by R. E. Vance
I picked it up, removing the fabric covering from its square frame. Underneath was an image of two silhouetted figures watching the sunrise from atop a hill. The larger figure was an undefined, hulking man, the other a three-inch-tall fairy that sat on the first’s shoulders. And although you couldn’t see their faces, you just knew those two were very happy, having found companionship and joy in each other.
CaCa and TinkerBelle! I guessed the pile of poo survived after all. And why not? When you live in the very substance you were made of, regeneration must be pretty much a matter of course.
I was so happy I actually did a little dance right there in the foyer.
“Get a hold of yourself,” a voice said from behind. “There’s a lot of work still to be done.”
Miral walked in with her characteristic grace, examining the hotel entrance. “This place is much nicer than One Spire Hotel. What will you call it?” Behind her hovered Judith, surveying her new surroundings with her typical judgmental look.
“The Two Spire Hotel,” I said.
Judith snorted. “You must be joking.”
I just shrugged in response.
“Oh, Human Jean,” tutted Miral, “you are nothing if not—”
“Tenacious?”
“I was going to say static. Anyway, how do you plan on paying for this place?”
“The rent’s free,” I said, pointing at a sultry Astarte, who eyed the angel with a lustful, predatory gaze. By the GoneGods, Miral and Astarte together would be a sight erotic enough to coax the gods themselves to return.
“Rent may be free,” Miral said, “but bills are not. Keeping this place open will cost you four times what it cost for the One Spire Hotel.”
Damn, everything was happening so fast that I hadn’t considered that. The angel was right: electricity, gas, heat—this place was so huge, it would cost a small fortune to run. I had a sudden urge to go around and turn off all the lights.
Miral gave me an uncharacteristically devilish smile and said, “Don’t worry. I have a solution for all your problems. Funding is still open, and in a place like this we can throw twice as many seminars. Three times, even. We can do this. If, that is, you are willing to—”
“Don’t say it!”
“—bake.”
“Arrgh!”
I hated baking, but I loved Bella more.
Before I could answer, a baritone voice bellowed in from the stairwell, “Of course he will.”
Penemue walked into the foyer, taking Miral’s hand in his. “Ahhh, Miral … of all the unFallen, you, my dear, are the only one I can stomach.” He kissed her hand in an exaggerated motion. “Dear Human Jean will bake your cookies, conduct your seminars and take in our lost brethren without a peep of protest from his lips or a hint of grumble in his heart.”
“How can you be so sure?” Miral asked, her smile touching her eyes.
“Because he has motivations compelling him to do distasteful tasks that stem from the most base and vile of human emotions … love.”
At that, Astarte rolled her eyes.
I looked around and saw the picture of Tink and CaCa again, back where I had placed it. I thought about Bella and how proud she would be of this place, and I nodded. Why fight it? Penemue was right, might as well die doing something worthwhile.
“And why will you do it?” Penemue said, pressing the issue.
“You know why,” I said.
“I do, but they do not. Please indulge us. Why will you do it?”
“Because I made a promise,” I said, the words catching in my throat.
“And what promise was that?” Penemue asked, a hand cupped behind his ear.
I cleared my throat. “I made a promise to help Others.”
“That’s not a promise,” Penemue bellowed, his hands flaring out in an arch. “You would never hear Hamlet merely say, ‘I need to get that guy who killed my father,’ or Othello say, ‘I’m jealous!’ A true promise requires flair, theatrics. Passion!”
“Really?” I said. “And how does one make a good promise?”
Penemue gave me a dismissing gesture as if he were bored by the whole thing. “You choose your words. Ye, thee, vow, sweareth …”
“Fine,” I said, unwrapping my collarless black jacket and putting it on. It felt good. Right. Then, not wanting to disappoint my audience, I walked into the middle of the large room and summoned all my high-school Shakespeare training—which was none—by raising my hand before me.
