Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

  “Me? What do I know about docks?”

  “Again, Mr. Matthias, the delivery company has informed me that the fish are stuck at the port because of a human problem. You are a human and thus are best suited to deal with human problems. You will, of course, be fully compensated.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I really don’t have time to …” From the corner of my eye I saw Greg waving at me as he pointed to the turnstile door. I looked over and saw a woman in an expensive white business suit walking through the front door causing the little silverbell that I hung over it to ring as the glass pivoted. The bell is magical and tells me what the person entering was. Given that the GoneGod World was filled with all sorts of Others, it was a very useful thing to have.

  The word, ‘Assyrian demigod’ rang in my ear. She wore a very large, elegant white hat and big black sunglasses. Curvy-hipped and ample-bosomed, she was beautiful, and everything about her exuded femininity–her graceful walk, her aura of being serious yet caring, responsible yet loving. She exuded confidence. She didn’t walk in like she owned the place; she walked in like she knew how to fix it.

  An entourage of seven children followed her—three boys in fine suits and four girls in floral dresses. Each was immaculately groomed, and there wasn’t a hint of rebellion in any of them. There was something eerily conformist about her brood, their cool, serious composure complemented by intelligent, all-seeing eyes. It was as if they knew what being naughty meant, but would never, ever consider being so. Despite that, my mind conjured the twins from The Shining—redrum, redrum, REDRUM!

  EightBall followed behind her, encumbered with enough suitcases to clothe an army.

  “Time, Mr. Matthias,” Stewart said, putting a heavy stone hand on my shoulder. “None of us have the time we once did. But as you pointed out, the hall is prepared, everything is in place. All that remains is that the fish arrive, alive and fresh, so that we may dine on them at precisely midnight.”

  “Yes, OK,” I said, looking over at the elevator. “I’ll go now—”

  I turned just as a voice screamed, “Ahhhh! You!” with a Parisian accent.

  Hellelujah!

  Sibling Rivalry, Sororal Bonds and Cat Fights

  Astarte’s scream reverberated throughout the hotel. Her cry was as shocking and as loud as a thunderclap on a clear day. I nearly leapt out of my skin. I knew a fight was imminent, but Stewart either didn’t hear or didn’t care because he remained as still as ever.

  I started towards Astarte, but I was unable to move because a very large, very hard hand held me back. “Mr. Matthias,” Stewart said, “as you can see, obtaining the fish is paramount to us, and it is my understanding that you are competent in such matters. More than competent.”

  “Fine, fine,” I said, breaking free of his grasp as I ran towards Astarte, hoping against hope that I would be able to intercept her before she got to Atargatis.

  I sprinted to the entrance. At just under six feet, I had a slightly longer than average stride, but it still wasn’t long enough. Astarte pounced like a cat on its prey. My last hope was to lunge at Astarte and grab her midair, but even on my best day I doubt I could have succeeded, and today was far from my best day.

  “You bitch!” Astarte tackled her sister.

  Atargatis, whose last facial expression had been somewhat affable, met Astarte’s attack with a yelp, and the two of them started wrestling on the ground.

  ↔

  Have you ever watched a succubus and a fertility demigoddess wrestle? Me neither, until now. But I can say this: After watching the two of them, I never wanted to see it again. Not because it was particularly violent or harsh, or because I have a moral objection to a catfight. I never wanted to see them fight again because I don’t think my hormones could handle it. Loose-fitting clothes tugged and pulled, revealing a hint of breast which vanished before anything but your imagination could conjure back the image. Heaving breath inhaled and exhaled as rigid bodies tensed and lunged, two of the most alluring bodies on the planet.

  Yelps of pain—or was it ecstasy?—filled the lobby.

  Everything they did reminded me of sex. Hell, judging by the reaction of everyone else in the Millennium Hotel, I was not alone. Every creature, be it a he, she or it, human or Other, stared with gaping mouths and shifted uncomfortably.

  Despite years of Army training not to be tricked, seduced or stunned by Others, I couldn’t move. Sure, the sexual allure of the scene stunned me, but it was more than that. I was under some kind of spell. Hell, everyone in the hotel was under some kind of spell. No one moved to separate them.

