by R. E. Vance
Then I ran over to Joseph. Little droplets of rainbow-colored blood trickled out of his eyes and from his lips, but still the Other smiled. In a voice far too casual for what just happened, he said, “Sorry about that, Jean. Magic is so much easier to turn on than off. But I think I did it. Didn’t I? The hotel, the Others, they are all right, yes? Did I manage to contain it?” He coughed. I put my hand against his chest and nodded.
“Yes. No other part of the hotel was touched,” I said. “Because of you, no one was hurt, Joseph. You did it.” I looked down at Joseph and saw that his arms were pressed so tight against his chest that his ribs were compressed to make space for his forearms. His legs were mangled, broken in several places and pushing up against his torso. His neck was also pushed against his body, like a turtle trying to get back in its shell. The features of his face were flat and tight; blood dripped out of the corners of his eyes and into the tributaries of his wrinkles. He looked like he had just been pulled out of the belly of a snake, after every part of him had been crushed within the serpent’s contracting muscles.
“Good,” he said, and even though it caused him great pain, he managed a chuckle. “You still have one last guess.”
I couldn’t believe he still wanted to play our stupid little game at a time like this. “Forget about that,” I said. “Can you heal yourself? Spend a bit of time so that you can have some more here? With us. With me,” I said through the glassy, shimmering lens of trapped tears.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to use your guess now. I doubt I’ll be here to answer you tomorrow.”
“Oh, come on!” I said. “There’s got to be something you can do. Maybe I could do something.” I looked at his injuries but was hesitant to touch him, lest I make them worse.
“Yes, there is … You can guess. Have you had time to think about it?”
“Yes,” I said, frustration pouring out of me. “A unicorn. You’re a unicorn.”
Joseph smiled. “Good guess. How did you know?”
“It came to me in a dream.”
Joseph nodded and said, “Your dreams are very wise. You should always listen to them.”
A tear finally escaped, its stream running hot down my cheek. I clamped my eyes shut. “Who did this, Joseph?” Struggling to keep my rage caged up inside, I asked again, “Who?”
“It has finally arrived, Jean-Luc,” he rasped. “The storm. It is finally here.”
… to be continued
Prologue
There is this girl whom I love very much. That is what I say to her the day I propose, getting down on one knee and handing her a twisty-tie. I’m only seventeen and it seems like a romantic gesture. Besides, it is all I can afford. She accepts it with far too much enthusiasm, jumping up and down on the sandy beach.
We are bound together; we are forever.
“Do you love me?” she asks as we fall to the sandy floor.
There is no ceremony, no formality, just a frantic rush to get our clothes off. She gets on top of me and I slide into her with no resistance and as her warmth envelops me, I say “Yes,” panting between thrusts. “You know that.”
“I do,” she says. “But tell me.”
“I love you.”
“No,” she says, our bodies no longer moving, “not like that.” Her eyes lock onto mine and I am drowning in their beauty.
“How, then?”
“Tell me,” she repeats. “Really tell me.”
I smile, pushing myself up. I want to be deeper within her. I want to be a part of her. “OK,” I say. “In this life and the next, I will love you forever.” Cheesy, corny or whatever else you want to call it, I mean every word.
“I love you, too,” she says, riding me, our bodies pulsing faster and faster, two teenagers in love, galloping into the future together.
That night we make love for the first time. Don’t get me wrong—we have known each other before, but that night is different. Her soft, firm breasts are delights I have known before, but that night they are ecstasy. Her nipples are attentive to my touch, hardening as my fingers caress them. Her warm body against mine is familiar, but somehow new. Renewed. She kisses me, but unlike the thousand kisses that have come before, her lips are electric.
↔
Our love is condemned by her mother, Judith. She hates the idea of her precious daughter marrying so young. Even more than that, she hates the idea of her precious Bella marrying me. She refuses to sign the papers that will let us marry before we’re eighteen. That’s OK. We have our whole lives, and eighteen isn’t that far away. Bella will be seventeen in two months and I will celebrate my eighteenth birthday with the ringing of the New Year.
My PopPop, on the other hand, is happy for us and even though Judith has forbidden Bella to come over, PopPop never tells.
Not that we have to keep up the charade long. Judith dies without warning. Bella finds her curled up on the bathroom floor, clutching her knees like a newborn. A heart attack. Just one of those things. God’s will. Nobody’s fault. Fate. Destiny. Pick your poison. Whatever it is, Judith is dead.
Through tears and frustration, we realize that we are free to marry early, but we choose to respect her mother’s wishes. We wait until Bella’s eighteenth birthday. It is a sad ceremony—a large black and white picture that sits in the first row is a poor substitute for a mother. As my bride-to-be says her vows through tear-filled eyes, I think that I would give almost anything to have Judith here to make my Bella happy.
Be careful what you wish for.
↔
Bella and I are looking for places to go in the city that we can afford when PopPop comes into the kitchen. He’s looking at us, a devilish smile veiled behind wisps of steam.
