by R. E. Vance
“I suppose,” I said, still staring at the back of his chair. The fine leather exterior was starting to annoy me. “Ahh … sorry, but could you turn around? I’m not used to speaking to the back of a chair.”
The BisMark chuckled. “I apologize, I forget mortal protocol.” He swiveled his chair around. What greeted me was an Other unlike any Other I’d ever seen before. And I was pretty sure I’d seen them all. When I was in the Army, they gave us access to an online directory called The Definitive Guide to Otherterrestrial Kinds and Types, or DGOKT, an unwieldy acronym my fellow soldiers pronounced “Docked.”
The DGOKT was filled with every kind of Other documented by legend, myth, fable or encounter, citing original documentation, primary sources and a whole slew of academic information that made the fact that angels and demons now walked amongst us … boring. It was so long that it made the Encyclopedia Britannica seem like a pamphlet in comparison. Quickly, the Army realized that no soldier would ever read the whole damn thing, so they made a deck of cards—well, actually, several decks of cards. As in, enough cards to supply a Las Vegas casino. They gave you the basics—names, powers, weaknesses, key references and threat levels. That was more my speed, and it was something I spent hours upon hours studying.
But the guy in front of me wasn’t in the cards. He was basically human—two eyes, one thin noble nose with two slightly upturned nostrils, two unassuming ears and a light smirk that reminded me of an IRS agent when he catches you fiddling with your return. But that’s where the human ran out and the Other came in. For one thing, his hair was a bright yellow with streaks of pink that spiked up like a character in Dragon Ball Z, and, for another, his face was entirely covered in matted peacock feathers that looked more painted-on than pluckable. He wore rimless, rose-tinted glasses that balanced on his nose as if by magic. Considering how famous this creature was, I couldn’t believe we had missed … him? … her?
As if reading my mind, he said, “Him, I believe. Not that gender really applies to me. I am … how do you say it … singular in my existence. There will never be a Mrs. BisMark with whom I would fornicate, nor do I particularly have the desire. The company of Others is more of a means to an end than a necessity.
“No, Mr. Matthias, I am alone, unique. And I exist for a particular purpose, which I execute with uncommon efficiency.”
“And what is that?” I asked.
BisMark shrugged. “I suppose you could think of me as the Master of Celestial Logistics and the Enforcer of Divine Practicalities.”
“Practicalities?” I asked. The DGOKT might not know who or what this creature was … but I did. You see, the DGOKT was compiled by humans for humans. Sure, those humans were top researchers—experts in mythology, religion, ancient languages and even more ancient history; biologists and botanists; animal behavior scientists and xenologists—but I had access to something—or rather, someone—that they could never dream of knowing. Penemue. Give him enough Drambuie and he’ll start spewing out everything he knows. He loves to be heard, loves to lecture and, for reasons I have never quite understood, loves me. And all that love translated into me having access to a database of archaic knowledge. Granted it was drunk, often surly and occasionally over-emotional knowledge, but knowledge nonetheless.
When The BisMark booked the hotel, I went straight up to the seventh floor and asked him all about my latest client. Penemue just raised an eyebrow before sighing, putting down his bottle and leaning in close as he soberly told me that this BisMark was responsible for more in creation than any divine being. Not because he created anything—that was firmly in the god domain—but because he consulted on how things should be created.
He used terms like “the Superior Diplomat” and “the Master Logistician,” before saying three very scary words: “Very Powerful Other.” And here he was sitting in front of me. Yay!
“Indeed,” The BisMark said, “the gods are … excuse me … were a fickle bunch. So much bickering, so many conflicts. They needed one such as I to administer their inevitable cooperation as they governed this world.” He looked at me over his rimless glasses. “As with many great empires, the design may be the work of one, but the actualization takes many.”
“So,” I said, “if you are the grand consultant, did they consult you on their leaving? Surely that must have been a logistical nightmare to get so many of them to cooperate.”