In a deep and resolute voice, I declared, “My name is Jean-Luc Matthias and my doors shall forever be open to the lost and frightened, the poor and homeless. And as for those with evil in their hearts? Beware! For the Human Jean-Luc stands watch.
“How was that?” I asked two angels, a ghost and a succubus.
Penemue nodded. “Now, that is more like it.”
↔
We hung out in the Millennium Hotel’s foyer for quite a while, but it seems that sleep takes mortals and the once-divine creatures alike.
Miral was the first to leave, giving me a knowing hug that said three things: The days to come will be hard … I believe in you … and I will be there to help you. I don’t know how one can get so much from a hug, but in that moment shared with Miral, I did.
I guess hugging an angel really does speak volumes.
Once Miral was gone, Judith narrowed her eyes and scanned the remaining lot of us. Then, without so much as a word, she pulled out a room key from her purse and glided upstairs. Evidently she knew I’d take on this monstrosity of hospitality before I did.
Astarte, taking this as a good chance to escape, also made her way upstairs, muttering something about there being just enough time to have one last orgy before bed. I’m not sure if she was kidding.
And as for Penemue? He gave me a wink, unfurled his wings and flew straight up the Millennium Hotel’s hollow middle and onto the seventh floor landing.
All alone now, I gazed around the main floor of my new hotel, fearful of how I was going to handle all this yet hopeful I’d find a way.
And there was one more thing to do before I’d looking for that ‘way’. Hang the shelleycoat’s bell over the hotel’s door. I preformed the little ritual that the shelleycoat told me to do and hung the damn thing over the hotel’s turnstile door so that the bell would chime with every flap of its spinning door.
Turning to my desk, I wondered how long I’d have to wait to see what it actually did.
Almost as soon as I finished the thought, the bell rang. Ding. Guess I wouldn’t have to wait long.
Ding.
Ding … and with the third ding I heard the word ‘gargoyle’ chime in my ear. So that’s what it did … it told me what kind of Other was entering my hotel.
That said, what I saw when I turned around didn’t look like any gargoyle I’d ever seen before.
I stood dumbfounded as I stared at this humanoid creature. The gargoyle stood nine feet tall, was entirely composed of diamonds … and was completely naked (complete with a diamond-studded representation of his gender—yep, his). He walked in, each step he took sounding exactly like what you’d expect diamond on marble to sound like.
“Human Jean-Luc Matthias?” he said, his lips barely moving as he spoke.
“Call me Jean, please … and, please don’t take this the wrong way, but are those diamonds real?”
“Indeed. My master crafted me from the purest diamonds to be found in this plane of existence.”
“Master?”
“Again—indeed. I’m a gargoyle, Human Jean-Luc Matthias. The first, I believe. My master made me as perfect as one not blessed with divinity can be. He chose diamonds for their beauty and unyielding nature.”
“Got it,” I said. Truth was, I’m not sure I understood any of it, but after thirteen years of dealing with Others, you tended to just nod and agree. Easier that way. Shaking off a yawn, I asked, “So tell me, what are you doing here at”—I looked at my Mickey Mouse watch—“three in the morning?”
“Actually, I arrived much earlier, but saw you were entertaining guests. Two angels, a succubus and a spectre, to be precise. You seemed to be celebrating, and I did not wish to disturb your revelries.”
“So you waited outside?”
The diamond gargoyle nodded in one of the most awkward displays of body language I’ve ever seen. Seems this animated statue was able to move certain parts of himself while the rest of him remained completely still. That doesn’t sound that weird until you’ve experienced it. An entire body completely still, except for a nearly imperceptible nod. Creepy.
And what’s more, the diamond edges on his cheeks caught the light in that millimeter movement, shooting miasmas right into my eyes. Part of me wondered if the creature knew of the facets of its jewelled cheek and did it on purpose.
“How long were you outside?”
“Four hours, but I was prepared to wait until dawn if necessary.”
“Why only dawn? Why not until tomorrow afternoon, or Tuesday?” I mocked.