  As Astarte mounted her sister, I saw a hint of a smile that told me she knew exactly how everyone was reacting to their little familial spat.

  I doubt I would have moved until they stopped, had it not been for one of Atargatis’ children pulling on the lapel of my collarless jacket. “Excuse me, mister,” a soft voice said. “You work here, right? Could you please help my mom? We would,” the little girl said, gesturing to her brothers and sisters who all stared at me with the same pleading, innocent eyes, “but we are forbidden to harm our aunt.” The little girl who spoke to me was the tallest and probably the oldest of the brood, a child who looked no older than nine. She stared up at me with big, concerned baby-blue eyes that simultaneously pleaded for help and commanded me to act. That was enough to jar me back to reality.

  I grabbed Astarte and pulled her off Atargatis. “EightBall,” I yelled. “EightBall!” The boy eventually looked up. “Help me get them apart.”

  “Oh, yeah,” EightBall said, shaking his head, “right.” He dropped the bags he was carrying, took a second to adjust his pants and grabbed Atargatis.

  “Unhand me, you whelp,” Atargatis barked.

  “Don’t you insult the boy,” Astarte shot back as she tried to break free from my grasp. “You traitorous, self-righteous bitch.”

  “Mongrel? Cur!” Atargatis screamed. “That is rich coming from a whoremonger.”

  Astarte stopped thrashing and in a cool, even voice said, “A bitch is a dog used for breeding.” She looked at Atargatis’ children. “And that is all you have done in the seventeen thousand years since you hit puberty.”

  “I will smite you where you stand, little sister,” Atargatis said, redoubling her thrashing. To EightBall’s credit, he held on tight. Atargatis, realizing that she couldn’t break free, used her left foot to pop free the high heel off of her right foot and shot it across the room at Astarte.

  At the last possible second, the succubus ducked. The heel of the shoe hit me on the forehead, and my eyes watered from the blinding pain. I saw stars before a little stream of blood trickled down my face. “Ow!” I said. I summoned my most authoritative voice and yelled, “You two! Cut it out now!”

  Maybe it was my wound, or maybe the fight had gone out of them, but both sisters stopped thrashing. Atargatis took a deep breath and resumed calm with an unnatural speed. “Dear human, I apologize for my sister’s behavior. Now, if you could kindly tell your servant—”

  “Employee,” I cut in.

  “Yes, employee … If you could tell him to let me go, I promise I will not resume my attempts at ending my dear sister’s life.”

  “And you, Astarte?” I asked, still holding her tight.

  Astarte stopped moving. “She started it.”

  I nodded to EightBall, who eased his grip before letting go. Seeing that Atargatis was true to her word, I let Astarte go. She adjusted her blouse with a huff. “Good thing you intervened, Human Jean. Another moment and I would have disemboweled my dear, sweet sister.”

  “Astarte …” I said in a warning tone.

  “Please, it is this boy that should be thanked. One more second, and I would have had your head on a silver platter.”

  “Ladies,” I repeated, gesturing for EightBall to be ready.

  “As if,” Astarte said. “I was the huntress.”

  “And I was a goddess of war.”

  “More like a bitch of
war.”

  “And what did you hunt, whore? Helpless mortals who would throw you a bone just so they could tell their friends they biblically knew the Great Whore of Babylon?”

  “How dare you? When I bedded mortals, I changed history. I was Cleopatra. I was Helen of Troy, and the mortal desire for me launched a thousand ships.”

  “Hah, you were barely a memory to them, forgotten as soon as they expelled their lust. I, on the other hand, created legacies,” Atargatis said. “My children and my children’s children have been a part of every great god and mortal this world and any other have seen.”

  “And yet he left you behind.” By the way she said “he,” I knew she was talking about someone specific.

  Atargatis’ eyes went cold. I swear to the GoneGods, my heart skipped a beat or two as her lips curled. In a low rolling growl, Atargatis said, “You do not speak his name.”

  “Whose name?” Astarte sneered. “Poseidon? Poseidon … Poseidon. Poseidon!”

  “Whore!” Atargatis lunged at Astarte.

  I grabbed Astarte, and EightBall held on to Atargatis. We were right back to where we started. From the corner of my eye I saw Stewart approaching. He held a piece of paper in his hand. “The details, Mr. Matthias.”

  “Ahhh, as you can see, I’m busy.”

  “Mr. Matthias, must I stress again the importance of the—”

  “Getting the fish,” I said, grunting as I bear hugged the succubus, trying to lift her off her feet. She heeled my shin and I nearly dropped her. Lucky for me, Greg helped by grabbing her legs.

  “Mr. Matthias,” Stewart repeated. He appeared to not notice the fight that was going on. Hell, maybe he didn’t.

  “Yes, yes,” I said, pulling Astarte away. “If you don’t mind, can you put it in my coat pocket?”

  Stewart stepped forward and, amidst Astarte’s thrashing, put the paper in my pocket. “Mr. Matthias. We need the fish no later than eleven thirty. That should be enough time to prepare them for precisely—”

  “Midnight. Got it.” As soon as those words left my lips, Stewart looked up and for the first time acknowledged Astarte. “Ahhh, Astarte,” he said. “It has been a long while. How are you?”

  “Oh, go choke on a bone,” she yelled at Stewart.

  “Indeed,” he said, stoic as ever.

  Come Drive with Me …

  I managed to drag Astarte, kicking and screaming, out the back. Once outside, I carried the succubus toward my car.

  “Let me go,” she screamed.

  “Not until you calm down.” Holding her with one arm, I fumbled for my keys and eventually got the passenger door open. I threw her in and closed the door. Astarte tried to open it, but I held it shut. Locking the door, I slid over the hood and got in just in time to grab Astarte before she could get out. One-handed, I started the car and drove off.

  Once we gained a bit of speed, I let her go. She immediately grabbed at the door. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said in a calm voice. “Even at this slow speed falling from a moving car on the gravel will hurt.”

  Astarte looked at the ground that crawled past at twenty miles per hour, considered my words and slammed the door shut. “Fine. I’ll kill her when we get home.”

  “Could you wait until after the gala?” I asked. “I don’t want a negative review on TripAdvisor.”

  “TripAdvisor?”

  “You know, that thing called the Internet.”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice distant, “I’ve heard of it.” She went silent.

  “So,” I said once we were on the main road, headed towards the dock. “You have a sister?”

  Astarte snorted—man, even her snorts were sexy—and said, “Sadly, yes. We control much of our own destinies, but have little control over who is in our family.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Before the one called Christ was born,” she said in a completely literal way.

  “And …”

  “And what, Jean?” Her voice was angry.

  “Well, what happened between you two that made you hold a two-thousand-year-old grudge?”

  “Five thousand … and it’s not for mortals to know.”

  “Really? I thought we were all mortal now.”

  Astarte seemed to consider this before saying, “We all have our roles to play, Human Jean. And in the early days of faith, there were certain expectations that I did not meet.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. We have hated each other ever since.”

  “Oh, come on! There has to be something! Not meeting expectations warrants a cold shoulder, maybe a catty remark. It is not acceptable when talking about one of the greatest fights I’ve ever seen.”

  Astarte smirked. “We were a sight to behold, were we not?”

  “Yes. Oh, by the GoneGods, yes.” I tried to put the images out of my mind. “So … those seven creepy kids are your nephews and nieces.”

  Astarte nodded. “You mean Edgar, Maggie, Lily, Judy, Simon, Tommy and Bob.”

  “You know their names? I thought you hadn’t spoken in forever?”

  “Just because their mother and I are fighting doesn’t mean the children must suffer. Besides, they were born before our troubles. And before you ask—yes, their names were changed post-GrandExodus so they could better fit in. All of them, except Bob. His name seems to be easy for the human tongue to pronounce.”

  I couldn’t tell if Astarte was joking or not, and before I could ask, Astarte went stone cold as renewed anger bubbled inside her. “I haven’t seen my sister in thousands of years, and now she waltzes into my home, a guest of The BisMark … and for what? To insult me further? And what am I to do? Nothing? This is The BisMark’s doing. He is still angry at me for what I did, and now he enacts his revenge by mocking me with his silly gala. I must get into that party.” Astarte turned away from the window and looked at me. “You must get me into that party.”