The BisMark’s face drained of all expression, and I gulped. Great, Jean, piss off your customer. He may be the Grand Consultant, but you are the Grand Jackass.
The BisMark stared at me for what felt like a week before breaking his stone-cold gaze with an understated grin. “ ‘Grand Consultant.’ I like that. No, I fear the one feat they did not consult me on also turned out to be their most meaningful one. I do admit—my feelings, as muted as they are, were hurt.” He stood up, revealing the rest of his body, which was covered in the same peacock-style feathers. “But that is moot. Now we must look to the future. A future that is fraught with danger unless we can get humans and Others to trust one another.”
“And is that what you’re here to do? Is that what all the hubbub and the camera crews are about? You are going to show the humans all over the world that Others can have fun?”
“In a way,” he said. “If I can bring out the … humanity of Others, that will go a long way in showing the world that we are not so different.”
“ ‘If you prick me, do I not bleed?’ ”
“Indeed.” He caught my gaze with his crystalline eyes. Looking into them was like staring into a kaleidoscope—his iris a thousand colorful shapes of squares, triangles and trapezoids, each mote a different shade of amber and maroon, gold and crimson. “I know your reputation, as well as how you defeated the Gadubia.”
“The what?”
“The Avatar of Gravity,” The BisMark sighed. “What a tragic case. Seems his mortality took its toll on his once immortal mind … Unfortunate, really.” He spoke casually about the death of an entity that was more powerful than most gods, if not more so.
“I didn’t know he had a name,” I said, not sure what else to say. A year ago, this Gadubia had almost killed me … but not before doing something that every Other thought impossible. He called down Heaven. As in, literally pulled the divine void down to Earth, and for the briefest of moments Heaven and Earth were connected. Then I killed him. Not because I wanted to—but because the Avatar of Gravity was trying to ascend to godhood, and if he succeeded, a lot of people and Others would suffer. I couldn’t let that happen, so I carved out his heart, hacking him apart as he ran out of time with which to heal himself.
“Few do. Very few,” The BisMark said. “In fact, you and I may be the only living creatures on this plane of existence who know his name.”
“So why tell me?” I asked.
“Because the secrets once held as sacred are out of fashion. Why keep a secret if keeping that secret serves no purpose? Honor … old promises. No, Mr. Matthias, the world has changed and so must we.”
“That’s not what he said. He wanted the world to return to what it once was, except with him being the bully at the helm.”
The BisMark nodded. “I would have expected no less from him. Ever since the day I created him, he was always so arrogant.”
“You created him?” His claim shocked me. In my years of living with Others, the Avatar of Gravity was the toughest thing I’d ever faced off against. If it weren’t for my military training, the use of some of their equipment that I “borrowed,” plus a whole bunch of luck, he would have killed me and razed Paradise Lot to the ground. And here was the guy who made him, talking as if he was a toddler who had thrown a hissy fit. “I thought the gods made him,” I said, putting a little extra spin on “the gods.” I wanted to see if he’d react to their mention.
“No, Mr. Matthias,” he said casually. “The gods needed a way to communicate with the Laws of Nature, and it was I who arranged the creation of avatars. It was my energy, my efforts and my
magic that infused them with life, and it was I that devised the rules under which they were governed. In all practicality, it was I who created him.”
This made me very uneasy. After all, it was less than a year ago that I fought the Avatar and won. A fight that only I walked away from. Now with The BisMark in front of me, I couldn’t help but wonder if he chose my hotel to get close to the human that killed his creation. Thoughts of being strangled by feather-covered hands ran through my mind. Gulp.
If The BisMark noticed my discomfort, he didn’t make any indication of it. “As for your observation that he was a bully … Indeed, he was. Brute force was his tool, but then again, if your power was the maintenance of bodies in motion, brute force might have been your preferred modus operandi, too.