He didn’t catch my sarcasm. “I would have been prepared to do so, but the sun’s first light would have reflected off my skin, thus announcing my presence regardless.”
“Ahh, I see. So, how may I help you, Gargoyle …?” I paused, waiting for him to tell me his name.
Seems that gargoyles don’t take hints. At least this one didn’t. No name was forthcoming. “Human Jean-Luc Matthias, my master wishes to rent this hotel to throw a party.”
“I don’t do parties—” I started, but before I could list the reasons why, he handed me a piece of paper with a dollar sign with several numbers attached. I must have read the sum seven times before clearing my throat and saying, “I don’t do parties often, but I’m always happy to accommodate. What kind of party are we talking about, anyway?”
“A party to end all parties, Human Jean-Luc Matthias,” he said, extending his hand to shake mine.
Oh, if only I had known how literal this creature was being and that in taking his hand I was agreeing to help him end the world, I might have asked for a higher deposit…
Keep Evolving
Part V
In the Beginning …
Tomorrow—
Things are what they are, and Azzah does what she must to survive.
But surviving isn’t easy anymore. And living is even harder. Azzah must work for the humans—the AlwaysMortals—in order to do either. Sure, they provide her with food and shelter, doctors and something called a pension, but Azzah is no longer free to come and go as she pleases, roam all the worlds as she once did. Instead, she is chained by what the AlwaysMortals call a job.
Azzah’s job is helping the humans drill deep into the ocean floor for oil. Humans are more obsessed with the black muck than dwarves are with gems and jewels. They seem to always be fighting each other to get more. Well, what does Azzah care? She is well paid—or so she is told—and her job has benefits. Something the humans call dental. Azzah is not sure what dental is, but the gleam of satisfaction humans get in their eyes when they talk about it leads her to believe that dental is a thing of great value.
↔
“There she blows,” cries out the AlwaysMortal known as George as she breaks the ocean’s surface. The humans nearby laugh at his joke. Even though George has explained it many times, Azzah does not know why the humans find this funny. The expression, George once told her, was used by humans who hunted whales. When they spotted a whale surfacing for air, a geyser of water blowing out of its spout, they would yell out, “There she blows!” What followed was a hunt in which these AlwaysMortals would spear the whale, forcing it to remain surfaced, and eventually kill it. How referencing the death of a whale is considered humor, Azzah does not know.
“Because,” George has explained, “you’re not a whale.”
No, she isn’t. She is a myarid. A sea-jinni. Of course, she would be honored to be a whale. Azzah has never met a whale she did not like. Amongst all of creation, whales are well known for their kindness and wisdom. And as for humor? It is well documented in all the once-upon-a-time heavens and hells that whales are amongst the funniest creatures in existence. Their knack for unusual observations told with perfect timing makes them wonderful entertainers. Not like these AlwaysMortals. Not like George.
Still, despite his insensitive joke, Azzah likes George. He speaks to her as an equal, unlike so many humans who treat her like a trained seal. One day Azzah will again explain to George why his joke is not funny, but not today. Today she is working.
Azzah doesn’t like working for humans, but what else can she do? Survival isn’t easy in this new GoneGod world. When Azzah was immortal, she spent her days doing as she pleased, swimming the vast oceans of both the mortal plane and her home world, the emerald cities of Qa, without hunger or fatigue, without fear of being hurt and without fear of death. But now … now is different. Now she gets hungry. She gets tired. And when she is hurt—which has only happened once when she broke her arm while trying to fix one of the humans’ ridiculous underwater drills—she cannot pray to her gods to be healed instantaneously. Now, she needs a “doctor.” And as for death? Sadly, that is a very real threat these days.
For her, the GrandExodus happened while she was already on Earth, roaming the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean on one of her frequent trips. It started with the voice of Hermes, the messenger of her god, in her head. “Thank you for believing in us,” he said, “but it is not enough. We’re leaving. Good luck.” At first she didn’t know what to think. Rarely did the gods speak directly to myarids, and in her thousands of years, Poseidon—the myarids’ god—had only spoken to her twice. Once was when they were at war with the ifrit. The second time was when he opened the waterways between this world and Irem Emad.
