Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

  It was true. Fourteen years later many religious leaders were still scrambling to consolidate their doctrine with the absence of the gods. On the one hand, they had irrefutable proof that they were right, that the gods did exist and that their worship was necessary. On the other hand, what was religion without gods to actually worship? Most religions spent their time ignoring Others and pretending the gods never left, or insisting that if they engaged in deeper religious fervor they could pray the gods back. Either way, I could see how coming to The BisMark’s gala sent mixed messages to their followers.

  Whatever the case, there was a Jedi minister in my hotel. Yippie! “Man, oh, man …” I said, bowing reverently. “It’s good to have you, Master …”

  “Greg. Just Greg.”

  “Not tonight. Master Greg—how may I be of service?” I bowed slightly as I put a fist over my heart in a Jedi salute.

  Greg looked at the front door nervously and said, “It’s not me that needs help. Actually, I wanted to warn you. It’s about Astarte. She is—I mean, was—an Assyrian goddess.”

  “Goddess?”

  “Well, kind of … A long time ago she was worshiped as a goddess, even though she never quite made the cut. And before you ask, I have no idea what the cut-off point was. But that’s not why I’m here … it’s about Atargatis.” He paused as if all was clear. My blank look showed him that I had no idea what he was talking about. I hadn’t looked at the guest list, and even if I had, the name did not ring a bell. “They’re sisters,” he added.

  “I know who Atargatis is,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “She’s the ancient Assyrian goddess of fertility—well, demigoddess now. She is the Other who cradled civilization until it was mature enough to survive on its own. But I didn’t know she was coming …”

  “Oh, yeah!” Greg said with an enthusiastic nod. “She’s the guest of honor. After the Pope said no, The BisMark invited Atargatis.”

  “Are you sure she is Astarte’s sister? Same pantheon, yes, but does that make them sisters? I mean, can a succubus have a sibling?”

  “Yes and no,” he said. “They are of the same pantheon from the old world. A religion that declined four centuries before Christ … there are references to them being sisters.”

  “References?”

  He looked around sheepishly. “Ever heard of the Grimoire of Metatron? Not to be confused with the Book of Enoch.”

  I shook my head.

  “It was written by the angel Metatron.”

  “Megatron?”

  Greg let out a giggle. “Ahem …” he blushed, “Metatron—the great watcher. He created this chart of the gods. It has all the gods in it and their relationships with each other, as well as their relationships with certain mortals of significance. You know … like Hercules and Jesus. I have a copy at my apartment and I’m trying to make it more user-friendly. You know, so that humans can use it. It’s kind of a passion project of mine.”

  “Oh …” I said. I liked this guy. Star Wars fan, Jedi Master and Other historian—what wasn’t to like?

  “So, if you live in Paradise Lot, how come I’ve never seen you around before?”

  “I live in the Ladder.” His tone went reverent, almost embarrassed. “I’m pretty much the only person living there, now that the humans are mostly gone.”

  The Ladder was the only skyscraper in Paradise Lot. Once-upon-a-time it was premium real estate. I’d have to add filthy rich to Greg’s list. “So you didn’t head for the hills like most humans?”

  “No way,” Greg said. “And leave all this? How awesome is it to be living amongst all these magical creatures? If I wasn’t living here already, I would have moved here in a heartbeat.”

  I really, really liked this Greg. “OK … so Astarte and Atargatis are mortal enemies?”

  “Immortal enemies,” Greg snickered.

  “And you think they’re going to have a big fight unless I can keep them apart.”

  “I don’t think. I know, because that big diamond-looking guy asked for my help.”

  “Really? How?”

  Greg turned beet-red. “He asked me to use the Force.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Greg shook his head. “I know! They think it’s a real thing. And what’s more, he thinks I don’t have to burn time to do it.”

  “Well,” I laughed. “He’s half right.”