“It is no accident that I picked your hotel for my gala. You have a reputation and you are well respected in the Other community. They regard you as the fierce, endless warrior who would fight to his last breath to protect them.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“It is true, Mr. Matthias—you have quite the reputation. You successfully killed one of the most powerful creatures in creation and you have proven your compassion for Otherkind again and again.” He gently grabbed my wrist and lifted it, looking me up and down like someone might examine a coat at a high-end store. “You are a puzzle I have yet to solve, Mr. Matthias, and after an eternity of knowing everything, I do like to be challenged.”
“Thank you? I think,” I said, taking back my arm.
“Oh, please. Of all the human virtues, misplaced modesty is the least attractive. Speaking of human virtues …” He handed me a bill of sale. It was made out to the SakanaSama Mori Shipping Company, and above a number that exceeded the sum of every penny I’d ever earned was written, “Full delivery of live cargo.”
“What’s this?” I asked.
“It seems I have a human problem that requires a human touch. Stewart will fill you in on the details shortly. Of course, we’ll compensate you appropriately. And as a thank-you for providing me with your services, I shall, in turn, offer you a favor …”
“And what’s that?”
“The limelight, Mr. Matthias. I shall shield you from it. There are a lot of cameras projecting images to many, many people tonight. I suspect some of those people will recognize you. People who had previously assumed you were dead.”
This stopped me cold, and not because he was going to protect me from the “limelight.” I didn’t know what he thought was going on outside, because there were exactly two local news vans from no-name stations. I doubted even the studio cameramen watched what they were filming. The world wasn’t paying attention to this dinner, and any Army surveillance that was going on would be done on automatic recording, only to be reviewed by some low-level grunt should something of interest happen. Certainly no one who knew me would be watching … and even if they were, whatever view they caught of me would be dismissed as a “That looks like him, but he was burned to ashes six years ago” afterthought. They would most likely assume I was a ghost, not that I was hiding. I was safe, as safe as could be.
What stopped me cold was that he knew about my past. About leaving the Army and going AWOL. That was supposed to be a secret. A secret that only my inner circle was aware of …
“Don’t worry, Mr. Matthias. Your secret is safe with me.” He stuck out his feather-covered hand. I shook it. “Thank you again. That will be all,” The BisMark said.
I bowed with a scowl that came off more as confusion than anything else and walked out. At the door, I turned to take one last look at the Other. His back was already turned. I wasn’t sure what else to say … if there was anything else to say.
Bella used to say that you could only run from your past for so long before it caught up with you. As I looked at the back of The BisMark’s chair, I wondered if this was the moment mine finally had.
But there was nothing to do about that now. Just get through this evening, I thought. Figure out what is to be done, if anything, after the gala is over. Even as I thought it, I knew my plan was foolish, but at the moment I honestly didn’t know what else to do. As I turned to take my leave, I could have sworn that the satyr statue that stood by The BisMark’s desk winked at me.
Star Wars Ain’t Just for Humans
Meeting The BisMark completely put me on edge. It was one thing to have the eccentric consultant to the gods throw a party at my hotel. It was another thing altogether that he was the creator of the very creature I’d killed. There was no doubt that he chose my place because he wanted to observe me up close. But did that observation include a lust for revenge?
The BisMark didn’t strike me as the vengeful type. He was far too practical for that. Whatever was going on between us, I didn’t feel like I was in immediate danger. Still, I’d have to be on my guard.
The elevator pinged on the ground floor, and its metal mirror doors opened. I was immediately greeted by EightBall, who grinned as though he just saw something naughty.
“Oh, what now?”
“What else?” he beamed. “Astarte.”
↔
I walked into the foyer of the Millennium Hotel and marveled at the grand entrance. From the outside, the hotel looked like the rook piece of a chess set—that is, if the piece were seven stories high and covered with windows. From the inside, the foyer was an open cylinder with an empty, hollowed out center that was wide enough that someone could fly all the way up or fall all the way down. Others did. Penemue flew to his room on the seventh floor. Judith had been known to float down, and a nihant—a spider the size of a pony—once attached its webbing to the round stained-glass ceiling and lowered itself down.