“There are two bundles of wood in the trunk of the car. It’s cold up by the lake and without electricity or a bathroom, and you’ll have to use a flashlight at night …”
At first we’re confused, but then we notice the keys to my PopPop’s old Plymouth RoadRunner sitting on a map to his cabin.
“Newlyweds should save their money for important things, like good wine,” he says with a wink.
So we go up North to spend our honeymoon in a cabin without heat or electricity. That night, we make love in the living room, as close to the fireplace as possible, neither of us feeling the cold.
↔
It’s midnight when it happens.
First we hear the message:
“Thank you for believing in us, but it’s not enough. We’re leaving. Good luck.” The voice I hear is soft and calm. Reassuring but firm. And from its tone, I get this strong feeling that whatever has been done cannot be undone.
Bella and I look at each other, confusion painted on our faces.
“Did you hear that?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, pulling her in close. I put my hand under her shirt and cup her bare breast. “And I don’t care.”
“But …”
“But nothing,” I say, pulling off her shirt.
She lets me, but she’s still thinking about the voice. “Don’t you think it’s weird?” she says.
I suppose if I weren’t a teenager with raging hormones, I would think it strange. But there are perfect, perky nipples reflecting the embers of the fire. And I am very badly in love. I pull back the wool blanket and run soft kisses down her torso, murmuring, “What’s weird? Tell me about it.”
“The voice …” she says, her own voice trailing off as my tongue finds her special spot. “It was so …”
The thought is lost and we are together again.
↔
After making love for a second time, we are content. Our bodies exhausted, we fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. But not for long. An explosion wakes us.
Not just an explosion, but a cascade of detonations that erupt all around us. It is not coming from the road or the nearby town. The sound is coming from the sky.
Naked, we ru
n outside and look up. The evening sky is filled with fire that rolls through the night like a river bursting through a dam. And from the flames fall what look like meteors. A hundred thousand comets fall from above and ignite the world around us.
Isolated in the woods, we do not know that the Others are arriving, and that everything we once knew and loved is being ripped away from us with their arrival. All we know is our world is burning.
I guess, in a sense, that is all we need to know.
↔
We drive home on empty country roads, more out of curiosity than fear. We are young. We are in love. We are immortal. Sure, the sky is on fire, but how will that hurt us?
Without warning something hits the Plymouth, causing me to lose control. I twist the wheel against the spin and pump the brakes. We slide to a stop, facing the opposite direction. That’s when we see it.
A monster. There is no other word for it—not in those first days, at least. The monster has a woman’s body, naked breasts heaving in the moonlight. Her head is covered with a hundred squirming tendrils, each ending with the head of a snake, and her legs—oh God, she has no legs! Did I run her over and sever them from her body?
But then she rears up and shoots into the sky. Her body stops at least nine feet above the ground. It looks like she is standing on top of a podium. The podium moves as she lowers her body and it is then we see that her torso ends where the body of a giant snake begins. Medusa, I think, and it turns out I’m not far off. I will later learn that we’ve just met a far less famous member of the gorgon race.
The creature looks at us. Fear fills her eyes. What the hell does she have to be afraid of? She’s the monster.
Bella opens the door, pulling out the flashlight. I grab her arm. “Don’t,” I say, but she ignores me and steps outside.
She approaches the monster like one might an angry dog, palms out, steady tone, eyes locked. “We’re not going to hurt you,” she says. “We just want to help.” Even back then, Bella was always so kind. So good.
The gorgon’s features soften. Then she starts to cry. What the hell? Monsters cry?
Bella continues to speak softly, offering the gorgon a granola bar. The creature takes it with care before devouring it down greedily. “Where did you come from?” Bella asks, but before the monster can answer, we hear a shot, followed by the roar of a pickup truck. Without hesitation or looking behind her, the gorgon slithers into the forest.
The pickup truck stops next to us and the driver steps out, rifle in hand. Two more men get out the back and a third darts out of the passenger’s side door. All but the driver chase after the monster.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“Didn’t you hear?” the driver says. “We’re being invaded.”
“By who?”
“Aliens, the news says. But I say they’re demons. This is the End of Days and the angels’ trumpets are sounding, boy!” And with that, he’s off. Shots can be heard, but Bella and I do not stick around to see what’s going on.
It will be two days later when I will pick up a local paper and see the driver of the truck and his friends standing around the gorgon’s dead body. They’ve strung her upside down from a tree like a fisherman might a shark. They are smiling, thumbs out, beers in hand, the article caption reading: Local Heroes Kill Snake Lady, Save Town.
↔
We get back to the city and head home. Not that there is a home to greet us. PopPop’s house is one of the hundreds hit.
Please. Please don’t be home, I pray.
But there are no gods left to answer my prayers. PopPop is dead. And when the local Army starts recruiting, I join, leaving Bella alone in the crappy apartment we rented in the worst part of town.
↔
There is this girl whom I love very much. Eventually an uneasy peace settles throughout the city and, as a result, soldiers are sent home.
I am so happy to be discharged because, like I said, there is this girl and on the day I proposed to her, I promised that in this life and the next I would love her forever. I plan to make good on that promise.
