by Vance, R. E.
She turned to face me, but Marty looked away. I guess my apology wasn’t acceptable to everyone.
“How is everyone else?” I asked, rubbing my head.
Medusa smiled at me, but her snakes continued to scowl. “They’re all fine. As far as we can tell there was only one fatality—the Unicorn.” She looked down when she mentioned Joseph. “But other than him, everyone is OK. You were hurt the worst.” As she said the last words, she put up her hand to touch my head.
I winced at her touch, but was thankful to have someone looking after me and so I leaned into it a bit too much. Hey, can you blame me? I was in a lot of pain and my world was crumbling and she was being really, really nice to me.
I looked around my hotel. The mess Grinner had made was amplified by the presence of the police who were bagging and tagging just about everything. Hell, a couple of pixies in Barbie-sized police uniforms were bagging my phone. Talk about thoroughness. It bordered on comical and I might have started laughing had not a gurney appeared, carting out a body. Joseph’s body. I watched with silent anger as they took him away.
I would get this smiling Fanatic if it was the last thing I did.
“Joseph,” I muttered to myself as they carted his body away. Turning to Medusa I asked, “Was anyone else hurt?”
She batted her eyes at me and said, “So sensitive … Everyone’s OK. Penemue is hiding in his loft, I think because he doesn’t want to bump into his former adversary Michael. The HuMan hoodlums have made themselves scarce and Werewolf Sandy has given her statement and left. Everyone is in good physical health, although they are devastated by what happened to the Unicorn.” Medusa’s own eyes glistened at the mention of Joseph. “You know, I met him once. A long, long time ago …”
“What happened?” I found myself asking, wanting to know more about the Other I had spent less than a day with. I wanted to honor Joseph’s memory, know everything about him.
“Well,” she started when a thunderous voice spoke.
“Miss Gorgon, I’ll take it from here,” a voice boomed from just outside.
Medusa immediately stood to attention. Then looking down at me she said, “Ahh, I got to go do police stuff. There are a lot of things to report, and I haven’t seen a mess like this since Atlantis started to sink.” Hurt still glistened in her eyes. “Maybe I can tell you the story about the Unicorn the next time I see you?”
“That would be nice,” I said.
“Then coffee?” she asked. Before I could say anything, she smiled and said, “Great, I’ll call you.” With that she left, I endured another scowl from Marty and she was gone.
Hellelujah—I got a date with a gorgon.
↔
The archangel hunched down to fit through the One Spire Hotel’s front door—not that there was much of it left—and crossed the threshold. The faithful, tougher-than-nails little bell above my front door chimed as he entered. I’ve really got to figure out how it survived all this carnage. What was it made out of? Adamantium?
As he entered, police officers of all species saluted him with hands, claws, talons and tails. He crossed the room and, seeing me still on the ground, knelt in front of me. By the GoneGods he was huge. Like André-the-Giant-crouching-in-front-of-a-newborn-baby kind of huge.
“What happened here?” he demanded.
There was something in the way he asked that made me realize that he had no clue. Like I mentioned earlier, angels—arch- or regular—aren’t very good at tact. Michael spoke like someone who had just come onto the scene, despite having a good hour or so to investigate and figure things out. I mentally tallied my tenants—Sandy, Judith, CaCa, Astarte and Penemue—what did any of them really know? Joseph stayed at the hotel and was killed. As for other Others—the ones who lived nearby—they must have just seen some powerful Others destroying the street. So who did that leave? EightBall? To him it would’ve just looked like two Others that got into a fight. Just another reason why Others didn’t belong.
But then again, what did I really know? Some Other that looked like my PopPop showed up with a box right before some wacko iced him? That wasn’t much to go on.
“I don’t really know …” I began. I told him everything I knew about Joseph, the weird Grinner guy and what I saw of the fight before I passed out.
