“A disguise?” I asked. “I don’t know if I have much in the way of disguises. You’ve seen my closet. A lot of slacks and polo shirts.”
“You don’t have anything that could work?” Layla asked.
I thought for a moment. “I have a luchador mask that might work.”
Layla stared at me blankly. “I have no idea what that is.”
“They are masks usually worn by professional wrestlers in Mexico,” I said. “Probably shouldn’t wear it, though. Cultural appropriation and all. And it’s uncomfortable as hell.”
“Can I see it?” Layla asked.
I nodded and went to the bedroom. I’d had the thing since I was a teenager. My grandparents, at the time, wintered in south Texas. They used to make regular trips across the border and brought back all kinds of interesting trinkets from the local shops. This had been one of them. I didn’t know why I’d held onto it all these years. Probably for sentimental value. I also had my grandpa’s old Navy hat that he wore during the Second World War, a pocketknife he gave me when I was ten, and a collection of pesos.
The mask was primarily powder blue and had something like a red dragon across the face, the wings over the brow and the rest of the body curled around the nose and mouth openings. I slipped it on and looked at Layla.
Layla started laughing. “I don’t know about that. They wear these when they wrestle?”
“From what I understand, it’s almost considered sacred in the Mexican wrestling scene. I mean, if a wrestler is unmasked after a fight, it’s supposed to be a major cause of shame. I don’t think I should wear it.”
“Why not?” Layla asked.
“Because it’s important to that culture. I don’t think it would be right.”
“Fine,” Layla said. “Do you have anything else?”
I shook my head. “Too bad it isn’t close to Halloween. There’d be a lot of masks for sale.”
Layla bit her lip. “What if it’s more subtle, like glasses, a mustache—that sort of thing.”
“Like those gags with a fake plastic nose, glasses, and thick plastic eyebrows?” I asked.
Layla laughed. “Of course not. Something that looks real. You’d still look like a normal human being; you just wouldn’t look like yourself.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m not exactly a master of disguise. I don’t know if we could pull it off.”
Layla smiled. “Leave that to me. I have a few ideas.”
“All right,” I said. “I’m trusting you on this.”
Chapter Five
Managing a double life isn’t easy. This wasn’t the first time I had to navigate two paths that were in opposition. Back before I got sober, trying to keep up on my ministry while bingeing most of my evenings into oblivion wasn’t simple, and not just for practical reasons. It took an emotional toll. I never felt like I could be myself. I always had to hide something.
This was a bit different. Nothing I was doing was destructive. I wasn’t abusing any substances. I wasn’t hurting anyone. I was trying to help people, both as a minister and as the so-called “chosen one” of the elven prophecy.
It shouldn’t have been a conflict. A lot of people want to save the world but don’t bother helping the people they see who need it day to day. It’s one thing to say you want to help society eliminate poverty. It’s another to give a meal to someone who is homeless, or heaven forbid, have a conversation with them.
Part of me was inclined to give up the ministry. I’d had to put up with a lot of shit from the powers that be to maintain my preaching post at the Church of the Holy Cross.
But working with those people, bearing their burdens alongside them, praying with them, and encouraging them kept me grounded.
Literally, I mean, since I could fly—not a feat I was likely to perform mid-service any time soon. We were a church, not the Cirque du Soleil.
Ever since Layla came into my life, since I took that blade to my gut, the idea of saving the world or uniting peoples across worlds and races had been a little too much to wrap my mind around. I mean, simple breathing becomes difficult with that kind of weight pressing on one’s chest.
When I went to the church, when I went to the soup kitchen, and I spoke to real people, when I opened myself up to the struggles and beauty of individual lives, it gave me strength. Without that, I wasn’t sure I’d have what it took to save anyone, much less the world. I didn’t know if I could motivate myself to save humanity, but I was motivated to save people like Doris, Cecil, and Grace, people I knew from my church and the soup kitchen ministry. Motivated to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to go to the gym to get into shape. They were the ones I had to keep in the forefront of my mind when I faced these tests, these trials, whatever they might be.
We took the Metro to the gym in the morning. Not a lot of folks on the bus in workout attire at that time of the day. A few folks were dressed for work. I identified some of them as they got on and off the bus. The khaki slacks and a red shirt: that guy probably worked at Target, or maybe it was the latest version of Jake from State Farm and I was in the presence of a celebrity. The black pants, white shirt, and green apron draped over the twenty-something girl’s arm: I was guessing she was a barista. The man in grease-stained overalls was probably a mechanic.
These people had names. They had lives, things that would be turned upside-down if the elven legion ever made it to Earth.
I wanted to get new tires for my car, don’t get me wrong. It would have made things a lot easier. But lately, I was noticing people a lot more than I ever had. To think that each of these people represented a whole life, that they had their own stories to tell, their dreams and aspirations, their unique stresses and anxieties. There was something beautiful about it when you sat back and thought about it.
Layla elbowed me in the gut.
“What the…”
“You okay, Caspar?” Layla asked. “You look like you’re off on another planet or something.”
I chuckled. “Nah. Been there, done that. I’m fine right here on Earth.”
