Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

Atargatis ignored the fatalistic satyr. “When … when did Enkidu return?”

  Astarte stepped forward. “I don’t know how long he’s been wandering in the mortal world. I suspect since the gods left. But when the fish of Urfa were delivered, he was drawn to them. To me. That is why he came to the docks. He tried to stop us from delivering the fish. He tried to stop all of this.”

  “Then he’s not of Chaos.”

  Enkidu growled. Astarte put a calming hand on his shoulder. “I suspect he’s of both worlds. For now, at least.”

  “Don’t you see? You can stop this. You’re the authority that we need,” I said.

  “But I ate the fish,” Atargatis said. “I am the offender.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but you can assign a Champion or Avatar or whatever you guys do when hiring representation. That person could speak on your behalf.”

  Atargatis tilted her head to one side as she contemplated my idea. “You are right, Jean … except for one thing. Creating a Champion takes years. Champions must be cultivated, and then they must go through several trials by fire. You don’t just wave a wand and poof, ‘You’re a Champion, you’re a Champion … You’re a Champion!’ ” Atargatis waved her hands around “knighting” the air.

  A solemn silence fell over us. Then the satyr chimed in. “You know, I always thought it’d be a big guy who ended the world. But who am I to complain? I’m just happy to go down in flames.”

  “Most likely you’ll be eaten,” I said.

  “Six in one hand, half a dozen in the other. An apocalypse is an apocalypse.”

  I glared at the satyr, who put down his head and resumed playing his harmonica.

  “No, that’s not true at all.” Medusa’s eyes widened as a wicked smile crawled across her face. “I think I know how to stop this,” she hissed.

  Apocalypses and Children, Children and Apocalypses

  Ever heard the expression, “You’ve got to start an apocalypse to stop an apocalypse?” Me neither, but apparently that was the plan. The gods were hierarchy-driven—that extended to gods, to pantheons and, apparently, to apocalypses too.

  Medusa told us her plan, and despite my best judgment, I let my date out of jail in order to do exactly that. Start the End of Days.

  Again.

  Medusa told me where the keys were kept, and I unlocked the cell. Leaving the rest behind, Medusa and I wandered into the empty precinct and into the police chief’s—a.k.a. Archangel Michael’s—office. It had your typical look—awards and diplomas on the wall, a framed newspaper article with the headline “Angel Climbs Police Ranks at Record Speed,” a desk with mounds of paperwork. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except the desk chair.

  Built for an angel over ten feet high who weighed more than an elephant, the desk chair had a frame of soldered steel with reinforced beams that did their best to hold Michael’s immense weight—and still you could see the dips and the bends where it was losing.

  And this was the guy we were about to steal from.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I said.

  “What else would you have us do?” Medusa said. “Let Paradise Lot be consumed by Tiamat?”

  “No, of course not. But why not ask Michael—” Before I could finish the sentence, Medusa and all thirty snakes rolled their eyes.

  “It was just a thought.”

  Medusa turned, walked up to the back wall and started checking every inch of its surface, her snakes coiling and slithering. Occasionally a snake’s head banged against the dry plaster, looking for the false panel where Michael hid his safe.

  “Astarte and Enkidu—do they have a lot of history together?” I said.

  “History,” Medusa chuckled, lightly knocking along the wall. “How casually humans use that word. Enkidu, Gilgamesh and Astarte—their friendship was a historic event whose ripples are still felt today. When Enkidu died, I thought Astarte would die of a broken heart. And when Gilgamesh died … she nearly did. Poor thing spent one hundred years mourning him. When she finally emerged from her misery, she was never quite the same.”

  I understood that. When Bella died, I thought I would die, too. Every part of me just stopped. I became a walking, breathing zombie, numb to everything and everyone around me. It took years for my heart to beat again, and even then, a part of me never found its way back to life. I shook my head. “I thought Astarte despised love. You should’ve heard the speech she gave me about love versus lust. It was quite dramatic.”

