“What the devil do you think you’re doing, son?”

Son? Really? No one had ever called him son. Yes, they did. The secret door in his mind had stayed nailed shut for thousands of years until a month ago. Now it leaked memories, a trickle at a time. Ganymede didn’t need any distractions. He slammed the door shut, then leaned against it. Not here. Not now. But soon.

Reluctantly, Ganymede turned to face the angry farmer. “I’m waiting for the plague of locusts.” Jeez, couldn’t a guy enjoy the fruits of his labor anymore without interruptions from the dumb and clueless?

“You’re standing in my strawberry field. This is private property.” The farmer’s face turned red. “Get your ass out of there before… Wait. Plague of locusts?”

“Of biblical proportions.” Ganymede took pride in causing chaos on an epic scale. “Don’t feel special, though. They’ll chew through every plant in California, so you’ll have plenty of company. You can throw giant pity parties, invite every pathetic farmer in the state, drink wine and get drunk. Oh, I forgot. No more grapes. You’ll have to conserve the wine. Drink beer instead. And don’t forget the chips.”

“You’re crazy. There’re no…” The farmer’s voice faded as he followed Ganymede’s gaze.

Ganymede stopped short of laughing. No need to say more. A black cloud that stretched across the horizon moved toward them—immense, relentless. Destroyers. He got all emotional watching it, millions and millions of voracious appetites on the wing. His babies. They blocked out the sun. Soon they’d swoop down and strip every plant, leaving a brown wasteland behind. No weak-ass bug sprays would stop them. Then they would disappear.

The joy of the moment sang in his blood. This was his destiny, his calling, the purpose behind his creation. He was meant to wreak havoc wherever he went.

“Lord, no!” The farmer turned and ran toward his truck.

Absently, Ganymede watched him go. The man had a limp that slowed him down. Without thinking, he slipped into the farmer’s mind.

“We’ll lose the farm. It’s all we have left. I can’t start over. The wife is sick, and I’m a crippled old man. This’ll kill her. No family left since our boy died in that war, no one to help us.” He hauled himself clumsily into his truck and drove off.

Crap. The old fart had killed Ganymede’s mood. He turned back to watch the inexorable advance of his hungry army. He shook his head. No, he would not even consider it. He was a cosmic troublemaker. Sticky emotions like sympathy never affected him. Okay, almost never. Ganymede closed his eyes and tried to shove the old man’s thoughts from his mind. Didn’t work. Finally, with a muttered curse, he opened his eyes and reached out to his creations.

A half hour later, Ganymede sat in his car staring at the field. The swarm had devoured every plant down to the bare earth. But beyond the field, the rest of the farmer’s plants stood green and healthy. His freaking plague of locusts had eaten one stinking strawberry field. How pitiful was that? How pitiful was he?

The farmer would never know how lucky he was. Not that he would show any gratitude. Humans never did. For instance, there was that stupid leaning tower. He had done the citizens of Pisa a favor by knocking it down. Now they could build one that stood straight, that wouldn’t fall on the head of some dumb shit of a tourist who would then sue their sorry asses. But all they did was whine over their lost “national treasure.” See, humans never showed any appreciation when you helped them.

Ganymede allowed himself a moment of gleeful satisfaction. He had spent a month creating chaos around the planet, reveling in his power to do bad things in a big way, and it had felt damn good. He had denied his cosmic troublemaker roots for too long. For her. No more. He looked away from the field. Yeah, so today had been a huge blot on his troublemaker résumé, a not-to-be-repeated moment of weakness.

The last month had been fun, but it was time to wrap up this magical mayhem tour and get on with the important stuff. He would put today out of his mind and do what he had planned from the beginning—find his creator, then do some major butt kicking. And he’d have to do it before the Big Boss tracked him down and tried to eliminate him. Ganymede felt a twinge of disappointment. A battle with the Big Boss would have been epic. But finding his maker was more important.

He drove away from the field and didn’t look back.

By the following night, he sat leaning against the twisted trunk of a juniper tree—a sure sign of swirling energy nearby—as he waited in the darkness. Sedona was the right place to be for what he wanted. It gave him a choice of four strong vortices within short distances of each other. Now all he had to do was be ready when his creator spit a new cosmic troublemaker into the world.

He had tumbled into being from a vortex like the ones here. That had been millennia ago, and his birthplace now lay deep beneath the sea. Ganymede had done his homework, though. Every seven years on the summer solstice his maker tossed newbie troublemakers with no survival skills from places like this all over the world. They would either live, or not. Most of the time it was not, because no matter how immortal the young ones thought they were, they could still destroy themselves without guidance—burned up in the fires of their own emerging powers, unable to control or channel them. Good thing for humanity, otherwise the universe would be crawling with awesomely powerful beings that got their giggles from doing evil. Not that Ganymede saw that as a negative.

The real torture for the newly-born troublemakers? They had no memory of their “before.” No where, who, or why to explain anything. Except for Ganymede. He remembered. Okay, not a lot, but enough to know that payback was due. He was the only one, though. He had never told anyone, not even her. If his plan worked, tonight he would open a well-earned can of whup-ass on his creator.