After Hermes delivered his message, she could no longer feel her home.
It was the mortals’ season of autumn, which meant her sisters would have been attending the Celestial Solace. She only needed to think of them and be connected instantly. She tried to summon a portal, open up the pathway back to Qa, but it was simply not there. Fine, she thought. If I cannot go to them, then I shall summon them to me. But as soon as she began to manipulate the currents she needed for her summoning spell, she felt a deep sensation of decay. She was aging. That much was sure. And as if by instinct born not at the beginning of life but at that very moment, she knew that every second she spent on magic was a minute less of her life.
She knew this as she knew she now needed food to eat, water to drink and air to breathe.
Azzah was dying. Not immediately, but slowly, from a terrible disease called aging. And the use of magic hastened that process until one day she would use all the time she had and be no more. Azzah wasn’t afraid to die, but she was no fool, either. She would save her time and use it only when absolutely necessary.
Scared to use magic and even more scared of no longer being connected, Azzah emerged from the depths and saw the destruction that the gods’ departure had created. It would not be long until she learned what everyone else knew. The gods had left, closing all the heavens and hells when they did, and with that closing they had given their once loyal servants a choice: Stay and perish, or go to the only plane of existence left. Earth.
And what of her family? She learned from the kelpies that they had not left. They were myarids, and they had done what any member of her tribe would do—they had stayed behind to fight for their home. Brandishing weapons of war—tridents, nets, spears and harpoons—they’d fought the enclosing darkness. But how does one fight the dying of the light and expect to survive? It is like trying to tame a tornado with a paper fan.
Azzah, who was never given the choice of whether to stay and die, or run and survive, now lives on the mortal plane. Every day spent is one day closer to the end. Death by time. She would rather have died fighting an impossible battle than live like this.
Azzah hands the foreman her sensor, and he plugs it into something called a laptop. Readings pop up on the screen. �
�Strong currents down there?” he asks.
“Nothing I cannot handle,” Azzah says.
“I suppose not, you being a mermaid and all,” he says with a wink.
“I’m not a mermaid, I’m a—”
“Myarid. I know, I know. Sheesh, Azzah, lighten up. I was just joking,” George says as he continues to evaluate the readings. Again, she doesn’t get the joke. A part of her understands why the AlwaysMortals think of her as a mermaid. Both myarids and mermaids have dorsal lower bodies and humanoid upper bodies. But unlike a mermaid, Azzah can spend her entire life underwater, never needing a breath of air. Of course, she can also spend her entire life above water as well. She would like to see a mermaid do that. Mermaids are slow and weak, choosing to run from a great white shark rather than fight. Great whites swim from her—she doubts there is a creature beneath the ocean’s surface as strong as herself.
Except, that is, another myarid—not that there are many of them left.
Azzah shakes her head—to think a myarid is the same as a mermaid is to think a lion is the same as a kitten.
“Ahhh, Azzah,” George says in a distracted voice, looking at the sky above her. “Could you submerge a bit? You’re … you’re . . . too high.”
Azzah looks over to see several of the male variety staring at her. None of them make eye contact, all of them gazing below. She looks down and sees that while distracted in thought, she had pushed herself up, her torso now above water, her wet breasts glistening in the late-afternoon sun. That is another thing she will never understand—humans and their love of breasts.
Several of the men groan as she lowers her body so only her head is above water.
“Thanks,” George says with a kind smile. He returns to the readings. His brow furrows and concern creeps onto his face. “Hey, what’s this?” he asks, tilting the screen so Azzah can see it. Amongst the blips and beeps, curved lines and numbers, there is an anomaly. One of the drill lines is under immense pressure, but unlike the typical problems of strong currents or large creatures bumping against it, the sensors indicate that the drill is being pulled into the earth. That should not happen.