Michael took it all in, listening to every word I said with a preternatural concentration. When I finished telling him all I knew, he looked at me for a long time—and for a second I feared that he knew I had left out the part about the mysterious box Joseph had given me that Grinner so obviously wanted, and that was currently in my pocket. I mean, Michael didn’t look at me so much as in me, like he was solving some puzzle that was written on my soul. At least that’s what it felt like to me to be stared at so intently by the archangel. Judging from the scowl that eventually crept on his face, I doubt he got the answer that he was looking for.
“So … the Unicorn and this—what did you call him?”
“Grinner.”
“Yes, this Grinner—just showed up at your place. Why? What connects you to them?”
I sighed. “Honestly, I have no clue!”
“Liar!” Michael boomed and the whole room shook. “After centuries of being a hidden legend, the Unicorn chooses to resurface in your hotel of all places and you have no idea why? You are hiding something, human. And I want to know what!”
“Hiding? Liar? You’ve got to be kidding me! Why would I lie? What could I possibly be hiding? I have zero idea why Joseph came to my hotel and have even less of an idea why anyone would hurt him. I swear to you. I don’t know.”
Michael huffed, dissatisfied. “Does this have anything to do with our conversation this morning?”
“Again—I don’t know. Maybe? I have no evidence that what happened is connected, but then again, there’s nothing saying that it isn’t.”
“Are you sure?” he said, staring me down with his angelic eyes. I swear to the GoneGods I could see flames flicker in them.
“Look, Michael, you know more than me. Frankly, I don’t see where you get off being all alpha-angel on me. Weren’t you the guy who told me that a Fanatic was in town? Weren’t you the guy who drew a connection between that chump and my hotel?” His look didn’t lighten up and I found myself getting more defensive. “What do I really know? I mean, up until today I didn’t even know unicorns existed …”
Michael closed his eyes in utter frustration when I mentioned the Unicorn. He took in a deep breath before poking a taloned finger on my chest. Through gritted carnivorous teeth, he said, “If I find out that you have anything, anything at all, to do with this, I swear to …”
“God?” I offered.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. In school they said it was because I had a problem with authority. The Army said the same thing. Bella thought it was because of my fragile ego. Penemue thinks it’s because my skin is too sensitive. Astarte offers sexual suppression as the reason. Whatever it is, I don’t like being poked. I hate it.
Still … I really wish I hadn’t said what I said.
Michael roared, if you could call it a roar. I mean, I’d heard lions roar. I’d even heard a raging bull-dragon roar. But what Michael did was something much, much more. He broadcasted his ire, he pronounced his anger. He trumpeted.
He grabbed me and took to the sky, taking my front door frame with him. I didn’t know what was happening until I was high enough that they’d only be able to identify my body with dental records. I’d tussled with angels before and I knew that if you hit the sweet spot where the wing met the body, they’d go down. I’d taken down one or two using that technique, but even if Michael stood perfectly still, exposing the area with a big red X on it, and I had a missile launcher, I seriously doubted I could take him down. There was a reason why Michael was Michael.
“YOU INSOLENT LITTLE TALKING MONKEY,” he boomed. “WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL THAT TOOK PLACE LAST NIGHT? TELL ME!”
I was terrified but had enough sense left in
me to remember that he was an angel of the highest orders. And you didn’t get that way by being a renegade. Now that his god was gone, the only orders Michael had to follow were of the kind that said dropping a human from three hundred feet in the air was illegal.
“I already told you that I don’t know! Now put me down,” I said, pretending that I wasn’t crapping myself. “You and I both know that you’re not going to kill me.”
“Oath-Breaker,” he whispered. “Other-Slayer. Do not presume that I am unaware of who you are. The path to redemption is long and filled with peril. You are correct that I will not drop you. But that does not stop me from telling your Army commanders where their precious little AWOL soldier went. What is the statute of limitation on desertion? Do you know, Oath-Breaker? Or maybe I don’t tell them where you are, but rather inform some of the less tame Others where you are. There are many who would like nothing more than vengeance against the once great Exterminator. Tell me, how long do you think you will survive without an army to protect you? You have forty-eight hours to tell me who is responsible for the death of the Unicorn.”