“You know what I mean,” Layla said. “You seem distracted.”
I nodded. “Just trying to keep things in perspective, you know? I mean, here we are, going to do our workouts again. Meanwhile, a cult has infiltrated our government, and I’m about to put on a show for them. What sort of show, who knows? And then there’s the whole matter of the war on your planet. I mean, since your communicator doesn’t work anymore, we don’t have a clue how that’s going short of waiting for the gate to open on the next full moon.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Layla asked. “Working out will be good for you. Aerin said you needed a clear mind.”
I nodded. “Exercise is always good for that. Might have to do a little yoga later today, too.”
“How’s that going since I was gone. I mean, when I left for New Albion, it wasn’t exactly your favorite thing.”
I nodded. “It’s going about as well as it could, I suppose. I mean, I can stand on one foot now.”
“Progress!” Layla said, smiling.
“But I can’t bend like you,” I said. “That whole thing where you put your leg behind your head…”
“Are we still talking about yoga right now?” Layla winked.
I laughed. “Yes. That, too.”
“But I think I am a little more flexible than I used to be,” I said. “I mean, I can almost reach my toes when I bend over now.”
“Impressive,” Layla said. “If you’re ever in the mood to sing a round of Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes, you’ll be able to get through it.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I still might throw my back out in the process. I think that song is still a bit too advanced for me.”
“Yeah, those children’s songs are brutal,” Layla said with a smirk.
“Some of them,” I said. “But you should see me do the Hokey Pokey. I mean, I can shake myself about like no other.”
“Brilliant,” L
ayla said, chuckling through her words. “You’ll be entering dance competitions before you know it.”
“I might try that,” I said. “After I win Mister Universe.”
Layla smiled. “You’ll have to beat Jag for that trophy. I don’t know.”
“Who am I even kidding? Jag made it clear that attaining levels of masculinity on par with his is impossible for old farts like me.”
Layla rolled her eyes. “You aren’t that old, Caspar. And I don’t know I’d call what he is the ideal of manliness or anything.”
“Wouldn’t you?” I asked. “I mean, have you seen the size of his pecs?”
“If having a large chest is the measure of a man, then I’m more manly than you, Caspar.”
“Ok, point.”
“In my mind, being a man, if that’s a thing you feel like you need to be, is about honesty, bravery, and things like that.”
“And honor?” I asked.
Layla nodded. “And of course, having a large…”
“Hold on!” I said, interrupting her.
Layla was laughing so hard she snorted. “Why’s it so important for men to measure how manly they are anyway?”
I shook my head. “Because we’re all insecure thirteen-year-olds on the inside.”
Layla nodded. “That explains why you still tell fart jokes.”
“Says the girl who just made a joke about penis size?” I grinned.
“Exactly!”
“A lot of it has to do with our culture. As a boy, you’re always being told to man up, to be a man, and the like. If something is girly, you’re taught it’s bad, at least for you. If you’re called girly as a boy, it’s somehow meant to be an insult.”
Layla cocked her head. “Why would that be an insult? I mean, as a female, I find it insulting that you’d think that having traits associated with women is a negative thing.”
I shrugged. “There’s a lot of debate these days about how much of what we associate with gender is due to nature versus nurture. Like, is gender a cultural construct.”
Layla cocked her head. “I never really thought about it that way. I mean, on New Albion, we had pretty strict rules and limits placed on females. Sounds like for the drow, it’s the exact opposite.”
I nodded. “Some people think it goes back to the days when humans had to hunt for and gather their food. Since men tend to be stronger, faster, and the like, it’s assumed that they settled into different roles than women by necessity.”
“Stronger and faster?” Layla asked. “Wanna wrestle?”
I smiled. “You have the advantage of a lifetime’s worth of training to compensate for the biological advantages I probably don’t have. You’ve been training, while I’ve spent most of the last several years eating cheese puffs and playing World of Warcraft.”
“So, that was your off-duty life before I came into the picture?” Layla asked. “You’ve sort of mentioned it before.”
“That's not the only thing I did.”
“I should hope not!”
“I ate a lot of Twinkies and pizza, too. And until five years ago, I drank a lot of beer.”
“But now it’s all protein shakes and green drinks!” Layla said.
“Believe it or not, I’m starting to appreciate that Greenberry drink. I still don’t have a clue what a Greenberry is, but I find myself craving one during the day. How weird is that?”
“Once your body gets a taste of whole nutrition, it’s like your stomach craves things that have the nutrients your body wants.”
“How’d you get to be such an expert?” I asked. “I mean, how much in the way of nutrition do the elves understand? And do you even have the same fruits and vegetables?”
Layla answered, “We have fruits and vegetables. Not the same ones, not exactly. Some are similar. A lot of them, I think our ancestors brought with them, but they’ve evolved due to the different nutrient profile in New Albion’s soil, the climate, and whatnot.”
I raised one eyebrow. “And is Greenberry something that grows on New Albion?”
Layla laughed. “I haven’t a clue what Greenberry is, but you’re right. That shake tastes like a freshly cut lawn the first time you drink it, but before long, you start to love it.”