  Medusa stopped fiddling with the wall and faced me. “I’m sure she forgot that lust is a choice, but love … Love strikes without warning or mercy.” Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, then she looked down and turned back to the wall.

  After a few more knocks, Medusa put her hand against the wall and pushed. The false panel that I swear by the GoneGods I would have never found in a thousand years opened. Divine craftsmanship, indeed! The panel revealed a safe that, unlike the paneling that hid it, was of human make. Medusa’s snakes pressed their tiny heads against the cold steel, and Marty put his mouth around the turnstile lock.

  “Enkidu—he’s human, right?” I asked.

  Medusa nodded.

  Click, click, click to the right. Stop.

  “If he died … how’s he back?”

  “Because he was a Champion of Chaos, his soul didn’t go to any of the heavens or hells. It went to Chaos, and as you already know, the gods took neither Chaos nor Nature with them.”

  I nodded. That fit with everything I’d uncovered so far. “Astarte thinks that some Others are trying to bring Chaos back as the dominant principle.”

  Medusa stopped moving and considered this. “I guess that explains why it was possible to summon Tiamat in the first place.” She shrugged before going back to the safe.

  Click, click, click to the left. Stop.

  “She blames The BisMark.”

  “Makes sense.”

  A gear clacked, fell into place, and the safe opened.

  Medusa pulled open the safe door. Inside lay paperwork, a passport, a gold watch and a trumpet case. I walked up and took out the case, opening it with shaking hands.

  “So this is it?”

  Medusa nodded. “The Fourth Trumpet that Michael never got to blow when the world ended.”

  “Hellelujah,” I said, holding the silver instrument. It had no valves or slides, no decorations or carvings; it was a simple piece of metal that ended in an unobtrusive cone.

  “I told you I was an end-of-the-world kind of gal! Let’s go.” Medusa started out of the room.

  I grabbed her arm. “Astarte thinks it was The BisMark. So did I. So much so that I was blinded to other possibilities.”

  “Possibilities? Like what?”

  I ignored her question. “It’s just that he’s too smart and powerful to do something so reckless.”

  Medusa looked down at my hand, then up at me.

  I let go of her arm. “At first I thought it might be some third, unknown player, but that doesn’t make any sense. Too many variables. Too big of a risk that something could go horribly wrong.

  “Still … it might have been a mistake. Maybe someone who knew about the curse but thought that in the GoneGod world, it wouldn’t summon Tiamat. Remember, fifteen years ago eating the Holy Carp of Urfa wouldn’t have done anything. It’s only after the gods left that the old ways started to return.”

  Medusa’s face flushed.

  I walked over to Medusa and took her hand in mine. In the softest voice I could muster, I asked, “What did The BisMark mean when he told Michael that you had to be arrested because of ‘history’?”

  “You think it was me?”

  “I saw the Grimoire of Metatron—”

  “And?” She crossed her arms.

  “It established motive.”

  “Motive?”

  I gulped, but went on. “And what happened in Atlantis—Atargatis marrying Poseidon … Poseidon going crazy with jealousy over you … It was more than that. According to
the Grimoire, you and Poseidon were together. That was, until the day he married Atargatis.”

  “That wasn’t my fault. I already told you it was that damn trickster, Loki. When The BisMark arranged the marriage with Astarte and she didn’t show up, I was sure that Poseidon would return to me. But then Atargatis stepped in, and I was devastated. So I ran out on the balcony. King Laomedon followed, to comfort me. Loki—that trickster bastard—told Poseidon that I was sleeping with King Laomedon, that I had been for some time. Poseidon flew into a rage. He stormed the palace and found us talking. That’s when he slammed his trident onto the ground, cracking the earth beneath, and sunk Atlantis.”

  “Yes, but that didn’t change the fact that you hated Atargatis for taking Poseidon away from you.” I kept pushing. “And that’s not all. You insisted on coming to the gala. You were in the kitchen when you found me. You had an opportunity to switch the fish.”