My face drained of all color. After Bella died I re-enlisted for a time before things got really bad. At the time, humans were no longer at war with Others, but Special Forces were put in place as a counter measure to the “less-agreeable” Others. Black Ops kind of thing—take out this terror cell, assassinate this uppity Other. Typical stuff we humans have always done to protect our interests. Only thing was, after a few missions I couldn’t stomach it anymore and just left. Didn’t tell Command—hell, they thought I was dead anyway—didn’t even bother to get my stuff. I just left. That’s a pretty serious offense, but at the time, I couldn’t have cared less. I thought I had kept my secret pretty well, but if Michael knew, who else did? I was scared. Terrified.
But then it hit me … Michael must have known for a while—probably figured it out not long after I got back that second time. Maybe got suspicious when I never changed the name on the lease from Bella’s to mine, or stopped signing for things in my full name or used Penemue’s name on the utility bills and car registration. And despite knowing, he still hadn’t turned me in. I needed to know why.
But more importantly, I needed to call his bluff.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “You’ve got to get better at threatening! You’re the original Boy Scout. You don’t break rules or even bend them … for whatever reason, you haven’t told the Army yet, and you’re not going to tell on me now.”
Michael smiled. And not a happy kind of smile. More like a “Got you!” kind of smile. I mean, I’d seen the Devil smile and it scared me, but this took “intimidating smile” to a whole new level. My body literally curled up, trying to get into the fetal position and die.
But Michael wouldn’t let me off so easy. “You are correct, human. Yes, I must now obey mortal laws. But they are not the highest order. There are principles that negate their necessity. The path of redemption, for example, cancels the need to obey many mortal laws, and I, as a guardian of such principles, must give those who have proven themselves worthy a chance to do so unimpeded. That is why I have never told the mortal armed forces where you hide. Yet, if you should encumber this investigation, then I shall consider you to have strayed from the path and, therefore, no longer exempt.”
A subtle pulse of luminosity passed through his eyes. “As for my other threat—do you know which principle is one rung lower than redemption, but still above mortal law? Righteous revenge. I am sure there are many Others that qualify, do you not think?”
I gulped. He had me there. During my fighting days, I killed just as much out of pleasure as necessity, and his moral compass would not twitch one bit by helping some Other get revenge on me over some of the terrible things I’d done.
But I was surprised to see that my—what did he call it?—path of redemption offered me some leeway with him. Seems I’d been doing some things right … not that it would do me any good now.
The shock of his threats was so all encompassing that I didn’t notice that the whole time we were speaking, he was lowering us. He dropped me and I yelped as I fell all of three feet, before tumbling ungraciously on my ass smack dab in the middle of the PD’s investigation.
“Jean-Luc Matthias, should any information concerning the events that transpired last night come to mind, please call the number on this card.” He dropped a business card with Michael Arch, Chief of Police written on it in bold letters. “Thank you for your cooperation. Let’s wrap it up, boys.”
The Billy Goats Gruff bleated and the eldest said without a hint of irony or suggestion, “Let’s go graze Miss Dolly’s backyard.”
Hellelujah—I was absolutely, totally and unequivocally screwed.
Chapter 3
Even Angels Have Wicked Schemes
With Michael gone, the police wrapped up their investigation and left. I headed to my room and tapped on Castle Grayskull, nervous that one of the cops might have accidentally found the hiding fairy. She was, after all, a myth of a myth, and finding her would be like finding the back door to Narnia.
“Tink?” I said. “Tink … are you OK?”
At first there was nothing, but then the left eye of the turret flickered and the three-inch-tall golden fairy popped out. She hit me square in the nose. I don’t know if a punch from a Lego-size fist should hurt, but it did. My eyes were watering.
