GoneGod World

by Vance, R. E.

  The hollowed center was large enough for Penemue to spread his wings and fly up to the seventh floor unhindered. And for those without wings, a stairwell zigzagged along the floors leading all the way up.

  “We didn’t have time to clean it all up, and dwarves make the most appalling maids. All they wanted to do was polish the marble and stone.”

  I looked down and noted that, indeed, the marble floors were immaculately clean, even if the rest of the place could use some work.

  “But it’s a start,” she said, walking into the center of the foyer and pointing up.

  “A start for what?” I asked.

  “For a second chance.” She handed me my black collarless jacket. It had been dry cleaned and still sat in its cellophane wrap. “Remember the humans that you saved that night in your hotel?”

  I nodded. “The naked ones.”

  She smiled. “They are my … ah … most loyal customers. I told them that if they wanted to continue our little romps they had to come back to the One Spire Hotel. And since that place blew up, we needed somewhere new. Well, voila. Somewhere new.”

  “Hah,” I said, looking at the succubus with marvel and awe. “But you’re forgetting one thing. You’re my only paying tenant. I couldn’t possibly afford the rent.”

  “Humans will do so much for pleasure. I will take care of rent. And you take care of this place. It is a fair exchange, don’t you think?”

  “This place is huge, I’ll never—”

  “I hear you have an employee. Given that your line of business is helping Others, I’m not sure I approve of your choice, but who am I to judge?”

  “What, you mean EightBall? How do you know about that?”

  The succubus smiled again. “I have my ways.”

  “Penemue.”

  “As I said—my ways.”

  I looked over the hotel and thought to myself that there was no way I could ever manage such a grand place. Astarte was a succubus of near godlike status. She had temples, shrines and luxurious brothels built in her name. She also had minions. Thousands of them. All I had was a drunken angel, a prima-donna succubus, a poltergeist mother-in-law and a former gangbanger human. There was no way. I couldn’t do this. I just couldn’t.

  “I can’t—” I started.

  “It’s too late. The lease is already in your name.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Jean-Luc,” Astarte said, coming in close to me. “It is done. The lease is in your name, the hotel will need work, but right now you have so much goodwill in the Other communities that I’m sure they will help for a fraction of their normal price. Besides, how expensive is glitter anyway?” She winked at me.

  “How did you manage this, Astarte?” I asked in wonder as I looked around.

  “Never underestimate the power of lust.” She strolled over to me as she spoke, her lips dangerously close to mine. I could feel my own lust stirring in me and she knew it. Before I could turn away, Astarte walked over to the reception desk—a real desk, unlike the IKEA marvel I had at the One Spire Hotel. “Speaking of lust, I hear you have a date with a certain snake lady.”

  “What?”

  “Medusa. She knows you’re back in town. You better call her.”

  “But—”

  “Again with the ‘but’ … But nothing, Jean-Luc. You better call, lest she does to you what she did to her last boyfriend.”

  “I’m not her boyfriend.”

  “I know, lover—just let her down easy, OK? Medusa and I are old friends and I would hate to see her hurt.”

  “I’ll do my best.” I was still looking around the massive room. There was much potential, so much good we could do for Paradise Lot. “Thank you,” I said to Astarte.

  The succubus nodded. “You have quite the reputation, Jean-Luc. The Others know what you did for Joseph and how you killed the Avatar of Gravity. Already your story is being turned from current event into legend. This will both aid and hinder you in the days to come. Play your hand wisely and … Where did this come from?” she interrupted herself, showing me a framed picture resting on the reception desk. “I didn’t order this.”

  I picked it up, removing the fabric covering from its square frame. Underneath was an image of two silhouetted figures watching the sunrise from atop a hill. The larger figure was an undefined, hulking man, the other a three-inch-tall fairy that sat on the first’s shoulders. And although you couldn’t see their faces, you just knew those two were very happy, having found companionship and joy in each other.

  CaCa and TinkerBelle! I guessed the pile of poo survived after all. And why not? When you lived in the very substance you were made of, regeneration must have been pretty much a matter of course.

  I was so happy I actually did a little dance right there in the foyer.

  “Get a hold of yourself,” a voice said from behind. “There’s a lot of work still to be done.”

  Miral walked in with her typical characteristic grace, surveying the hotel entrance. “This place is much nicer than One Spire Hotel. What will you call it?” Behind her hovered Judith, surveying her new surroundings with her typical judgmental look.

  “The Two Spire Hotel,” I said.

  Judith snorted. “You must be joking.”

  I just shrugged in response.

  “Oh, Human Jean-Luc,” tutted Miral, “you are nothing if not—”

  “Tenacious?”

  “I was going to say static. Anyway, how do you plan on paying for this place?”

  “The rent’s free,” I said, pointing at a sultry Astarte, who eyed the angel with a lustful, predatory gaze. By the GoneGods, Miral and Astarte together would be a sight erotic enough to coax the gods themselves to return.

  “Rent may be free,” Miral said, “but bills are not. Keeping this place open will cost you four times what it cost for the One Spire Hotel.”

