The next morning, over a hillock of French toast, Quin said, "I don't think I want to be a throbbing pagan sex god, per se."

"What!" cried Vin, waking up suddenly and jolting her coffee across her napkin. Ariel and Mariah, who had already gotten great earfuls of Quin's new quest, just nodded.

"Paganism, as in neopaganism, is too violet for my tastes," Quin continued. "It's all about the responsible use of power and gently prodding the forces of the universe this way and that. When I say 'pagan sex god,' I mean pagan in the old sense--wild, untrammelled, anarchic. I want orgies and savage dances and bands of Maenads and magic that works. Pass the butter, please."

"But our magic does work," Vin said dazedly.

"Our magic isn't pagan. Or neopagan." Quin neatly shaved off a dozen curls of butter and scattered them over his French toast, then shaved off another dozen more while he waited for the first dozen to melt. "For a while I thought I wanted to be a throbbing heathen sex god, but it turns out that heathens are a subset of neopagans. Throbbing savage sex gods are just men on the covers of romance novels. I'm now in search of an appropriate adjective."

"Can someone truly be capable of unleashing his wild, savage soul when it takes him a whole five minutes to get his French toast buttered just right?" Ariel asked.

"Divinity is perfection."

"Divinity is a fluffy nougat dessert. Pass the butter before I make your ears throb savagely."

Quin obeyed sulkily.

"I'm confused," Vin said. "Quin, what in hell are you trying to do now?"

"Butter my toast properly."

"No, with this sex god thing."

"Oh! Indulge my physical appetites while transcending the material plane. Or at least develop a cult of worshippers to do our housework. Hey, I saw a great ad for a one-bedroom in Lincoln Street in the paper yesterday--"

"You may not move your minions into my rooms."

"I'm searching for true love," Mariah announced.

"You may not move Mariah's true love into my rooms, either."

"Maybe you can find your true love among Quin's sex minions, Mariah," Ariel said. "It'll be a twofer."

"My true love will be smarter than to follow Quin. Besides, if he joins Quin's cult, he'll be all... used."

"You make it sound so dirty!" Quin said indignantly.

"It's an exploitative sex cult," Ariel said. "It IS dirty."

"Oh. Right."

"What do you plan to do about Mother?" Vin said. "You'll have far worse than twofers if she gets wind of this."

"Eightfers," Mariah said glumly.

"Garden club ladies forming women's auxiliaries," Ariel said.

"Sex cults don't need women's auxiliaries!" Quin said. "They're all about integration. Lots of integration. Deep, personal integration."

"The kind of women Mother will bring will see the need for more ladylike branches," Ariel said. "They'll start reading groups and sit about discussing sex over tea and cookies. Then they'll start forming committees and planning events. Before you know it, the orgies will feature doilies."

"I can't be a throbbing pagan sex god under those conditions!" Quin cried.

"And I can't search for true love under those conditions," Mariah said. "Quin, leave off your quest for divinity until I'm done with my own quest. Then I'll move in with my true love, and you can have my rooms."

"I could be waiting for years," Quin said. Mariah whacked him with the spatula.

"Ah, violence and impotent rage at the breakfast table," Ariel said to Vin. "It's almost as if Mother were home."