  “Again—I know!” Greg adjusted his glasses. “I tried to explain to him that it wasn’t a real thing, but he insisted. Talked about how the ancient Greeks used pneumatics and how the Tibetan Buddhist monks cultivated rLung. Besides, the Jedi Church believes that there is one all-powerful force that binds all things in the universe together. We also accept people from all walks of life, from all over the universe as members of our religion. That includes Others.”

  This was rich—but oddly believable. In my years of dealing with Others, they gave into every kind of questionable practice: crystals, ch’i, feng shui, numerology, miracles … and now the Force. And why not? After an eternity of seeing all those things work in the various heavens and hells, why wouldn’t they also work on Earth?

  Besides, a religion that preaches that everyone is equal and welcome … that’s a beautiful thing.

  I burst out laughing.

  “So, I figured,” Greg said in between chuckles, “since I don’t have the Force, what I could do was warn you.”

  “OK,” I said. “Thanks. I’ll try, but she’s not very good at following instructions. And she’s already pretty annoyed for not having been invited.”

  Greg gave me a look that said, “What choice do you have?” Then Greg pulled out his phone, which looked more like the tricorder from Star Trek. “You better hurry. Atargatis’ flight just landed.”

  “How do you know?”

  “How else?” he chuckled, showing me his phone. “Twitter.”

  Hellelujah! Tweeting Others—I’d seen it all. “Alright,” I sighed, “I’ll go up and talk to her.”

  Yes, the Internet is Just for Porn

  Before the GrandExodus, Astarte was nearly a goddess, her followers granting her power and sustenance through sexual worship. Now that the gods were gone and Astarte was mortal, she had to find her sustenance from other, more mundane sources. Anyone with a 101 understanding of economics could tell you that you could exchange money for food, water and shelter. Astarte traded sex for money, which in turn she used to buy food, water and shelter. Of all the Others I have met after the gods left, few have adjusted as well as Astarte.

  The succubus was on a laptop, staring at the screen with the intensity of one in deep, deep concentration. “Astarte,” I said.

  She ignored me, but her companion, an overweight human in light blue khakis and a plaid short-sleeved button-up shirt looked up. “Hi,” he said, offering me his hand. “I’m Brian.”

  I ignored him. “Astarte,” I repeated, and again she ignored me. Astarte had lived in my hotel for six years, and over that time I’d gotten to know her quite well. When she ignored you, she did so to tantalize you. Like telling someone you have a secret and then going silent. Except with nipples.

  So what do you do when you can’t get a succubus to speak? Ignore her back. “Brian,” I said. “What are you two doing?”

  Before he could say anything, Astarte raised a finger, pointed at Brian, then held it up to her lips. The man went silent.

  I leaned in close, blocking his view of Astarte. “Brian, stay with me. What are you two doing?”

  “Ahhh …” Brian started.

  He tried to lean to the left to look at Astarte. I also leaned to the left to block his view, and then I snapped my fingers in his face. “She might be able to give you all the pleasure in the world. I, on the other hand, am more about pain. Spill it. What are you two doing?”

  Brian gulped. “She’s, ummm, watching something.” From the way the word “something” lingered on his lips, I knew that whatever she was watching was probably inappropriate behind closed doors, let alone in the
crowded lobby of a boutique hotel.

  “Great,” I sighed, “and how exactly do you know Astarte?” I knew exactly how he knew Astarte.

  “Ahhh,” he said, his cheeks turning rosy red, “I work for WordPress. She was having trouble with her website, and …”

  “So you came down to personally service her?”

  Brian blushed. “It was only a bus ride away.”

  “Jean,” Astarte said.

  “Ah, ah, ah … I’m not talking to you,” I said, not taking my eyes off of Brian.

  “Servant,” Astarte said, “get back to work.”

  “Hey, I already told you, I’m not your servant.”

  “Really?” Astarte moaned. By the GoneGods, she was good.

  Brian gulped. “I’ll get back to work.”

  “Good,” she said. “Now, Jean, answer me this: Why do you disturb my servant?” Her voice had a hint of a Parisian accent. Astarte had never been to Paris, or anywhere in France for that matter, but nonetheless spoke with an accent because once I told her that French women were sexy.

