by R. E. Vance
“Astarte,” I repeated, “you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing in public. Are you and Brian, you know …”
“Fornicating? Jean-Luc, we are two creatures sitting together exploring the vastness of the World Wide Web.”
“And?”
“And what, Jean-Luc?” she said, her lips ready to devour me. “What am I doing? You told me not to host any parties and I’m obeying. You told me to dress appropriately, and look at me—I look like I’m going to Sunday Mass.”
“Well,” I muttered, “not exactly …”
“And still that is not good enough for you. Here I am, innocently doing some research with my servant Brian. What, pray tell, do you or anyone else have to complain about?”
I looked over at Greg who held up his mobile phone. “She’s getting close,” he called out.
“OK, Astarte. What research are you doing, exactly?”
“Nothing offensive. Just this.” She clicked through her browser tabs. And there it was … website after website of porn. And not some plain soft-core nudie pics. We’re talking bondage sites, domination sites, humiliation sites, “Is that even possible?” sites. “You humans have all these tools at your fingertips, and this is what you choose to offer each other.” She stopped on one frozen image and clicked play. Immediately there was the moaning and the groaning of four, no, five people doing something that must have required hours of rigorous training. “Look at this! It’s hardly satisfying.”
“Astarte, turn that down!” I said, grabbing the top of her laptop and shutting the screen. The sound abruptly stopped. “You can’t do that here.”
“Do what?” she asked, genuinely confused.
“Watch that here.”
“Why not?”
I sighed and massaged my temples. “It’s not appropriate.”
“Says who?”
I gave her a look that said, “You know exactly who.”
“Oh, Jean-Luc … you humans find so much to be offended by. It’s just sex. And most of it,” she opened up the screen again, “isn’t even that. It’s fantasy. Fetish. None of it’s real. Like going to a banquet and eating pictures of food. But now that I understand the power of the … the …”
“Internet,” Brian chimed in.
“Yes—Internet. Through it I shall bring the world a feast. Real, tantalizing, soul-electrifying food.” She looked up at me and, seeing the blank expression on my face, added, “By food, I mean sex.”
“I know what you mean! But you can’t do that here. Please. Go to your room.”
“But this Internet is slow in my room.”
“The Wi-Fi doesn’t quite reach the third floor,” Brian said. “But if I get a booster, I’m sure …”
“Fine, fine—I’ll buy you a booster. Get you a second line. Do whatever you need, if you’ll just go to your room.”
Astarte looked up at me. “Whatever I desire?”
“Yes … I mean, no. Within reason.”
“Fine. I require an expansion to my room.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I require that you give me the two adjacent rooms so that I may do with them as I please.”
“You want another room?”
“Rooms,” she said, holding out two fingers in a V sign.
I looked over at Greg. He held up five of his own fingers and mimed that she was in a car.
“Fine, fine. Two more rooms.”
“Promise.”
“Ahhh … Yes! Promise.”
“Good.” Astarte picked up her laptop and stood, her shoulder brushing against mine as she passed by. “Come, Brian, let us retire to my chambers. I shall be more comfortable there, no longer confined to these conservative clothes.” She pulled at her blouse, outlining a hint of a nipple.
Brian jumped to attention, silently thanking me for forcing us up to her room.
Hellelujah!
↔
I followed Astarte as far as the reception desk. Another few feet and she’d be at the elevators.
“Mr. Jean-Luc,” said a cold, emotionless voice. I looked up to see Stewart’s diamond exterior glistening in the lobby lights. “I have the details necessary for the errand required of you.” The gargoyle held out a piece of paper.
“Ahhh,” I said, still watching Astarte as she went to the elevator. “Can this wait a minute?”
“Mr. Matthias,” he said, “concerning the human matter that requires your immediate attention …”
Astarte was calling the elevator. Good. “Yes,” I said, looking up at the creature. “But something else requires even more immediate attention. Can this wait a minute?”