A sudden surge in the surrounding energy snapped his attention back to the business at hand. It was about to happen. He could sense it.

Ganymede leaped to his feet and then waited, tensed and ready. As soon as he saw the new troublemaker appear, he would launch himself at the spot before the portal or whatever it was had a chance to close. With any luck, he would land in his maker’s lap. He smiled. Not a nice smile. After this, the Big Boss might not get a shot at him. That was okay. He could think of worse ways to check out forever. Good times coming.

He peered into the darkness. There. A figure had just popped into view.

Instinct took over. Without giving himself a chance to think about the being who waited for him beyond the portal, he raced toward where the figure had emerged and then leaped.

Too bad the figure jumped at the same moment. Right into his path. He slammed against a solid body. They both fell to the ground. Ganymede could almost hear the click of the portal closing. He crawled over the prone body to where the opening should be. Nothing. Fuck. He flooded the spot with his power, trying to force it to reopen. Didn’t work. Neither did the string of curses he unleashed on it. Now he’d have to wait another seven years, and he might not have even seven days if the Big Boss found him.

The feral snarl behind him spun Ganymede around. The bright and not-so-shiny new troublemaker stumbled to his feet. Around him the ground shook and then split with cracks running off in all directions.

Crap. The newbie was an earth mover. “Hey, control it, kid. No earthquakes. Seismic activity will get you noticed before you’re ready.” Before I’m ready. The Big Boss monitored unusual stuff like this, searching for newborn troublemakers to tuck under his mighty wings. Fine, so he didn’t have wings. But Ganymede didn’t want to be found yet. He would pick the time and place for the final confrontation.

The other troublemaker blinked, and for just a moment seemed like any confused newborn. This one looked about seventeen. The great cosmic daddy was tossing them out younger.

Ganymede didn’t have time to mull over the ramifications of teen troublemakers before this one gave a crazed yell and leaped at him. Great, just great. He exhaled wearily. His butt was sore from sitting propped up against that damn tree all night, and now he would cap off the crummy night by defending himself from a young savage.

The naked, wild-eyed newbie went airborne with teeth bared and hands curled into claws. Ganymede flattened the kid with a thought. The boy went splat and stayed down.

He nudged the teen with the toe of his boot. Nothing. Out cold. Good.

Next question. What should he do with the boy? If he walked away, the new troublemaker would wake and go on a rampage across Arizona. Ganymede sort of liked the Grand Canyon. This kid could turn it into a pile of rubble in a few frenetic minutes. Newbies didn’t understand moderation. He certainly hadn’t.

Another option. Drag the kid to someplace remote, restrain him and then watch as he burned himself up from the inside out. But the thought made Ganymede uncomfortable. Too much time spent around that woman had made him soft.

Well, nothing would get done just thinking about it. He picked the boy up, carried him to his car, and heaved him into the back seat. He had just climbed behind the wheel when the boy came to. Ganymede glanced in his mirror. “I know you can’t understand me yet, but hearing my voice will help you to start learning the language. Your brain is set to pick up things fast. One of the perks of being you.”

The boy snarled and fought to reach Ganymede.

“Yeah, you have a point there. Guess I should explain what it means to be ‘you.’ Oh, and don’t bother struggling. You’ll only be able to move when I say you can move. I have to concentrate on my driving. Can’t do that when someone’s trying to tear me apart.”

“Grrr!”

Ganymede shook his head. “Damn language barrier. Look, you may as well calm down. I’ve pulled the plug on your powers for the time being. You aren’t going anywhere for a while, so just kick back and enjoy the ride.”

A glance in the mirror assured Ganymede the kid might not understand him, but he was listening. Good. The boy had smarts. “Here’s the deal. We’re both cosmic troublemakers. Some bored god, demon, or whatever from another plane of existence created us”—Ganymede figured the kid’s head would explode if he knew the truth—“and then tossed our asses out into the cold cruel universe. Guess watching the Food Channel all day got old.”

The boy glared at him.

“Hey, look on the bright side. You’ll be practically immortal—if you survive your first few days—and have eternity to create chaos and harass the universe. Wait till I tell you some of the things I’ve done.” He frowned. That was wrong. He wasn’t keeping this kid around. He had to focus on covering his tracks so the Big Boss couldn’t find him, at least for seven more years.

The boy managed to lean forward—a little too close to Ganymede’s head for comfort—and snapped those bright white teeth at him.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll order pizza as soon as we get back to the motel. You’ll love pizza.” Personally, Ganymede preferred ice cream in moments of great stress. Whiskey worked, too. “Then I’ll turn on the TV. A night filled with talk shows and old movies should give you a working vocabulary.”

For just a moment, he thought about what “that woman” could teach this child. The kid had the physical tools—great body, thick blond hair, an amazing face. But she could add those intangibles, the sensual calling cards she gave to all of her students. He smiled to himself. He had never thought of her as a teacher before.

He stopped smiling as soon as he realized what he was doing. Had to wipe all thoughts of her out of his mind and concentrate on the important stuff—the Big Boss. The guy didn’t have a highly evolved sense of humor. He wouldn’t find anything funny about what Ganymede had done lately.