Each floor of the Millennium Hotel looked out onto the center, separated from the empty middle by a carved copper railing that depicted a lush garden scene, its subject matter getting progressively darker the higher you went. At the beginning of the railing people took hikes, had picnics and danced around maypoles. At the middle stags banged heads and bears fished for salmon or destroyed bee hives. By the time you got to the seventh floor you saw forest fires, unmarked graves and battlefields.
At the center of the foyer was a grand oak circular check-in desk. And to think that a year ago I had used an old fold out poker table for a reception!
The ground floor was marble and made up entirely of the kind of stuff you expected to find in an upscale, once-upon-a-time boutique hotel. Reception, of course, but also seats on the edges where people could look out at the ground floor while waiting for friends to visit them at the hotel, or their travel partners to finally come down after a shower or nap or whatever people did in hotel rooms before going out. And because the hotel was situated on a hill, you got quite the view. The city and ocean beyond. The only functional part of the main floor was near the back, where you’d find the kitchen and a narrow stairwell that went down to three basement levels dug deep into the hill. The first level was a grand ballroom at least two stories in height and, although just beneath the foyer, was actually much bigger. Seems that whoever built the hotel dug into the hill to give it a bit more space. Scratch that—a lot more space. The floor was huge … certainly big enough to host a party filled with mythical creatures of all shapes and sizes. The last two level were a combination of utility rooms, storage and access to Paradise Lot’s massive underground sewer network.
Whatever you had to say about the Millennium Hotel, there was no denying that it was grand—and way, way, waaay out of my league. It was located in the heart of the city. It had next to no value, and because of a certain succubus trading favors, I got to run it rent-free. Of course, rent was one thing, but unless Astarte started courting the whole municipality of Paradise Lot, I was still on the hook for electricity and gas, not to mention general upkeep. Those bills alone were killing me.
But none of that was what I marveled at. What stunned me was that the hotel was actually full—valkyries, jinn, banshees, centaurs and a few dozen other Others strewed about the hotel
lobby. Representatives of every pantheon, every religion and every culture, of every heaven, hell or plane of existence in between mingled as they waited for The BisMark’s dinner to start.
↔
I scanned the foyer for Astarte until I finally saw her sitting on one of the couches near the hotel’s entrance. She wore a cherry red blouse and tight leather pants, which for a succubus was akin to wearing a burka. She was quietly typing away on a laptop. There was no moaning or groaning going on anywhere.
“She’s not doing anything,” I muttered to myself.
“It’s not what she is doing—it’s who she is that’s the problem.” I turned to see a short human male with a receding hairline and circular gold-rimmed glasses standing behind me. He wore what I initially mistook as a bathrobe until I took a closer look. It was a Jedi cloak, and not some store knock-off or homemade deal. It looked like the real thing. Well, the movie thing. “That’s Anakin Skywalker’s costume, right?”
“Yeah, one of the originals used in Episode III—resized for me. It cost me an arm and a leg, but worth it, don’t you think?” He blushed, stuck out his hand and said, “I’m the, ahhh, I’m a minister in the Jedi faith. A Jedi Master, actually. It’s an online thing. Really, all I do is manage the newsletter.” He looked around and leaned in close. “They asked me to represent the Jedi faith. I tried to explain to them that being a Jedi wasn’t a real religion, but the guy on the phone said that worshipping the Force was what all religions did. He also said that he admired the way my faith had modernized itself by updating painted murals and stained-glass windows to movies.”
I held in a laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“No,” the short man shook his head. “I wish I was. Also, I think they’re happy with me because I’m the only human religious figure that actually showed up. Apparently, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Pope and the Dalai Lama all turned down the event due to religious differences. I guess most religions kind of fall apart without Heaven or Hell.”