  “So that’s it? Even mortal law would find that circumstantial,” she hissed.

  “And Greg … he had one of the Eyes of the Gorgon. A talisman you created.”

  “I don’t own the Eyes, and haven’t for a long time. I gave them to Poseidon. He put them in his crown.”

  “Greg said he was working for his master, but denied it was The BisMark. He also said that his master doesn’t know everything, and that being an AlwaysMortal gave him certain advantages. Also, you knew ScarFace, and—”

  “And what, Jean?” Her eyes glistened with tears that swelled but would not fall. “And what?”

  I paused and softened my voice. “I don’t think you meant to summon Tiamat.”

  Medusa cocked her head to one side, glaring at me. “And what about the part where I had Atargatis eat her own child? Was that an accident too?”

  “You were in love with Poseidon.”

  “What else?”

  “Medusa—” I started.

  “No, don’t get all soft on me now. You were all ‘tough guy,’ talking about apocalypses and accidents. So tell me. What else did you read?”

  “That you had a child with him.”

  Medusa shuddered as all thirty of her snakes hissed at me. I thought the gorgon was going to slap me or scream or something. But she only stared at me with an expression that betrayed nothing.

  “It stands to reason that you were bitter he chose Astarte over you. And that you were even more insulted when Astarte didn’t show up and he agreed to marry Atargatis.”

  “Anything else?” she said in a cold, even voice. “I’d like to get all the evidence against me before I start defending myself.”

  “The rivalry between you and Atargatis. It went on for centuries, with Poseidon going back and forth between the two of you. That’s a lot of bad blood, enough to drive anyone mad with jealousy.”

  “So I tricked her into eating her own child? Do you think I would inflict such pain on another for a grudge that’s thousands of years old?” For the first time since presenting my—what I was starting to think of as stupid—theory, Medusa’s eyes glistened with sadness.

  And in typical Jean fashion, I soldiered on. “What about the Eye of the Gorgon?”

  “I had three.” Medusa wiped away a single tear that escaped. “Two forged by my sisters and one by me. I gave all of them to Poseidon as a gift. He set them in his crown. His crown—might I add—had only one gem on it at the gala.

  “But here’s the thing about your theory. Maybe, just maybe, The BisMark got the crown from Poseidon before he left, and maybe, just maybe, he pried off two of them and gave one to Greg, leaving one on the crown for whatever plans he had for it later.”

  She paused before taking a deep breath and continuing. “You know, that legend seems to confuse this fact a lot.” She rubbed the palms of her hands against her dress as if she were trying to rub out some invisible stain. “I did have a child. Chrysaor. Not that his bastard of a father ever acknowledged him.”

  I thought back to the beach and to the wooden trinket that fell out of her purse. She was so quick to take it back, like it was the most precious thing in the world. “The wooden horse from the beach. That was his,” I said.

  She nodded. “A pegasus. The only privilege he got for having an Other as a mother, and even that eventually was taken away from him. When his pegasus died, he cried for three days straight, looking up at me with devastated eyes. He was alone, with a freak for a mother. The pegasus was his best friend. I carved him that toy so that he’d never forget his heritage, and he carried it everywhere.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Medusa’s voice went cold. “He was mortal. Athena’s punishment for my affair with Poseidon. Actually, Athena gave me a choice. Give up my son and become a god, or raise him as a mortal.

  “That was my punishment for being young and naïve … for letting a god seduce me with his sweet talk and divine powers. A child born of a gorgon and a god should have lived forever. But Athena made him human … and just like any other human, he grew old and died.” She sat down on Michael’s oversized chair.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. I walked over to her and put my hand on her shoulder. I don’t know what I was going for. A hug to comfort her, a shoulder to cry on. But Medusa stood up and drew her shawl over her shoulders.

  “He lived well. A good, long, happy life. That’s all a mother really wants for her child, and he had it.” She wiped away her tears and her face went rigid. She looked up at me. “You know, I haven’t said his name in over two thousand years. It feels good to say it. To remember him.”