  Damn, everything was happening so fast that I hadn’t considered that. The angel was right: electricity, gas, heat—this place was so huge, it would cost a small fortune to run. I had a sudden urge to go around the place and turn off all the lights.

  Miral gave me an uncharacteristically devilish smile and said, “Don’t worry. I have a solution for all your problems. Funding is still open and in a place like this we can throw twice as many seminars. Three times, even. We can do this. If, that is, you are willing to …”

  “Don’t say it!”

  “… bake.”

  “Arrgh!”

  I hated baking, but I loved Bella more.

  Before I could answer, a baritone voice bellowed in from the stairwell, “Of course he will.”

  Penemue walked in the foyer, taking Miral’s hand in his. “Ahhh, Miral … of all the unFallen, you, my dear, are the only one I can stomach.” He kissed her hand in an exaggerated motion. “Dear Human Jean-Luc will bake your cookies, conduct your seminars and take in our lost brethren without a peep of protest from his lips or hint of grumble in his heart.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Miral asked, her smile touching her eyes.

  “Because he has motivations compelling him to do distasteful tasks that stem from the most base and vile of human emotions … Love.”

  To that, Astarte rolled her eyes.

  I looked around and saw the picture of Tink and CaCa again, back where I had placed it. I thought about Bella and how proud she would be of this place, and I nodded. Why fight it? Penemue was right, might as well die doing something worthwhile.

  “And why will you do it?” Penemue said, pressing the issue.

  “You know why,” I said.

  “I do, but they do not. Please indulge us. Why will you do it?”

  “Because I made a promise,” I said, the words catching in my throat.

  “And what promise was that?” Penemue asked, a hand cupped behind his ear.

  I cleared my throat. “I made a promise to help Others.”

  “That’s not a promise,” Penemue bellowed out, his hands flaring out in an arch. “You
would never hear Hamlet merely say, ‘I need to get that guy who killed my father,’ or Othello say, ‘I’m jealous!’ A true promise requires flair, theatrics. Passion!”

  “Really?” I said. “And how does one make a good promise?”

  Penemue gave me a dismissing gesture as if he were bored by the whole thing. “You choose your words. Ye, thee, vow, sweareth …”

  “Fine,” I said, unwrapping my collarless black jacket and putting it on. It felt good. Right. Then, not wanting to disappoint my audience, I walked into the middle of the large room and summoned all my high-school Shakespeare training—which was none—and raised my hand before me.

  In a deep and resolute voice I declared, “My name is Jean-Luc Matthias and my doors shall forever be open to the lost and frightened, the poor and homeless. And as for those with evil in their hearts? Beware! For the Human Jean-Luc stands watch.

  “How was that?” I asked two angels, a ghost and a succubus.

  Penemue nodded. “Now that is more like it.”

  (Not) THE END

  On the next episode of Paradise Lot…

  The night before the gods left, Dionysus—god of wine, ecstasy, ritual madness and theatrical pursuits—threw the greatest party the divine world had ever known. Sparing no expense, he tapped into the then unlimited well of magic and burned tens of thousands of years, ensuring that every drink, light, cushion, chair, party-streamer and cocktail-wiener was perfect. No detail was too small for his attention. And why not? After all, the world as everyone knew it was ending.

  “Let us party like there is no tomorrow ... for there truly is not!” He cried out, raising a glass of ambrosia poured from a bottle he saved for a very special occasion. And what could be a more special that all the gods leaving? He drank heavily from its rim. Smacking his lips as he examined the iridescent, green bottle with great pride. It was delicious. No—delicious was too meager a word to describe the fluid that passed through his lips. It was exquisite, enchanting, divine. And far stronger than anything he had ever distilled before. As it should be—this ambrosia was corked at the dawn of time.

  Looking down at his party, he watched as his brothers and sisters danced, sang, made love—each of them enjoying their last moments on Olympus. Truly this is my greatest achievement to date, he mused. And what an achievement it was … he was, after all, responsible for some of the classics—Pompeii’s Inauguration, the Sinking of Atlantis, Y2K … and who could forget Sodom and Gomorrah?

  Dionysus did not know what tomorrow held. All he did know was that after tomorrow, he would no longer live on Mount Olympus. He would live with the gods somewhere new.

  “For a tomorrow that never will be,” he cried out drinking deeply again—this time straight from the bottle.

  ↔

  But tomorrow did come. At least it did for Dionysus. Waking up in the stirred remnants of his perfect party—a party in which he passed out far too early—he looked around and saw that everyone was gone. The gods had left. And what was worse, they had left him behind. At least his bottle of special ambrosia was only half drunk.

  Then it started: “Thank you for believing in us, but it is not enough. We’re leaving. Good Luck.” Damn Hermes—always so economical with his words. An event like this deserved flare, piazza. Joy. Something like—

  Dionysus did not have time to mull over the message he would have delivered—not with all the shaking. Olympus trembled. Or was it his head? Dionysus was honestly not sure.

  Staggering to his feet, he tried to remember where they went and if there was a chance for him to catch up. He tried to burn time and connect with them, but there was no connection, no way to reach them. They had already left.

