Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

  “Each and every one.” I met Astarte’s stare. “Each and every one,” I repeated. “Understood?”

  “But—”

  “Understood?”

  Brian and Astarte nodded.

  “Good. Until then, you are not to watch any of them.”

  “I guess I should turn off the recording,” Brian said.

  “I guess so,” I said. “Good. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to borrow some evening attire.”

  Shake It, Baby!

  Astarte clothed me in a bright white tuxedo with black-rimmed lapels and glittery, Wizard of Oz style, ruby red shoes. Apparently it was the only clothing that she had in my size, not that she let me see what else she had. But as soon as I got into the gala dining room I realized that I was a sore thumb in a sea of even sorer thumbs.

  The Millennium Hotel’s ballroom was brimming with Others, each dressed like they’d just returned from Burning Man. Dwarves wore fluorescent faux fur, valkyries were draped in purple satin, minotaurs had golden horns, fairies trailed glitter, angels floated halos, demons dripped blood. They were a swirl of color, creed and chaos.

  Other aromas filled the room. Smells that each species coveted, but to a human nose were overwhelming and confusing. Frankincense and burnt wood, lavender and peat, vanilla and hay—the perfumes and colognes of the Other world.

  And the room! By the GoneGods, I had no idea that this space could look so golden. Fake Roman columns pretended to prop up the ceiling. Immaculate silk tablecloths covered dining tables set with silver plates, crystal glasses and intricate centerpieces that looked like crystallized spheres encrusted in silver and gold. A giant amethyst vat the size of a witch’s cauldron sat at the center of the stage for the podium—it was truly beautiful, and although it was on the other side of the room, I swore I could hear it hum. As for the room itself, gilded chairs were thoughtfully positioned around it to provide an unobstructed view. Little bubble machines blew out bubbles, and the sound of ocean waves wafted about the room. Every detail pointed to one theme—“Under the Sea”—and I felt like I was walking into a room whose decorating committee was composed of Ariel, SpongeBob SquarePants and Aquaman.

  “Look.” Medusa pointed at the stage, at the statue of a man in a toga holding a trident and wearing a crown with an apple-sized ruby. “That’s actually Poseidon’s crown and trident.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding? Poseidon carried that thing with him everywhere he went. I’m surprised he didn’t take it with him. As for the crown—I gave him that ruby. Actually, I gave him three, but I guess there was only room for two in his bags.” She forced a chuckle.

  “Wow,” I said, staring at the stone marvel and wondering how the hell they got something so big and heavy into the ballroom without damaging anything. Even the lamps had been replaced with illuminated crystals that hung on the walls.

  “Oooh, my!” Medusa said, pointing up at the chandelier that looked like frozen lightning, each electric tip piercing into a diamond of light.

  “Those lightbulbs are magnificent,” I said.

  Medusa giggled. “They’re not lightbulbs, silly. They’re stars.”

  “Excuse me … Did you say ‘stars,’ as in celestial bodies that hang in the sky?”

  Medusa giggled. “Yes, stars, as in big gaseous orbs not dissimilar to Earth’s sun.”

  “And how did he manage to make a chandelier from stars?”

  “How else? Magic,” she mused. Then, as if lightbulbs made from stars were only mildly interesting, she pointed to the far end of the room. “Oh, look. We’re on TV.” She pointed at the three TV cameras from local stations set up in the back. Apparently the party of the year was to be televised. Locally.

  The TV cameras made me a bit nervous, but The BisMark said he’d shield me, and I believed him. Besides, I figured the risk of an old Army buddy recognizing me was quite low. I was supposed to have been burned to a crisp by dragon fire, not hanging out in a white tuxedo in the middle of an Others’ party.

  Danger aside, I hated this. I was many things, but a gala attendee I was not. I pulled at my cummerbund in discomfort.

  “What’s wrong?” Medusa asked.

  “I hate these things.”

  “You’re just nervous,” she said, fishing in her purse. She pulled out a pack of gum. “I always have one of these when I’m nervous. I find that chewing calms me down.”