  “So you’re talking to me now?” I turned to Astarte. “I tell you what—I’ll stop disturbing you if you tell me what you’re up to.”

  “Have you heard of this?” She tilted the screen to reveal a Google search bar.

  “Google? Yes, I’ve heard of it,” I said. I glanced over at Greg who pointed at his phone and mouthed, “She’s in a taxi.”

  “This is power—this is knowledge, and to have it so readily available …”

  “Yeah,” I said, my voice draining. “The gala is about to start, and all non-gala guests should really be in their rooms.”

  Astarte ignored me as she continued to marvel at her laptop’s screen. “You know, back in ancient Assyria we used oracles, but they were rarely accurate. There was a legend of a book whose pages knew all. All you had to do was ask. The ritual of asking was terribly complex and fraught with peril—”

  “Astarte—”

  “—one mispronounced ‘Om’ or unlit candle, and then—boom!” She looked up at me as she mouthed an explosion, and I immediately thought of an orgasm. Everything about Astarte made me think about orgasms and bodies and getting wet and steamy. And let’s not forget sticky. She stretched out her leg, her skirt falling away to reveal skin that went all the way up to her … Ahem … Jean, get a hold of yourself. I looked at that perfect skin and reminded myself that those legs did not necessarily end where I thought they did. You see, there was no evidence that Astarte was a “she.” I only thought of her as that because, well … that’s what I like. I reminded myself that there were many humans and Others out there who saw her as a “she,” “he,” “it” and everything in between. Still, knowing that did little to tame my raging libido.

  “Astarte,” I repeated, “you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing in public. Are you and Brian, you know …”

  “Fornicating? Jean, we are two creatures sitting together exploring the vastness of the World Wide Web.”

  “And?”

  “And what, Jean?” she said, her lips ready to devour me. “What am I doing? You told me not to host any parties and I’m obeying. You told me to dress appropriately, and look at me—I look like I’m going to Sunday Mass.”

  “Well,” I muttered, “not exactly …”

  “And still that is not good enough for you. Here I am, innocently doing some research with my servant Brian. What, pray tell, do you or anyone else have to complain about?”

  I looked over at Greg who held up his mobile phone. “She’s getting close,” he called out.

  “OK, Astarte. What research are you doing, exactly?”

  “Nothing offensive. Just this.” She clicked through her browser tabs. And there it was … website after website of porn. And not some plain soft-core nudie pics. We’re talking bondage sites, domination sites, humiliation sites, “Is that even possible?” sites. “You humans have all these tools at your fingertips, and this is what you choose to offer each other.” She stopped on one frozen image and clicked play. Immediately there was the moaning and the groaning of four, no, five people doing something that must have required hours of rigorous training. “Look at this! It’s hardly satisfying.”

  “Astarte, turn that down!” I said, grabbing the top of her laptop and shutting the screen. The sound abruptly stopped. “You can’t do that here.”

  “Do what?” she asked, genuinely confused.

  “Watch that here.”

  “Why not?”

  I sighed and massaged my temples. “It’s not appropriate.”

  “Says who?”

  I gave her a look that said, “You know exactly who.”

  “Oh, Jean … you humans find so much to be offended by. It’s just sex. And most of it,” she opened up the screen again, “isn’t even that. It’s fantasy. Fetish. None of it’s real. Like going to a banquet and eating pictures of food. But now that I understand the power of the … the …”

  “Internet,” Brian chimed in.

  “Yes—Internet. Through it I shall bring the world a feast. Real, tantalizing, soul-electrifying food.” She looked up at me and, seeing the blank expression on my face, added, “By food, I mean sex.”

  “I know what you mean! But you can’t do that here. Please. Go to your room.”

  “But this Internet is slow in my room.”

  “The Wi-Fi doesn’t quite reach the third floor,” Brian said. “But if I get a booster, I’m sure …”

  “Fine, fine—I’ll buy you a booster. Get you a second line. Do whatever you need, if you’ll just go to your room.”

  Astarte looked up at me. “Whatever I desire?”

  “Yes … I mean, no. Within reason.”

  “Fine. I require an expansion to my room.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I require that you give me the two adjacent rooms so that I may do with them as I please.”

  “You want another room?”

  “Rooms,” she said, holding out two fingers in a V sign.

  I looked over at Greg. He held up five of his own fingers and mimed that she was in a car.

  “Fine, fine. Two more rooms.”

  “Promise.”

  “Ahhh … Yes! Promise.”

  “Good.” Astarte picked up her laptop and stood, her shoulder brushing against mine as she passed by. “Come, Brian, let us retire to my chambers. I shall be more comfortable there, no longer confined to these conservative clothes.” She pulled at her blouse, outlining a hint of a nipple.

  Brian jumped to attention, silently thanking me for forcing us up to her room.

  Hellelujah!

  ↔{{FROM HERE TO EVENT, CHECK BELL}}

  I followed Astarte as far as the reception desk. Another few feet and she’d be at the elevators.

  “Mr. Jean,” said a cold, emotionless voice. I looked up to see Stewart’s diamond exterior glistening in the lobby lights. “I have the details necessary for the errand required of you.” The gargoyle held out a piece of paper.

  “Ahhh,” I said, still watching Astarte as she went to the elevator. “Can this wait a minute?”

  “Mr. Matthias,” he said, “concerning the human matter that requires your immediate attention …”

  Astarte was calling the elevator. Good. “Yes,” I said, looking up at the creature. “But something else requires even more immediate attention. Can this wait a minute?”

  “No, Mr. Matthias, a minute is too long.” Other than his lips, the creature did not move. I mean, literally did not move. He did not blink and there were no awkward twitches or facial expressions. His body did not even slightly sway where it stood. No hairs subtly moved on a light breeze. Nothing. Not even the almost imperceptible movements caused by the flow of blood. That thing we don’t see but rather sense that tells us that the being before us is alive. Nothing about him gave me any sense that he was alive. “The main course has yet to arrive. The kitchen staff will need it in hand within the next three hours if they
are to have time to prepare it.”

  “As I told you on the phone, we don’t do food, but I have the number for a great caterer. Former werewolf, Victorian bred. Does a mean steak.” I looked over to see Astarte. For a moment I lost her in the crowd, but then I caught those sensual, smooth legs standing next to a large winged creature that might have been an angel, then again might not have been. She touched the creature’s chest and it shuddered with anticipation. Evidently she had gotten distracted. “Astarte,” I said in a loud voice.

  She looked over at me and said in a voice that carried throughout the room, “A meal for after the gala, Jean.” I swear to the GoneGods that she must have burned a bit of time in those words because every eye went on her, all of them momentarily more excited for after the gala than the gala itself.

  Everyone, that is, except Stewart, whose unblinking eyes didn’t waver from me. “Steak, Mr. Matthias? But the main course is to be fish. And a very special type of fish, indeed. Holy Carp from Urfa,” he said in his calm, stone voice.

  “Holy what from where now?” I gestured for Astarte to go upstairs. I’m really good at charades—long story involving a three-inch-tall gold fairy that used to live in my Castle Grayskull—and Astarte got my meaning. She rolled her eyes, blew the winged creature a kiss and went back to the elevator.

  “Holy Carp from Urfa,” he said, as if that clarified everything.

  “Fine. Holy foreign fish,” I said, glancing over at Greg, who nervously held his phone in his hand. Astarte was at the elevator, its doors opening. With a sigh of relief, I saw her step in. I looked up at the gargoyle. “What is the problem, Mr. Stewart? And be specific.”

  “Stewart, Mr. Matthias. It is a derivation from the word ‘steward,’ as in a king’s steward. And, as The BisMark has already informed you, we have a human problem. It seems the fish that are to be tonight’s dinner have yet to arrive. They are stuck at the Paradise Lot harbor.”

  “And?”

  “And I need you to retrieve them, Mr. Matthias.”