“Look what you’ve done to me,” I said, shaking my head. “You’ve probably added five years onto my life already. I mean, presuming I don’t die in these trials. Or at the end of your father’s sword in the near future. If that happens, it’ll be a waste being healthy.”
Jag was waiting for us with a shit-eating grin splitting his face as we walked into the gym. “You two go ahead,” Layla said. “I’m going to catch the kickboxing class.”
“Wait,” I said. “Kickboxing? I mean, if I’m trying to learn to fight…”
Jag snorted. “Fighting has nothing to do with that class. It’s more like a shake your booty while shadow-boxing thing.”
Layla said, “If you’re in a fight, you really should be working it. What good is it to punch someone in the face if you aren’t shaking your booty at the same time?”
I cocked my head. “All right. Have fun boxing the air.”
Layla elevated her chin. “I’ll make sure it knows who’s boss. I mean, that’s one of the elements, right?”
I chuckled. “I suppose that’s right. Give the air hell. Soften it up so I won’t have any problem if that’s the element of the first trial.”
“I don’t think you’ll have any problem with air.” Layla shrugged. “You’re an expert at breaking wind.”
“I just don’t try to hide it.”
Layla kissed me on the cheek. “Have a good workout.”
“You ever take that class, Jag?” I asked as Layla walked into the group exercise room.
Jag shook his head. “No. Watched it plenty of times. Not a lot of dudes in those classes for some reason.”
“Must have something to do with the booty-shaking. I’ve never been able to figure out how to twerk.”
Jag snorted. “I haven’t tried.”
I bit my lip. I couldn’t say the same thing. I had been alone in my apartment in front of the mirror. It was before I could communicate with Agnus, an interlude in the air-guitar air-microphone solo lip-synching concert I usually presented to an audience of myself in the mirror. Needless to say, I couldn’t so much as move my butt in rhythm, much less pull off a decent twerk. It’s not like anyone would want to see that anyway.
“So, Jag. What’s on the agenda for today?” I asked.
“We’re going to add some HIIT training to your circuit.”
“So I get to punch something between sets?” I asked.
“No, HIIT with two Is. High-Intensity Interval Training. Between each set, you’ll be doing intensive cardio.”
I snorted. “Cardio? I thought cardio was for pussies.”
“What most of the people are doing here is. Just look at all those treadmillers barely breaking a sweat. No, what we’re doing is one minute of full-on, push-yourself-to-the-limit, high-intensity moves. Then it’s on to your next set, and you’ll have to find the energy to push through it. This isn’t pussy cardio; this is warrior cardio. No ass-shaking allowed.”
I stared blankly at Jag. “All right, let’s give it a shot.”
“After we do your deprecations,” Jag said. “Look right in the mirror and tell yourself how it is.”
I nodded and stared at myself intently. “You suck!”
Jag laughed. “All right, but now tell the old you why he sucks. Sucking isn’t bad. Some things I like to suck. Other things…”
“Jag, I’m not going there,” I said. “And I haven’t ever sucked on much of anything.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jag said. “It’s about humiliating the old you into submission. Now, tell your old self what you suck!”
“You suck bananas!”
“Really?” Jag said, cocking his head. “How is that humiliating?”
“Fine,” I said. “You suck toes!”
Jag la
ughed. “Really? You do that? To each his own.”
“You said it didn’t have to be real!” I protested, my hands on my hips.
“Dude, I’m not judging. You’re into what you’re into. Whatever strokes your jollies.”
I sighed and shook my head. “My jollies? Seriously? Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Sure thing, Foot Boy,” Jag said, shaking his head. “But that was the old you. The new you, the man who emerges from the cocoon of today’s workout, will spread his wings. He’ll be a warrior. A man. And he’ll never suck on toes again. Instead, he’ll suck on…”
“I told you,” I said, interrupting him before he could say anything more. “I was just coming up with something I thought I could say in public. I don’t actually…”
“Look, man,” Jag said, shaking his head. “Once the truth is out there, you can’t put it back in the box. As I was about to say, after today, you’ll only suck on lollipops.”
I raised my left eyebrow. “Is that really what you were going to say?”
Jag shook his head slowly. “I was going to say fudgesicles. Or maybe bomb pops. But lollipops are much more manly, don’t you think?”
I scrunched my brow. “Says who? When’s the last time you saw a grown man with a lollipop?”
“I don’t know,” Jag said. “But I’m about to. After you crush this workout, we’ll eat lollipops together. Like men!”
Chapter Six
I collapsed in a pile of sweat. Thankfully there was a workout mat nearby. Usually, we used it for ab work. Today, it served to cushion my crumpled body.
That HIIT was some crazy SHIIT!
The weights were pretty standard—just as intense as ever. But then he had me doing burpees, jumping lunges, box jumps, battle ropes, and a few things I’m pretty sure he pulled out of his sadistic ass.
“You can do anything for one minute!” he insisted.
But these weren’t normal human minutes. I swear, I think Jag has a magic of his own, some kind of mystic capacity to slow down time. Those were the longest minutes I’d ever spent in my life.
Three Dogma Night (The Elven Prophecy Book 3) Page 4