  She popped out the gum and put it in my mouth, her fingers delicately lingering on my lips a little too long as our eyes locked. By the GoneGods, her hazel eyes were beautiful. But as was our habit, we both turned away, embarrassed, trying to think of something sexually neutral to say. She found it by handing me the rest of the pack. “For later,” she said.

  “Thanks.” I chewed on the spearmint gum, and I had to admit, the cool flavor was comforting, but it didn’t fix what I wanted fixing. I stared down at the ridiculous ruby red shoes Astarte gave me and clicked the heels. “What are you doing?” Medusa giggled.

  “Trying to get home.”

  “It won’t work,” said a polished voice. “I’ve been clicking my heels since I arrived onto this plane of existence. Medusa, how are you?” Miral approached Medusa with a grace that would have made a prima ballerina assoluta look awkward and clumsy in comparison. The angel Miral was seven feet tall and stunning. A truly beautiful being in every way. Over the last few years, Miral had dedicated her life to helping Others and now ran the St. Mercy’s Hospital with selfless dedication. Of all the Others I have known, Miral possessed the most humanity, and for that alone I owed a lot to the angel.

  She leaned in to kiss Medusa on the cheek. Marty got between them and took the kiss on his scaly green head. “Marty! Behave,” admonished Medusa. “Sorry about that. How are you, Miral?”

  “I’m well. Surprised to have been invited to the gala, but honored nonetheless.”

  “I know what you mean. I was so pleased that Jean invited me.”

  “Indeed.” Miral glared at me. The former captain of Heaven’s army, Miral was one of the first Others I met in Paradise Lot. At the time she had been working for Bella, and she knew me well. She also knew whom my heart still belonged to.

  I gave Miral my best “Sorry, I know I screwed up” look and said, “Where’s your plus one?”

  “Right here,” said a deep male voice. I looked over to see a beautiful man with a chiseled jaw walk in and put his hand on the small of Miral’s back. Officer Conner wore a traditional black tuxedo that made him look like James Bond—only sexier.

  “Officer Conner,” I said. “Nice to see you … again.”

  “I thought that if we were to have a new human policeman, he should know what Paradise Lot was really about,” Miral said.

  “Indeed,” I echoed. “And Michael. Where is he?” I was referring to the archangel Michael and the current police chief.

  “That bore. All he’ll do is brood and lament and, if I’m really lucky, bellow. No, thank you. I’m here to have fun.”

  “Have you been to one of these before?”

  Miral nodded. “Six thousand years ago. When we—”

  “Atlantis?”

  “I see she told you. Not my proudest moment. You be good, Jean. Medusa isn’t as worldly wise as the rest of us.”

  “And you are?” I said, eyeing Conner.

  “Ohh, Jean, he’s here to do some good. Besides, have you seen those eyes? You could get lost in them.” Miral gave me a devilish grin and, extending her arm, took Conner to their table.

  ↔

  Astarte walked in with Greg on her arm. He still wore his Jedi cloak and had the biggest smile on his face. So Astarte found a date. I was a bit surprised that it was Greg—especially after that warning he gave me—but seeing how he beamed ear-to-ear, I knew what had happened. It’s what always happens with Astarte.

  Greg gave me a sheepish look as he passed by me. “You know I stayed home on prom night, but I’m not at home anymore! The Force is with me!”r />
  I had to give it to Greg—he went from a geek to all of this. I was happy for my fellow nerd. I thought about what Miral said and looked over at Medusa. Let him who is without sin cast the first stone. I wasn’t throwing anything tonight.

  The lights went dark, and the ushers guided us to our table. Then with a flash and a bang the room went black, before a pinpoint of light appeared on the stage. A zip-line was shot in its center as controlled white flares blazed up. With a “Woop! Woop!” a figure zipped across the ballroom and jumped on the stage as hundreds of pixies riding hummingbirds flitted after him, each emitting a smoke trail of a different color.

  The BisMark performed an acrobatic tumble and popped up, his hands in the air. He was dressed in the same suit he wore before, and his peacock feathers shined in the light. “Wooow!” he cried out to the elation of the crowd. “How is everyone on this night?” He addressed the crowd with a showmanship that was opposite of the reserved, coldly logical creature I met earlier. I guess when he said that he was here to put on a show, he meant it.