↔
She meets me at the airport and takes me home. Only thing is that home isn’t home. It is this old three-story building with seven rooms, an attic and a cellar.
“Welcome to the One Spire Hotel,” she says with a grand gesture as we walk into its tiny foyer. The room is filled with desperate Others, broken by the GoneGod world. Each one of them has been mortally wounded by the loss of their home. A wound, Bella tells me, that will eventually kill them all.
“Poetic way of looking at it,” I say.
They look up when Bella enters the room. An angel, better dressed than most, sees me and comes over. “Jean-Luc, I presume? I am Miral, former captain of the Lord’s army and now assistant to the human called Bella. Welcome home.” The angel extends her hand, but I do not take it. I might have left the Army, but the Army has yet to leave me.
“Jean-Luc,” Bella admonishes, “honestly.” She apologizes to the angel Miral, who takes it with grace and kindness.
“There is a problem with tonight’s event,” Miral says to Bella, pulling her aside. They go off to discuss what needs to be done.
A shorter woman wearing an old Victorian dress comes into the room. She pokes my side and says, “The name is Sandy. I am a werewolf. Treat me like you did the angel and I will rip out your throat.” Sandy extends a hand and, a little bit afraid of the five-foot-nothing woman, I shake it. She nods and whispers, “Your wife’s the real angel, helping so many Others by giving them hope. You better not muck it up. Otherwise, I’ll …”
“Rip out my throat?” I offer.
Sandy nods her head. “Glad we understand each other.”
Bella returns and informs Sandy that the caterers canceled. Sandy offers to rip out their throats, but Bella says she has a solution. She hands me an apron. We need four dozen chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies.
“But I just got back,” I say.
Bella shoots me her best So what? look and says, “Don’t burn them,” a bit of anger in her voice. As she walks away, Miral looks back at me, a devilish smile touching her lips.
“I hate baking,” I protest feebly. “Could this day get any worse?”
“Oh,” Bella says, “that reminds me. Remember my mother, Judith? Well, she’s back …”
“What?”
“Welcome back,” Bella says and trots off to deal with some crisis or other.
↔
Days turn into weeks, and even though I do not trust the Others, I am inspired by how much they love Bella. Paradise Lot is filled with hope, and it is mostly because of my wife.
As for me, I am happy just to be with Bella. I’ve even made an uneasy peace with Judith—or rather we don’t speak, which is an improvement.
Everything is going smoothly. I want this to last forever. But it seems that the Devil has other plans for us.
Chapter 1
Unleash the Dogs of War
There weren’t many cops walking the streets of Paradise Lot, and when something big happened—like let’s say an explosion in the only human-run hotel—they still didn’t come running. There was just too much baggage in a place like Paradise Lot: too many ancient beefs that spanned millennia, too many creatures with claws and fangs, and too many once-upon-a-times with enough time on their hands to turn you into a pillar of salt. Given that, I figured I had half an hour before anyone official-looking turned up.
A lot can happen in half an hour.
Penemue and Astarte knelt by Joseph’s body, both offering prayers from their respective ancient traditions. Penemue hummed as golden tears flowed from his face and Astarte washed the body with a cloth, using the pools of water from pipes that no longer gushed. I guessed Judith must have found the main—at least one thing had improved. Both of them were just as devastated by the loss of Joseph as I was. I couldn’t watch anymore, and looked around the blown-out room. One of the problems of this GoneGod world was that yo
u could no longer blame some silent entity, saying something meaningless like “He works in mysterious ways” or “Joseph was called for a higher purpose.”
But there were no signs and no clues. No one to make sense of this for me. All that remained was a room with two Others paying respects to an empty, soulless body.
Judging from the way the explosion happened, time was burned. A lot of it. This ruled out EightBall, and ruled in my Fanatic theory. There was only one body in the room, which meant the Fanatic was still breathing, and the one thing I’d learned from dealing with Fanatics was that once they started, they didn’t stop until they were dead—which usually meant a lot more explosions.
I looked over the angel’s shoulder at Joseph. His features were slowly returning now that his body was no longer being crushed down by the Fanatic’s magic. I forced myself to look at his hollow, empty eyes. His arms were folded over the same double-breasted suit he wore earlier today, his coat pockets turned inside out and empty. Whatever happened here was more than revenge or a fight. The Fanatic was looking for something, something that Joseph owned or left behind …
Just as the thought entered my mind, the lights flickered.
“He’s still here.”
“Who?” Penemue said, but without answering him I ran out the door and down the stairs, sure that when I got into the reception I’d be met by that friggin’ unnatural smile.
The last thing I expected was a bat to the back of the head.
↔
Whoever took a swing at my skull wasn’t very experienced. For one thing, if you are looking to knock a person out, you have to hit the point where the skull meets the neck. A good hit will take someone down, and if the angle is just right, you have a good chance of permanently paralyzing them. If you are looking to kill the guy, aim for the crown, angling your swing downward. That’s the most likely way to get enough impact to crush the skull, and even then, you’ve got to go at it repeatedly to actually break through to the brain.