by R. E. Vance
I pursed my lips. “We have a lot of work to do, and I don’t have time for this. Now, go get a broom and sweep up these flyers.”
EightBall stood up and saluted me sarcastically before running inside to get the broom.
“I’m glad you two are getting along now,” I said.
“Swimmingly. He’s teaching me how to be hardcore and for-real,” Penemue offered me a fist bump, to which I dutifully obliged. “Apparently, being tangible does not make one real, and one cannot be hardcore without first being for-real. Next he’s going to teach me something called the Harlem Shake.”
“You know he’s making fun of you.”
Penemue looked down at me. “Of course he is. But, my dear Human Jean-Luc, I have been alive since nearly the dawn of time. I can no more be offended by his actions than you could challenge a toddler for candy. Besides, the boy is teaching me things about—”
“You still haven’t told him.”
Penemue put a hand on my shoulder. The weight of his massive talon rested heavy on me. “I try, but the boy is so happy, asking me question after question about his mother and father … the timing has never been right.”
“So don’t.”
“Don’t what?” The angel took another swig from his Drambuie.
“Don’t tell him.”
“But Human Jean-Luc …”
“Look,” I said, interrupting him, “I know that you think that you owe him something, and you do. But you’re paying him by telling him about his family. That’s a lot more than most of us get.”
“Jean … I could always tell you about—”
“That’s not what I want. You know that. But the kid—he wants it. He wants to know where he came from, and you’re giving him that. That’s payment enough.”
“Stories do not undo what I’ve done.”
“What you did was an accident. You had no more control over where you fell to Earth than EightBall’s parents did over being home at that moment. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t his parents’ fault. It was theirs.” I pointed to the dimming sky.
“I know, I know. But the boy hungers for his family’s history, and that history will be incomplete without the knowledge of their demise.”
“And if he tries to kill you because he’s an angry kid? If you remember, just a year ago he was the leader of the HuMans. And if you also remember, that gang doesn’t exactly like—”
“Pigeons?” he said, pointing at himself.
“I was going to say ‘Others.’ My point is, the kid is finally on the right path. Because of you. You could ruin that, and for what? ’Fessing up to something you had no control over?”
“Indeed,” Penemue said. “Very well, Human Jean-Luc, I shall take your counsel under advisement. As always, I thank you.” Which was Penemue-speak for, “I’ll do what I want.”
“But—”
At that moment EightBall came out with a broom and a garbage bin. He was followed by Stewart, the head servant and leader of the quarry of gargoyles who were presently running my hotel. “Mr. Matthias, my master requests your presence,” the gargoyle said.
Hellelujah!
Chapter 3
Which is Heavier—a Ton of Stone or a Ton of Peacock Feathers?
The gargoyle led me through my hotel and toward the servant’s elevator where he pushed the penthouse suite button. As we rode up, I stared at the massive, imposing figure and wondered what type of gargoyle he was and as curious as I was, I didn’t feel it would be politically correct to ask him.
The thing about gargoyles, they’re not all stone dragons or demons, and few of them spent their time perched on steeples. In North America, tribes carved these grotesque creatures from wood. Mayan cultures slip cast theirs from gold. Ehecatl, the Aztec god of wind, formed his gargoyles from clouds.
Usually the material and the design hinted at the type of tradition the gargoyle was from, but the gargoyle in the elevator didn’t look familiar. He did not possess the elongated noses and dragonesque faces found in Eastern Europe, nor the wide mouth and doglike features of Chinese and Japanese carvings. And none of his engravings were reminiscent of North American tribal totems.
He was unlike anything I had ever seen before. For one, he looked like he was constructed from diamonds, his skin reflecting light that projected glittering rainbows. For another, he looked like a man—a normal, well-proportioned, athletically built, nine-foot-tall man. He wore no clothing, carved or otherwise, and his—ahem—male parts did not exactly hang out but rather stuck to him like he was wearing invisible tighty-whities.
And as far as I knew, gargoyles were always created with one purpose in mind: to serve the He, She or It that gave them life. Of all the creatures most scarred by the gods’ leaving, gargoyles topped the list. How would you feel if you were created for a single purpose and then abandoned by that very same creator without a word of explanation?
The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse of the Millennium Hotel, where he gestured for me to enter first.
I wondered why I didn’t take the suite for myself, instead of the smallest room in the hotel. My room was on the first floor, which meant that I was closer to the reception. I had once told Miral that the first floor meant I could survive jumping out the window. She’d thought I was joking. I wasn’t. After the last fourteen years, being able to jump out of your window and live wasn’t just a plus, it was damn near a necessity.
Besides, I lacked the imagination, time and money to fill the massive rooms of the penthouse with much. All my Earthly possessions could fit into three suitcases, and two of them would be filled with 1980s classic toys.
Austere living, I could hear Penemue say. Like a monk. I think of it more like a goldfish. Except that instead of growing to fit my bowl, I got a bowl that fit my size.
I walked into the penthouse and saw that The BisMark had decorated the flat to his tastes. Whereas once it was luxuriously furnished with the best that IKEA had to offer, it was now filled with items that were far more expensive than anything I could ever hope to afford.
The walls were covered with paintings that no mortal hand created, while the shelves bore urns that no human potter spun. In the middle of the room sat a grand, gold desk that looked as though it was carved with a thousand tiny carpenter tools. Statues littered the room: two komainu—those ancient Japanese lion-dogs—guarded the elevator door, a stone giant in knight’s armor kept vigil by the window and a silver half-man, half-goat satyr with a gold crown stood behind the desk.
“Mr. Matthias, I presume.”
“Yes,” I said, my attention was drawn to the back of a large leather chair. “Thank you, Stewart,” the voice continued.
The diamond gargoyle bowed and left.
“The BisMark, I presume?” I said, fully aware that “The” was not a title, but rather this creature’s first name. Hey, when you’re singular in nature and older than sin, you get to have a few indulgences.
“Indeed,” the voice said. Even though it was The BisMark’s event, I had yet to meet the legendary creature. All bookings and negotiations had been done through Stewart and his gargoyle servants. “So good of you to join me,” the voice purred. I swear, all that was missing from this image was him petting a white blue-eyed Persian cat. “I wanted to thank you for allowing us to use your premises.”
“Oh, please. It’s not every day that a guest rents a place from you and brings his own staff.”
“Indeed. But my gargoyles are better suited to my needs than your staff of … what? A drunken angel, a human boy and a rather judgmental ghost.”
I couldn’t argue with him—he had my staff pegged. “True,” I said.
“Besides, it works out better this way, does it not?”
“I suppose,” I said, still staring at the back of his chair. The fine leather exterior was starting to annoy me. “Ahh … sorry, but could you turn around? I’m not used to speaking to the back of a chair.”
The BisMark chuckled. “I apologize, I forg
et mortal protocol.” He swiveled his chair around. What greeted me was an Other unlike any Other I’d ever seen before. And I was pretty sure I’d seen them all. When I was in the Army, they gave us access to an online directory called The Definitive Guide to Otherterrestrial Kinds and Types, or DGOKT, an unwieldy acronym my fellow soldiers pronounced “Docked.”
The DGOKT was filled with every kind of Other documented by legend, myth, fable or encounter, citing original documentation, primary sources and a whole slew of academic information that made the fact that angels and demons now walked amongst us … boring. It was so long that it made the Encyclopedia Britannica seem like a pamphlet in comparison. Quickly, the Army realized that no soldier would ever read the whole damn thing, so they made a deck of cards—well, actually, several decks of cards. As in, enough cards to supply a Las Vegas casino. They gave you the basics—names, powers, weaknesses, key references and threat levels. That was more my speed, and it was something I spent hours upon hours studying.