  “Damn it!” he cursed aloud. If only Dionysus had listened to Zeus when he explained where they were going, he could have followed. But instead, Dionysus was drunk and let’s be honest … when that old static fart started talking, he could just go on and on and on. Blah, blah, blah—GrandExodus this, new beginning, that. Who could sit through that dribble? Certainly not Dionysus and that was why he planned to latch onto Athena and follow that diligent little godly pet into the ‘Place Beyond’.

  But you have to be awake to latch on, and his sister was probably so busy preparing how she was going to kiss the Lightening Bearer’s ass in a new setting that she forgot all about him. Or he forgot to tell her…

  He honestly couldn’t remember.

  The halls of Olympus started to crumble.

  They’ll be back, he thought.

  The pillars that once held up the Great Hall cracked.

  I’m the life of the party.

  The darkness from beyond was approaching, consuming Olympus in a tidal wave of nothingness.

  They wouldn’t leave me behind?

  A platoon of talos centurions entered the Great Hall, confusion on their bronze metal faces. “My lord,” the lead guard said, “What is going on?”

  “Don’t you know?” Dionysus said, “Olympus is over. Now is the time of the mortals!” As the words left his lips, he knew that was the message Hermes should have delivered. Now is the time of the mortals. That was exactly what was happening.

  “What do we do, Lord?” the guard asked, his copper colored face showing signs of rust—a sure sign of fear for the metal soldiers.

  “What any good mortal does,” Dionysus said, waving his hands and opening a portal between Olympus and Earth. “We run!”

  Dionysus is not a leader. Never was, never will be. He jumped through first, followed by thirty very scared talos centurions who fell to Earth like pennies from the sky.

  ↔

  For the first three years of mortality, the talos centurions followed Dionysus around like lost puppies. They defended him during the Great War between the AlwaysMortals and the newly-made ones. Some even died, defending their once-upon-a-time god, believing Dionysus stayed behind because he was loyal to them. After all, he was the youngest of the gods and the only one with a mortal mother. Perhaps he embraced the part of him that was always meant to die. None of them knew the truth and Heaven forbid that Dionysus would ever correct them.

  When the war settled down to distrust and malice, the centurions hid him. They knew that AlwaysMortals and Others alike would like nothing more than to capture the only god amongst their midst. They would pester him for answers he did not have and when he refused to answer because he could not, they would use torture. Or worst—force him to sober up. And for what purpose? To find out why the gods left and where they went. Dionysus may be a god, but he had absolutely no idea where they went. As for their other question—who knows why the gods do what they do?

  Dionysus and his whittled down platoon moved from hiding place to hiding place, until eventually they settled on a dire little slum called Paradise Lot. It was the only place on this godless green earth that seemed to accept them and their kind. They found accommodation and did the best with the little they had.

  The talos centurions stuck around for a while, but Dionysus was no leader and one by one they abandoned him, seeking to make a go at what the AlwaysMortals called life. Still, they were a loyal bunch—each giving him a monthly tithe from something they referred to as their salary. They even brought him a flat, all-seeing window called an iPad so that he could order food and what passed as wine in this dimension without having to leave his apartment.

  Occasionally Dionysus would put on his coat, fedora and sunglasses, and wander the streets of Paradise Lot incognito. But that did little to alleviate his boredom.

  Alone and imprisoned by his once-god status, Dionysus was not only devastated by his new mortal existence, wrecked by his brothers and sisters abandoning him and traumatized by the drivel AlwaysMortals drank … He was also bored beyond belief.

  ↔

  That was then and this is now …

  Dionysus sips his wine as he wanders the streets of Paradise Lot, hiding his face from the world around him. He is not an unusual sight here. Alone, drunk and wearing far too much clothing
seems to be the typical uniform to these lost Others.

  As he walks, he occasionally catches the eye of another Other and sees what he always sees—no joy, no happiness. No hope.

  He pulls hard on his bottle. Cider, they call it. More like fermented piss. Bahhh—he misses his wine cellars, his liquor cabinets, his fields of grapes and barley, wheat and a thousand other fruits that he would distill, ferment and brew to make his drink. But on this realm …

  He pushes the thought out of his mind. It is too depressing and Dionysus doesn’t do depressing.

  Instead his mind wanders to the lost creatures of Paradise Lot. They are so unhappy, living a life without delight, without ecstasy, without revelry. Each of them crying out in silent, tearless misery … But why?

  Why has their existence become so damn miserable?

  Is it because they miss their gods? That might have been the case before, but now that the world knows the gods abandoned them, missing them was long ago replaced by anger. No, it was something else.

  They, like he, mourn the loss of their once carefree life. They, like he, age under the strain of incessant worry over silly little things like money and food and shelter. And drink.

  They worry about survival.

  They worry about tomorrow.

  Well, what if tomorrow will never be? Would that bring them joy?

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  Please Review:

  I really hope that you enjoyed GoneGod World. My plan is to publish two books, as well as two stand-alone ‘episodes’, a year. That’s a lot of Paradise Lot … and what would really help me to get this done is a REVIEW. I know, I know – I’m asking a lot… but really, it’s not me asking. It’s the gang: