. “The problem is, they all come with their ‘change the world’ quests, or ‘stop the end of the world’ desperate ploys, along with people trying to usurp or assassinate me. But not one of them pays.”
“Not even the dragon one?” That was one of the younger Green Goddess followers, the older one glared at her, she glared back. “What? Does being the Chosen One mean you don’t get hungry? Or cold? Or tired?”
“Or straight up burned out and over it.” Gabe added. “And no, the dragon one doesn’t pay, and I’m pretty sure the sacred flame violates every building safety code ever created. I’m not camped out in this godforsaken cabin in the middle of nowhere for my own amusement you know.”
The younger priestess, or whatever she was, plumped down on the cabin steps next to Gabe. “So how do you get by?”
“By wrangling a high-speed internet connection for this place out of the fae, so I can build websites for normal everyday people, with normal everyday businesses, while ignoring all the rubbish chosen one jobs people keep trying to throw at me purely because my dad and my grandad couldn’t keep it in their pants.”
The older woman glared at him. “So you’re happy to consort with otherworldly creatures like dragons and fae, but refuse to protect your fellow humans?”
Gabe glared back. “Very happy. They, at least understand trades, bargains, and give and take. My ‘fellow humans’ are only interested in giving me grief and taking credit for my work. So, unless you can come up with a decent monthly retainer for whatever it is you want me to do, including holidays and sick leave, then you can just shuffle off back down the road and tag whoever’s coming up.”
The group of green-clad women turned towards the dirt track, as the roar of several large vehicles, and a cloud of dust puffing above the trees announced the next group of visitors.
The young woman looked at the group’s leader and said. “Told you we should have gone with a third of a third.”