“What did you do that for?” I asked.
She shook a fist at me.
“Look, Tink, I had no idea this was going to happen or how to stop this.”
A pang of guilt hit me—earlier, my instincts told me that Grinner was bad news and I ignored them. In another life, I would have never let it go, especially not to bake some cookies for Miral’s event.
“It’s not like I asked for this. I didn’t ask Joseph to move in here, I didn’t pick a fight with that maniac. So you can be as angry at me as you like, but for once, this isn’t my fault.”
Tink fluttered around the room twice and then pointed up at Joseph’s room. Being here, hiding in Castle Grayskull, she didn’t know what happened to Joseph.
I looked down and shook my head. “He didn’t make it.”
Tink buzzed ’round and around at speeds I’d never seen her go before finally settling in on the turret of her home. The fairy was crying.
“Oh, Tink …” I started, but she turned away.
I took a step forward and she looked up at me as golden streams ran down her cheeks. Then she put her head on her knees again and her tiny shoulders started bobbing with wails of abandonment. I never knew silent cries could be so deafening.
“I’m sorry, Tink. I liked the guy a lot, too, and …”
But it was no use. TinkerBelle was too far in her own grief for me to reach her.
Confused and grief-stricken myself, I left the room and headed to the only place I knew that I could get any answers.
↔
I passed by Judith’s room on the way up to Penemue. A pang of guilt and anger shot through me as I walked past the floor where Joseph once was, knowing that if I opened his door, all I’d find was an empty cavity. The box weighed heavy in my pocket.
“Jean,” came my mother-in-law’s shrill authoritative voice, “I was going to ask a favor from you.”
“Sure,” I said resignedly.
“Find that smiling asshole and kick him in the nuts for me.”
“OK,” I said with a weak smile. “Cross my heart.”
I knocked on Astarte’s door. She opened it, still in her teddy from earlier. She looked me up and down before saying, “Believe it or not, I’m not in the mood.”
I didn’t say anything, gesturing for her to follow me, and we went to Penemue’s loft.
↔
“First of all,” I started, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “let me thank you for your help earlier. While I was getting my ass kicked downstairs, it was really comforting knowing that I had two demigods upstairs hiding.”
“How,�
�� Astarte started, “do you know we did nothing?”
“Because while I was getting pounded down there, I didn’t see a winged angel or a succubus in a teddy coming to my rescue. Would it have killed you to use a bit of time to help?”
Astarte rolled her eyes and I turned to face Penemue, who had his nose buried in some ancient leather-bound tome. “And what do you have to say for yourself?” I asked the angel.
Penemue put down the book on a stack. It had been some time since I was in his room and it was pretty much exactly as I remembered it. There was an angled roof, the peak running along the center of the room. It was only under the apex that Penemue could stand upright. At one end there was the straw bed that we’d made for him. It was literally a bale of hay held in an old, empty sandbox that we stole from an abandoned playground. An ad hoc solution for a bed, but how would you make a bed for an eight-foot-tall, four-hundred-pound angel? At the far end was the stoop where he flew in—when he wasn’t too drunk to fly—and it had the same stained glass window that I installed four years ago. There was a bucket filled with half-empty bottles of Drambuie, and the rest of the room was filled with books stacked from floor to ceiling. Where he got them all, I didn’t know, nor did I want to. I suspected there were several libraries in Paradise Lot with open windows and missing books.
Penemue took a swig of Drambuie. “If you remember,” he said proudly, “I came down only to have the ex-werewolf throw something at me, presumably for me to whisk away. A task, mind you, I attempted before I was rudely pinned to the ground by burned time.”
“You mean this?” I said, pulling out the box and throwing it to him.
“Yes,” he hiccuped.
“What is it?”
Penemue put down the box and said, “There are other questions that need answering. Questions that I am currently researching.”
“And pray tell,” I said, exaggerating the vowels, “what does your research reveal?”