But the guy in front of me wasn’t in the cards. He was basically human—two eyes, one thin noble nose with two slightly upturned nostrils, two unassuming ears and a light smirk that reminded me of an IRS agent when he catches you fiddling with your return. But that’s where the human ran out and the Other came in. For one thing, his hair was a bright yellow with streaks of pink that spiked up like a character in Dragon Ball Z, and, for another, his face was entirely covered in matted peacock feathers that looked more painted-on than pluckable. He wore rimless, rose-tinted glasses that balanced on his nose as if by magic. Considering how famous this creature was, I couldn’t believe we had missed … him? … her?
As if reading my mind, he said, “Him, I believe. Not that gender really applies to me. I am … how do you say it … singular in my existence. There will never be a Mrs. BisMark with whom I would fornicate, nor do I particularly have the desire. The company of Others is more of a means to an end than a necessity.
“No, Mr. Matthias, I am alone, unique. And I exist for a particular purpose, which I execute with uncommon efficiency.”
“And what is that?” I asked.
BisMark shrugged. “I suppose you could think of me as the Master of Celestial Logistics and the Enforcer of Divine Practicalities.”
“Practicalities?” I asked. The DGOKT might not know who or what this creature was … but I did. You see, the DGOKT was compiled by humans for humans. Sure, those humans were top researchers—experts in mythology, religion, ancient languages and even more ancient history; biologists and botanists; animal behavior scientists and xenologists—but I had access to something—or rather, someone—that they could never dream of knowing. Penemue. Give him enough Drambuie and he’ll start spewing out everything he knows. He loves to be heard, loves to lecture and, for reasons I have never quite understood, loves me. And all that love translated into me having access to a database of archaic knowledge. Granted it was drunk, often surly and occasionally over-emotional knowledge, but knowledge nonetheless.
When The BisMark booked the hotel, I went straight up to the seventh floor and asked him all about my latest client. Penemue just raised an eyebrow before sighing, putting down his bottle and leaning in close as he soberly told me that this BisMark was responsible for more in creation than any divine being. Not because he created anything—that was firmly in the god domain—but because he consulted on how things should be created.
He used terms like “the Superior Diplomat” and “the Master Logistician,” before saying three very scary words: “Very Powerful Other.” And here he was sitting in front of me. Yay!
“Indeed,” The BisMark said, “the gods are … excuse me … were a fickle bunch. So much bickering, so many conflicts. They needed one such as I to administer their inevitable cooperation as they governed this world.” He looked at me over his rimless glasses. “As with many great empires, the design may be the work of one, but the actualization takes many.”
“So,” I said, “if you are the grand consultant, did they consult you on their leaving? Surely that must have been a logistical nightmare to get so many of them to cooperate.”
The BisMark’s face drained of all expression, and I gulped. Great, Jean-Luc, piss off your customer. He may be the Grand Consultant, but you are the Grand Jackass.
The BisMark stared at me for what felt like a week before breaking his stone-cold gaze with an understated grin. “ ‘Grand Consultant.’ I like that. No, I fear the one feat they did not consult me on also turned out to be their most meaningful one. I do admit—my feelings, as muted as they are, were hurt.” He stood up, revealing the rest of his body, which was covered in the same peacock-style feathers. “But that is moot. Now we must look to the future. A future that is fraught with danger unless we can get humans and Others to trust one another.”
“And is that what you’re here to do? Is that what all the hubbub and the camera crews are about? You are going to show the humans all over the world that Others can have fun?”
“In a way,” he said. “If I can bring out the … humanity of Others, that will go a long way in showing the world that we are not so different.”
“ ‘If you prick me, do I not bleed?’ ”
“Indeed.” He caught my gaze with his crystalline eyes. Looking into them was like staring into a kaleidoscope—his iris a thousand colorful shapes of squares, triangles and trapezoids, each mote a different shade of amber and maroon, gold and crimson. “I know your reputation, as well as how you defeated the Gadubia.”
“The what?”
“The Avatar of Gravity,” The BisMark sighed. “What a tragic case. Seems his mortality took its toll on his once immortal mind … Unfortunate, really.” He spoke casually about the death of an entity that was more powerful than most gods, if not more so.
“I didn’t know he had a name,” I said, not sure what else to say. A year ago, this Gadubia had almost killed me … but not before doing something that every Other thought impossible. He called down Heaven. As in, literally pulled the divine void down to Earth, and for the briefest of moments Heaven and Earth were connected. Then I killed him. Not because I wanted to—but because the Avatar of Gravity was trying to ascend to godhood, and if he succeeded, a lot of people and Others would suffer. I couldn’t let that happen, so I carved out his heart, hacking him apart as he ran out of time with which to heal himself.
“Few do. Very few,” The BisMark said. “In fact, you and I may be the only living creatures on this plane of existence who know his name.”
“So why tell me?” I asked.
“Because the secrets once held as sacred are out of fashion. Why keep a secret if keeping that secret serves no purpose? Honor … old promises. No, Mr. Matthias, the world has changed and so must we.”
“That’s not what he said. He wanted the world to return to what it once was, except with him being the bully at the helm.”
The BisMark nodded. “I would have expected no less from him. Ever since the day I created him, he was always so arrogant.”
“You created him?” His claim shocked me. In my years of living with Others, the Avatar of Gravity was the toughest thing I’d ever faced off against. If it weren’t for my military training, the use of some of their equipment that I “borrowed,” plus a whole bunch of luck, he would have killed me and razed Paradise Lot to the ground. And here was the guy who made him, talking as if he was a toddler who had thrown a hissy fit. “I thought the gods made him,” I said, putting a little extra spin on “the gods.” I wanted to see if he’d react to their mention.
“No, Mr. Matthias,” he said casually. “The gods needed a way to communicate with the Laws of Nature, and it was I who arranged the creation of avatars. It was my energy, my efforts and my magic that infused them with life, and it was I that devised the rules under which they were governed. In all practicality, it was I who created him.”
This made me very uneasy. After all, it was less than a year ago that I fought the Avatar and won. A fight that only I walk
ed away from. Now with The BisMark in front of me, I couldn’t help but wonder if he chose my hotel to get close to the human that killed his creation. Thoughts of being strangled by feather-covered hands ran through my mind. Gulp.
If The BisMark noticed my discomfort, he didn’t make any indication of it. “As for your observation that he was a bully … Indeed, he was. Brute force was his tool, but then again, if your power was the maintenance of bodies in motion, brute force might have been your preferred modus operandi, too.
“It is no accident that I picked your hotel for my gala. You have a reputation and you are well respected in the Other community. They regard you as the fierce, endless warrior who would fight to his last breath to protect them.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“It is true, Mr. Matthias—you have quite the reputation. You successfully killed one of the most powerful creatures in creation and you have proven your compassion for Otherkind again and again.” He gently grabbed my wrist and lifted it, looking me up and down like someone might examine a coat at a high-end store. “You are a puzzle I have yet to solve, Mr. Matthias, and after an eternity of knowing everything, I do like to be challenged.”
“Thank you? I think,” I said, taking back my arm.
“Oh, please. Of all the human virtues, misplaced modesty is the least attractive. Speaking of human virtues …” He handed me a bill of sale. It was made out to the SakanaSama Mori Shipping Company, and above a number that exceeded the sum of every penny I’d ever earned was written, “Full delivery of live cargo.”
“What’s this?” I asked.
“It seems I have a human problem that requires a human touch. Stewart will fill you in on the details shortly. Of course, we’ll compensate you appropriately. And as a thank-you for providing me with your services, I shall, in turn, offer you a favor …”
“And what’s that?”
“The limelight, Mr. Matthias. I shall shield you from it. There are a lot of cameras projecting images to many, many people tonight. I suspect some of those people will recognize you. People who had previously assumed you were dead.”