"Are you an Atlantean?" Jandra asked.
"Lord no." The goddess rolled her eyes as if it was an absurd suggestion. "I'm the exact opposite of an Atlantean. An anti-Atlantean, if you will. I crippled the damn city when it first came to earth. If the Atlanteans ever figured out how badly I screwed them I'll be the one who ends up as a skid mark in underspace. I'll be… You don' t have a clue what I'm talking about, do you?"
"I confess, I'm having a difficult time following what you're saying. Your accent is odd to me. And you really expect me to believe you're a thousand years old? And you kept the human race alive to grow tobacco?"
"1174, with a birthday just around the corner. The candles on the cake will be seen from Mars. Just kidding. About the cake. God, you have the glassiest expression when I'm talking over your head. You should work on that. Make your default listening face kind of a grin. Seriously, you've got good teeth for a girl living in an era without dentistry. Show them off."
The goddess walked closer to her again. Jandra started to back away, but found herself paralyzed. She couldn't move a muscle as the green-haired woman came to within a few inches of her.
"Know what I'm doing?" the goddess asked.
Jandra couldn't speak.
"Oh, sorry, let me give you back your jaw."
Jandra's mouth returned to her control. "Why can't I move?" she asked.
"You haven't put any locks on your genie, sweety," the woman said, reaching out and rapping Jandra's helmet with her knuckles. "You really don't know how to use this thing at all, do you?"
"I've survived this far," Jandra said, straining to even wiggle her fingers. The same tingling sensation inside her skull she'd felt fighting the statue returned, only now a hundred times as intense.
"For starters, wearing it as a helmet isn't terribly flattering. You have nice hair. Don't hide half of it." The goddess ran her fingers through Jandra's locks. Jandra's head felt suddenly lighter. The helmet seemed to be melting off her scalp and dribbling down her spine.
"Reconfiguring it to run along your spinal column will make you modestly faster and stronger," the goddess said. "The real benefit is appearance, though. You have a lovely face; this will let people see more of it. I like the natural, no make-up look. Fresh and healthy, almost virginal. Still, you could benefit from a little tarting up. Lower the neckline on that fancy blouse of yours. Show some cleavage and you could make men stupid."
At the mention of the word cleavage, Jandra couldn't help but think of Pet.
"The men in my life are stupid enough, thank you," she said.
"Heh," the goddess chuckled. Suddenly Jandra felt free to move again. "Yeah, a thousand years of evolution has really improved the brains of dragons, but I can't tell a damn bit of difference in men. Of course, humans haven't benefited from my benevolent intervention like the dragons have."
"Now you're claiming to have created dragons?" said Jandra, feeling her hair. Her helmet was gone; only a few thin fingers of metal ran along her scalp beneath her hair line. The rest of the metal had turned flexible and clung to the back of her neck, trailing down to the tip of her spine beneath her clothing. She again felt her senses altering ever so slightly. What had the goddess done to her?
"I didn't create the dragons. I just tweak them from time to time. When Atlantis triggered the great collapse, there were only a few dozen dragons around. My friends and I helped them survive those rough early years. Then the sky-dragons diverged from the sun-dragons and started that brilliant eugenics program. Following the ninth plague of the humans, the dragon population really exploded. After that, the earth-dragons showed up and… You following this, honey? Am I talking too fast? Maybe you should start taking notes?"
The goddess shuffled through the papers on her desk. Jandra spotted a sketch of a long-wyrm with a cryptic note penciled in the margin-mutagenic expression of multiple limbs. The goddess found a sheet of blank paper and held it out to Jandra, along with a pencil.
Jandra shook her head. She'd had her fill of note-taking under her tutelage of Vendevorex. "I didn't know there was going to be a quiz," she said.
Over the goddess's shoulder, Jandra noticed that Bitterwood and Hex had been joined by a tall man in dark clothing, and a smaller, blonde figure. Zeeky?
"So," said the goddess, "I want you to understand something. Your genie? Since it's unlocked, I could wiggle my fingers and it would crumble into dust. I'll completely destroy your mojo if you mess with my toys again. We clear on that?"
"I understand you. I think," said Jandra. Was genie another name for the helmet? She could only guess what a mojo might be. Despite the unfamiliar words, she was certain she understood the main point. Now, she had her own terms to deliver. "I don't care what you tell Adam or anyone else about your powers. If you want to pretend to be a god, fine. However, I don't want you to make any further claims of godhood to Hex, Bitterwood, or Zeeky. They're my friends, and under my protection."
The goddess took one last drag off her cigarette, her eyes fixed on Jandra in a cool calculating stare. She stubbed the remnant of the cylinder out in a ceramic plate that sat on the edge of the table. Her expression remained inscrutable for a moment, then, suddenly, she smiled.
"You've got balls. I like that. I have a feeling we can be friends." The goddess leaned forward and held out her hand. "Put her there, Jandra Dragonsdaughter."
Jandra was unfamiliar with the gesture, but instinctively extended her own open hand. The goddess grasped it, palm against palm, and gave her arm a vigorous shake.
"I can use a girl like you on my team," the goddess said. "Welcome aboard."
"Oh," said Jandra, who had been unaware she was being recruited to a team.
"It's Jazz, by the way," said the goddess.
"What's jazz? By what way?"
"My name," the goddess said. "My real name is Jasmine Robertson, but all my buddies call me Jazz. At least they do before I get tired and kill them."
Jandra let go of Jazz's hand, not sure what to say.
"You gotta work on that glassy-eyed thing," Jazz said. "Seriously, even if you don't get the jokes, a grin's going to make you look a lot smarter."
Jandra started to tell Jazz that she was growing tired of her insults. Then, she decided to play along, and grinned.
"If I'm on your team," said Jandra, "I'd like some further answers. You said you knew Vendevorex? Did you give him his helmet?"
"No," said Jazz. "If I had, I'd certainly have taught him to lock it."
"But, you watch the palace, right?" Her eyes were on the picture showing Shandrazel consulting with Androkom. "And you've been doing it for a long time? You saw me living there?"
"Sure," said Jazz.
"Did you see me when I was just a baby? Do you know who my parents were?"
"Not really. I watched Vendevorex kill them, but never cared to learn their names. I was more interested in how a dragon had come to possess such a fancy toy. Man, he was so clumsy with it back then. I thought for sure he'd kill himself."
"Oh," said Jandra. "Then, you don't know anything about my family?"
"I see where you're going with this. Sure, I know a little something. Not everyone died that night. You have an older brother who escaped."
"Really? What's his name? Is he still alive?"
"How the hell would I know? I don't follow the lives of every last living being. I just follow the major players. Sorry, kid. All I can tell you is he's at least twelve years older than you, and he looked a lot like you with the hair and eyes."
Jandra tried to imagine what her older brother must look like. The task was nearly impossible; there were simply too many men in the world with brown hair and brown eyes.
So, she had a second question. "What did you do to Zeeky's family?"
Jazz met her gaze with a cryptic smile. The air took on an odd energy. Jandra looked around to find another of the rainbows she'd traveled through floating behind her.