  “I can’t. You know that.”

  “But you are allowed a date. A plus one …” She leaned over and put a hand on my chest. Even though I knew that she was using me, my heart still skipped a beat. What’s that old Bill Withers song? “Use Me”? I knew exactly what he meant.

  Except I wasn’t Bill Withers and I hated being used. I gulped. “The BisMark doesn’t strike me as the dramatic type, but if it is as you say it is, then he’s using you and your sister to add drama to the event. Don’t. Besides, I can’t take you. I have a date.”

  Astarte huffed. “Who?” Her voice carried both shock that I had a date and puzzlement that I was capable of denying her. Being a succubus and the figurehead of the largest and oldest sex cult, she was not used to being denied. Hell, I haven’t lived thousands of years as the diva that everyone wanted to please, and I hate to be rejected.

  “You know who,” I said.

  “Medusa? That serpentine prude? Come now, you can do better than her,” Astarte said, her lips dangerously close to me. I could feel her soft breath on the nape of my neck.

  “Prude?” I asked, pulling away. “How can you say that after—you know—what happened?” I was talking about the night the ex-god Dionysus got all of Paradise Lot drunk on magical Ambrosia. One thing had led to another, but before Medusa and I could—you know—engage, Astarte walked in and … well, one thing led to another—for them. I left to try and figure out what was going on, leaving behind two of the most beautiful creatures I have ever known—to engage.

  “Hah,” Astarte scoffed. “As soon as you left, she said she could not let me pleasure her because it would be a betrayal to the one she loves. Like I said, prude.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I thought—”

  “Of course you did.”

  “But you didn’t say anything to correct me.”

  “What does it matter? I figured that’s what held you back—her prudish, inexperienced nature. Certainly, knowing that she has engaged in a night with me … a night where I taught her the true art of lovemaking … would make
you more attracted. Was I wrong?”

  Astarte was wrong, but not about the attraction part. It was the holding back part that she missed. Turned out not to be true. And here I was, holding on to their little romp as an excuse to turn her down. A kind of “Get out of jail, you slept with the succubus” card—to be played as necessary. I knew it was unfair given what had happened, but I figured it was a tangible enough excuse for Medusa to understand why I didn’t want to date her, and a hell of a lot easier to explain than the truth, at least.

  OK, now I felt like a jerk.

  “Medusa didn’t say anything either.”

  “Would you have believed her?”

  “No, probably not. But that doesn’t change anything about the gala. I have a date. And besides,” I said, “even if I didn’t have a date, I wouldn’t take you. I need this to go smoothly. In case you hadn’t noticed, the hotel is struggling.”

  “I’ll behave.”

  “I can’t risk another outburst like that—no matter what you promise.”

  “But lover,” she said, a hint of that Parisian accent in her voice. “I haven’t promised you anything … yet.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Stop it.”

  Astarte huffed and sat back in the passenger seat with a whoop. “As always, human, you resist my touch. I do not understand it. I have had gods fall to their knees before me, and yet you …” Astarte’s voice went shrill. “You have the stink of love on you. That is why you resist me. Tell me, AlwaysMortal, are you in love with the Queen of the Gorgons?”

  I shook my head. “We went on one date.”

  She sniffed me again. “No, no, no … you definitely have the stink of love on you. Don’t tell me you are still in love with that dead wife of yours.” Astarte’s voice trailed off before she went silent.

  “Don’t talk about Bella in that way,” I growled.

  “You can’t be! She has been dead seven years now. Even the most sentimental of your kind forgets after seven years.”

  “Don’t!” I yelled, jerking the car to the side of the road. “Don’t you ever talk about her like that again!” I stared at the succubus. “Understand? Understand?!” The fury in me rose as I held her gaze, and even her heart-melting freckles and erotic allure did little to put out the flame. I could tell she was trying. The diverted gaze, the suggestive frown that said if I were to take her right here and now, we’d have the greatest angry sex known to man, animal or Other. But I didn’t care. Her callous mention of Bella infuriated me.