  The crowd erupted, and suddenly I felt like I had no business being in the middle of this. I just couldn’t share the elation that they were feeling.

  Still, I doubted that my glum nature could spoil this atmosphere. The BisMark lifted his palms in the air, calming the audience. The room went silent. They waited for him to speak. “What an entrance,” he said. “Give it up for the pixie troop!” The crowd clapped. “Other, oh, Other, this used to be so much easier when I could use magic!” The crowd laughed, and it wasn’t just a giggle. The minotaur next to me fell over in guffaws. “Still, things aren’t so bad. I mean, we have so much, don’t we? A place to live, good food to eat, fine wine to drink. And glitter,” he said, pointing at the fairies. “Lots and lots of glitter!

  “But seriously, folks, it hasn’t been all glitter and joy, has it? We were once immortals, and now … well, now we’re inflicted with the worst disease of all—life.” The crowd chuckled. Then The BisMark looked at the cameras and, with a solemn, empathetic voice, said, “But mortality hasn’t been inflicted on us alone. We would do well to remember that all heavens and hells are gone, and now death means exactly the same thing to us, human or not. It is the same end for us all.”

  The crowd went into a mournful silence that The BisMark broke by clapping his hands. “But that’s not why we’re here tonight, is it? We’re not here to mourn what we have lost.” He raised a hand in the air and pointed up to the sky. “We’re here for one reason and one reason only. To point to the heavens and say, ‘You may be gone, but LIFE STILL GOES ON!’ ” Everyone cheered. “Is that all you got? Those are elations of the ones who still despair, but we DO … NOT … DESPAIR. Not anymore. I want each and every one of you to scream to the heavens so loudly that they hear us. Tell them … Let them know that they may have left, but LIFE STILL GOES ON!”

  To say that the crowd exploded in cheers would be to say that erupting volcanoes bubbled lava or raging hurricanes gusted wind.

  “WE ARE WHOLE.”

  The crowd ceased being a collection of individual voices, instead merging together into one final, powerful, unified agreement. Life did go on! And everyone here knew it.

  “And if any of them were to return on bended knees and beg us to take them back, let them know what we will say: ‘It … is … too … late! We … are … happy … without … you!’ ”

  Sparklers erupted and light flashed across the room as dwarves stomped in place, fairies did aerial backflips, cerberuses shook their multiple heads from side to side and frantically wagged their tails. And gargoyles … well, gargoyles stood perfectly still.

  As if conjured from thin air, dozens upon dozens of plates covered with silver domes were flown in by a squadron of gargoyles. The gargoyle with the massive scar across its face flew to our table and put down a plate before Medusa. Then he winked at her and the gorgon blushed.

  “What was that?”

  “Old flame,” she giggled. I gave her a look and her eyes widened. “What! You know the legends … Me and statues are a thing!” And with that her two perfect dimples dug themselves into her cheeks, and this time she gave me a wink. It melted my heart to see her so giggly and happy—her happiness was infectious.

  On some invisible cue, the gargoyles lifted the domes, releasing torrents of steam that shot up and hit the ceiling with an inaudible crash. I looked down at my plate and saw a well-seasoned carp. Then a fish tank was wheeled onstage with a single snow-colored carp in it.

  The audience gasped. The BisMark, the master showman, let the gasp turn to silence before whispering into the mic, “Family … We are all family. Man, woman, angel and demon—we’re all family now, and that’s what tonight is all about.” Then, raising his hands in the air like a conductor commanding the orchestra to bring home the intensity, he cried out, “Atargatis! Atargatis, where are you?”

  The crowd stood as she entered, trading their unabashed revelry for reserved, respectful clapping—like they were suddenly transported from rock ’n’ roll to some lifetime achievement award, an award given to someone they all greatly respected. I scanned the room, looking for Astarte. If she wanted to ruin her sister’s night, now would be the time to do it. But Astarte clapped like everyone else, her eyes locked on her older sister as she strolled across the ballroom.