“No, Mr. Matthias, a minute is too long.” Other than his lips, the creature did not move. I mean, literally did not move. He did not blink and there were no awkward twitches or facial expressions. His body did not even slightly sway where it stood. No hairs subtly moved on a light breeze. Nothing. Not even the almost imperceptible movements caused by the flow of blood. That thing we don’t see but rather sense that tells us that the being before us is alive. Nothing about him gave me any sense that he was alive. “The main course has yet to arrive. The kitchen staff will need it in hand within the next three hours if they are to have time to prepare it.”
“As I told you on the phone, we don’t do food, but I have the number for a great caterer. Former werewolf, Victorian bred. Does a mean steak.” I looked over to see Astarte. For a moment I lost her in the crowd, but then I caught those sensual, smooth legs standing next to a large winged creature that might have been an angel, then again might not have been. She touched the creature’s chest and it shuddered with anticipation. Evidently she had gotten distracted. “Astarte,” I said in a loud voice.
She looked over at me and said in a voice that carried throughout the room, “A meal for after the gala, Jean.” I swear to the GoneGods that she must have burned a bit of time in those words because every eye went on her, all of them momentarily more excited for after the gala than the gala itself.
Everyone, that is, except Stewart, whose unblinking eyes didn’t waver from me. “Steak, Mr. Matthias? But the main course is to be fish. And a very special type of fish, indeed. Holy Carp from Urfa,” he said in his calm, stone voice.
“Holy what from where now?” I gestured for Astarte to go upstairs. I’m really good at charades—long story involving a three-inch-tall gold fairy that used to live in my Castle Grayskull—and Astarte got my meaning. She rolled her eyes, blew the winged creature a kiss and went back to the elevator.
“Holy Carp from Urfa,” he said, as if that clarified everything.
“Fine. Holy foreign fish,” I said, glancing over at Greg, who nervously held his phone in his hand. Astarte was at the elevator, its doors opening. With a sigh of relief, I saw her step in. I looked up at the gargoyle. “What is the problem, Mr. Stewart? And be specific.”
“Stewart, Mr. Matthias. It is a derivation from the word ‘steward,’ as in a king’s steward. And, as The BisMark has already informed you, we have a human problem. It seems the fish that are to be tonight’s dinner have yet to arrive. They are stuck at the Paradise Lot harbor.”
“And?”
“And I need you to retrieve them, Mr. Matthias.”
“Me? What do I know about docks?”
“Again, Mr. Matthias, the delivery company has informed me that the fish are stuck at the port because of a human problem. You are a human and thus are best suited to deal with human problems. You will, of course, be fully compensated.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I really don’t have time to …” From the corner of my eye I saw Greg waving at me as he pointed to the turnstile door. I looked over and saw a woman in an expensive white business suit walking through the front door, the little doorbell ringing as the glass pivoted. She wore a very large, elegant white hat and big black sunglasses. Curvy-hipped and ample-bosomed, she was beautiful, and everything about her exuded femininity–her graceful walk, her aura of being serious yet car
ing, responsible yet loving. She exuded confidence. She didn’t walk in like she owned the place; she walked in like she knew how to fix it.
An entourage of seven children followed her—three boys in fine suits and four girls in floral dresses. Each was immaculately groomed, and there wasn’t a hint of rebellion in any of them. There was something eerily conformist about her brood, their cool, serious composure complemented by intelligent, all-seeing eyes. It was as if they knew what being naughty meant, but would never, ever consider being so. Despite that, my mind conjured the twins from The Shining—redrum, redrum, REDRUM!
EightBall followed behind her, encumbered with enough suitcases to clothe an army.
“Time, Mr. Matthias,” Stewart said, putting a heavy stone hand on my shoulder. “None of us have the time we once did. But as you pointed out, the hall is prepared, everything is in place. All that remains is that the fish arrive, alive and fresh, so that we may dine on them at precisely midnight.”