Ganymede was still busy thinking about the Big Boss as he parked outside a local mall. The stores were all closed, but he needed stuff for the kid now. He climbed out and then opened the rear door.

“I’m taking you in with me. We’ll get you something to wear before we head home.” Home. Wrong word. The motel would never be home to either of them. Ganymede didn’t have a home, not since he had left… Stop thinking about her. “I parked as far away from the lights as I could. Hope the cops don’t come snooping around.” Not that an entire police force could hold him, but he didn’t need the complication. “Try not to look too naked, kid.” He grinned. The boy just stared at him.

Ganymede raked his fingers through his hair. Young troublemakers didn’t get the nuances of sarcasm. At least the newbie didn’t look crazed anymore. Angry and confused? Yes. And the need for violence still blazed in his eyes. But Ganymede could also see the beginning of curiosity in his gaze. Even in this short a time, the boy probably understood a few words. He would also be analyzing Ganymede’s body language, voice tones, and expressions.

Ganymede didn’t make the mistake of grabbing him. That would throw the boy into another panic. Instead, he just beckoned. The kid stayed seated for a few moments before cautiously climbing from the car. Ganymede quickly hurried the newbie’s bare ass into the mall. Locked doors and alarms didn’t slow him down.

He found the nearest clothing store and went in…and was lost. What did he know about shopping for a seventeen-year old? He watched the kid wander around aimlessly, an expression of wonder on his face. Finally, Ganymede decided he’d have to help or else they’d never get out of here.

“No to the striped shirt and purple pants. You need bland and boring to blend.” He grabbed them from the boy’s hands. “Here. Khaki pants and a black T-shirt.” He scooped up the items and heaved them at the boy. “Those should fit. Try them on fast. We have to get out of here.”

The boy stood staring at the clothes.

“Yeah, guess you need underwear and shoes too.” She would’ve had the kid dressed already with a couple of extra outfits to tide him over. Ganymede pushed aside an unwelcome twinge of longing. He did not miss her. “Let’s hit the underwear aisle, and we’ll grab some shoes on the way out.”

A short while later he watched impatiently as the boy tried to put everything on. Huffing his impatience, Ganymede finally moved in to help. “Here. Shirt—label in back. Pants—fly in front.” At least he’d had enough sense to get shoes the boy could just slide his feet into. He would have made a crappy father. Not that cosmic troublemakers could procreate that way. And not that he had ever even thought about it. Liar. You did. With her.

Once back in the car, Ganymede glanced at his project. The boy looked almost civilized, until you looked into those gleaming amber eyes that broadcast “untamed” loud and clear. Ganymede didn’t say anything; he just turned on the radio to a music station. May as well introduce the newbie to some Earth culture.

All the way back to the motel, he thought about what he could teach the kid. The smart part of his brain—always subtle—pointed out the obvious, “Hey, stupid, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Dump the kid. You want to live another seven years? Then work your one puny brain cell hard to figure out how to keep ahead of the Big Boss. You don’t need anyone slowing you down.”

His brain had it right. The Big Boss controlled all cosmic troublemakers. He was the self-appointed big cheese, master of minions, king of the cubicles—yeah, so there weren’t any cubicles—and the one who had rescued so many of them when they had needed help reining in their powers. Without him, the world might be nothing but a barren wasteland, torn apart by out-of-control troublemakers. He was even older than Ganymede and probably more powerful, although Ganymede was ready to test that theory. No one knew exactly what the Big Boss was, and he had never offered to tell them.

So the smart move would be to just stop the car, kick the kid to the curb, and keep on going. He didn’t. Maybe later, when the Big Boss was actually breathing down his neck, he would do it. But for now, he would let the boy hang around. Ganymede refused to even consider any abandonment issues of his own. Didn’t have any. He absolutely did not see himself in this newbie. That would be a weakness, and Ganymede didn’t do weak.

First, he needed a name. Couldn’t just keep calling him kid. Then he would show the boy…

And right there, as he was pulling into the motel parking lot, thinking about teaching the newbie, an awesome idea clobbered him. The pure perfection of it left him breathless. He would have to set things up fast, but it was doable. If everything fell into place, he wouldn’t have to wait seven years to confront his creator. He smiled grimly.

Distracted, Ganymede herded the kid into his motel room and right into the bathroom. He mimed the essentials of showering, drying, and dressing then left with a warning that he would be monitoring the boy from the other room. He also mimed what would happen if the kid disobeyed—a finger slice across his throat, lots of gagging, and eyes rolled back in his head. Hope the boy got it.

As soon as he heard the sound of water running, Ganymede grabbed his phone, dropped onto the only comfortable chair, and then called in some favors.

Exactly twenty minutes later, he was the proud owner of a Victorian painted lady in Cape May, New Jersey. Since the kid was still playing in the shower, he decided to reward himself by checking out her blog. Sure, he shouldn’t do it, but he was never one to spend lots of energy resisting temptation. He would think of this as a reward for coming up with a killer plan to force his creator into the open. He wouldn’t have to worry about a portal if his maker came to him.