  “Sounds like he was a great kid.”

  “A great kid, a great man. He was my boy, and I’ll love him until my last breath.”

  “I know you will. He was lucky to have had you.” I put a hand on Medusa’s shoulder, and this time she didn’t shrug it off. I was wrong about her. So dead wrong that I hated myself for being so stupid. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Do you know why I was so desperate to be invited to the gala? I wanted to apologize to Atargatis. Bury the hatchet, so to speak—start fresh as two mortal Others. That’s why.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling foolish.

  She huffed out a groan of frustration and threw her arms in the air. “It would have been so much easier if I was guilty. Then you could go on with your life without me. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Finding a way to not like me anymore.”

  “I … I,” I stammered. “I do like you.”

  “And that’s a problem?”

  “It is.”

  “Because of Bella.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not asking you to let go of her. I just want you to find a bit of space in your heart for me, too. Is that a possibility? Because if it is not, I’ll leave you alone, cross my heart.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I think that was the first honest thing I’d said to her since we met.

  “When you do know, you know where to find me.” She started for the door. She gave me a sad smile before walking out of Michael’s office.

  I watched her walk down the hall—the Queen of the Gorgons, who had a bigger heart than that of anyone I knew. A heart that chose me. And here I was, treating it like some curse rather than the amazing privilege that it was. There were no two ways about it—I was an idiot. “I’m sorry!” I called after her.

  “I know,” she said, without looking back.

  “I still don’t think it’s The BisMark.”

  “I know,” she repeated.

  “Are you still mad at me?”

  “Yes,” she said, and I heard her walk out of the back entrance, the door slamming behind her.

  “Harsh, bro,” I heard Brian’s voice say in my ear.

  “Brian,” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “Shut up.”

  “OK.”

  I turned off the lights in Michael’s office and scurried after her.

  Hellelujah!

  Trumpets, Trumpets, Trumpets

  We got back to the others, who were
still waiting at the back entrance. Astarte leaned against a squad car in all kinds of wrong ways, casually tossing car keys in her hand and making the simple act seem like tantalizing foreplay. And it was working—Enkidu was crouched on the hood of the car, his head resting on Astarte’s shoulder, watching the keys go up and down, up and down … and drooling.

  Atargatis, on the other hand, was already in the car, sitting—like the debutante she was—completely unimpressed by the scene and eager to get going. As soon as I emerged, Astarte tossed me the keys. “What?” she moaned. “I don’t drive.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  Medusa got in the passenger side while Astarte and Enkidu squeezed in the back with Atargatis. Everyone was silent.

  “So,” I said, breaking the tension with an easy question. “Who’s going to blow the horn?”

  “Me!” Atargatis and Astarte said in unison.

  “You bitch!” I couldn’t see which one yelled it out, and they both sounded so similar. It didn’t really matter. They were both thinking it.

  “You always steal my glory.”

  “And you always shirk your responsibility. Even if I gave you the trumpet—which I’ll never do—you’d probably discard it to have a romp on the beach!”

  “Sex on the beach is undignified—too much sand! And secondly, you know damn well why I didn’t show up.”

  “Why? Because of him?” Atargatis pointed at Enkidu.

  “Yes. And Gilgamesh.”

  “That human? Why? He was nothing but a mortal. We could’ve been gods!”

  “Because—”

  “Because what?”

  “Because I LOVED HIM!”

  Atargatis stopped speaking, gobsmacked by her sister’s confession.

  “I loved him. I knew that if the Assyrian pantheon ascended, Chaos would rule and he would be lost.”

  “You’re … you’re serious,” Atargatis murmured.

  Astarte nodded.

  Atargatis smirked. “The Queen of Lust, the great succubus Astarte, loved?”

  “Yes,” Astarte said, her voice carrying a hint of shame in the confession. “And it almost killed me.”