  Atargatis had changed into a flowing white dress. Her seven children followed, holding the trailing cloth off the ground. She got onto the stage, and the children fanned out around her, each perfectly still as they raised the hem of her dress’s tail like the tail of a white peacock.

  “Which one’s Bob?” I had meant it as a joke, but Medusa and four of her snakes pointed at the creepy-looking boy at the end.

  The BisMark took Atargatis’ hand and led her to a table that stood just left of Poseidon’s statue. A throne-sized chair waited for her.

  A sniffle underlined the gentle clatter of palm on palm, hoof on hoof, scaly talon on scaly talon. I turned to see Medusa wipe away a tear. I tilted my head and whispered, “What’s wrong?” I put a hand on her shoulder and drew her close, waiting for an answer.

  Medusa nuzzled to me, putting a lot of her weight on me before pulling out a tissue. “Seeing her brings back so many memories,” she said.

  “Memories?” I asked.

  “Later,” she said. “I’ll explain everything after dinner.”

  “OK,” I said, wondering what kinds of memories the sight of Atargatis brought back for the generally bubbly gorgon.

  The BisMark lifted his hand, asking for the crowd’s silence. The crowd went still. He pulled out the chair and put a platter in front of Atargatis. “This fish is the first of the children you had with the god of the oceans, Poseidon. From it, millions upon millions of fish have come forth to nourish the world for thousands of years.” He pointed at the tank. “The dish before you—before all of you—represents what you have given us. It is a symbol of the time when the immortals first helped the mortals in their bid to thrive rather than just survive.”

  He faced the crowd. “It was Atargatis’ generosity that first cradled civilization, allowing it to bloom under her guidance, and I can think of no better way to celebrate tonight than to thank her for all she has done. My darling, it is because of you that the first villages formed, the first trades began, the first signs of civilization were born. This—all of this—is because of you, and there could be no better way to celebrate you than this symbolic eating of the fish.” The BisMark took a step back, clapping with a humble fervor. He bowed.

  Atargatis thanked him with a nod and ceremoniously picked up a fork and knife and pierced the carp’s belly. Lifting its flesh so we could all see, she smiled and bit down on the steaming morsel.

  The crowd clapped, hooted, stomped and jumped. And that was why it took us all a moment to realize that the ground trembled.

  And rumbled.

  And shook.

  Celebration or not, Paradise Lot was having an earthquake.


  Hellelujah!

  END OF PART 1

  Part VI

  Prologue

  Five Thousand Years Ago—

  The world is young.

  The gods reign over humanity using fear and superstition, miracles and curses. And even though the methods are effective, they know that fear only works on the ignorant and superstition on the weak. As for miracles and curses … those are the tools that lesser gods use.

  As humans evolve, the gods learn that with time such tools will be harder to use. They know that they will need to find new methods to control the AlwaysMortals. But that will be later. Now … now their rule is absolute.

  Among their ranks is a young succubus who, although not yet a god, stands on the threshold of godhood. Unlike her kin, she need not employ archaic tools or arbitrary rules to keep her followers faithful. Her ways are more direct and far more pleasurable.

  Humans and Others alike are always welcome to indulge in the most obscure of pleasures in Astarte’s temple. Nothing is taboo in Astarte’s world, nothing is off-limits … and how the mortals flock to her!

  Couples embrace, lovers entwine, orgies commence—soon the line between life and ecstasy is blurred as delighted lips cry out her name in lustful pleasure. And with every homage paid to the godling of lust, her powers grow.

  ↔

  Astarte has hosted god and Other, human and monster in harmonious engagement. All who walk through her doors enter with the quickened heartbeat of anticipation. All, except one—Astarte’s sister, Atargatis, the goddess of fertility and love, mother to the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, does not approve of Astarte’s ways. Atargatis believes that the secretion of fluids should be reserved for procreation and for expression of love. Pleasure is neither, and neither is lust. But does Astarte care? Let her prude of a sister believe what she wants—this is Astarte’s temple.