“Yes, OK,” I said, looking over at the elevator. “I’ll go now—”
I turned just as a voice screamed, “Ahhhh! You!” with a Parisian accent.
Hellelujah!
Chapter 6
Sibling Rivalry, Sororal Bonds and Cat Fights
Astarte’s scream reverberated throughout the hotel. Her cry was as shocking and as loud as a thunderclap on a clear day. I nearly leapt out of my skin. I knew a fight was imminent, but Stewart either didn’t hear or didn’t care because he remained as still as ever.
I started towards Astarte, but I was unable to move because a very large, very hard hand held me back. “Mr. Matthias,” Stewart said, “as you can see, obtaining the fish is paramount to us, and it is my understanding that you are competent in such matters. More than competent.”
“Fine, fine,” I said, breaking free of his grasp as I ran towards Astarte, hoping against hope that I would be able to intercept her before she got to Atargatis.
I sprinted to the entrance. At just under six feet, I had a slightly longer than average stride, but it still wasn’t long enough. Astarte pounced like a cat on its prey. My last hope was to lunge at Astarte and grab her midair, but even on my best day I doubt I could have succeeded, and today was far from my best day.
“You bitch!” Astarte tackled her sister.
Atargatis, whose last facial expression had been somewhat affable, met Astarte’s attack with a yelp, and the two of them started wrestling on the ground.
↔
Have you ever watched a succubus and a fertility demigoddess wrestle? Me neither, until now. But I can say this: After watching the two of them, I never wanted to see it again. Not because it was particularly violent or harsh, or because I have a moral objection to a catfight. I never wanted to see them fight again because I don’t think my hormones could handle it. Loose-fitting clothes tugged and pulled, revealing a hint of breast which vanished before anything but your imagination could conjure back the image. Heaving breath inhaled and exhaled as rigid bodies tensed and lunged, two of the most alluring bodies on the planet.
Yelps of pain—or was it ecstasy?—filled the lobby.
Everything they did reminded me of sex. Hell, judging by the reaction of everyone else in the Millennium Hotel, I was not alone. Every creature, be it a he, she or it, human or Other, stared with gaping mouths and shifted uncomfortably.
Despite years of Army training not to be tricked, seduced or stunned by Others, I couldn’t move. Sure, the sexual allure of the scene stunned me, but it was more than that. I was under some kind of spell. Hell, everyone in the hotel was under some kind of spell. No one moved to separate them.
As Astarte mounted her sister, I saw a hint of a smile that told me she knew exactly how everyone was reacting to their little familial spat.
I doubt I would have moved until they stopped, had it not been for one of Atargatis’ children pulling on the lapel of my collarless jacket. “Excuse me, mister,” a soft voice said. “You work here, right? Could you please help my mom? We would,” the little girl said, gesturing to her brothers and sisters who all stared at me with the same pleading, innocent eyes, “but we are forbidden to harm our aunt.” The little girl who spoke to me was the tallest and probably the oldest of the brood, a child who looked no older than nine. She stared up at me with big, concerned baby-blue eyes that simultaneously pleaded for help and commanded me to act. That was enough to jar me back to reality.
I grabbed Astarte and pulled her off Atargatis. “EightBall,” I yelled. “EightBall!” The boy eventually looked up. “Help me get them apart.”
“Oh, yeah,” EightBall said, shaking his head, “right.” He dropped the bags he was carrying, took a second to adjust his pants and grabbed Atargatis.
“Unhand me, you whelp,” Atargatis barked.
“Don’t you insult the boy,” Astarte shot back as she tried to break free from my grasp. “You traitorous, self-righteous bitch.”
“Mongrel? Cur!” Atargatis screamed. “That is rich coming from a whoremonger.”
Astarte stopped thrashing and in a cool, even voice said, “A bitch is a dog used for breeding.” She looked at Atargatis’ children. “And that is all you have done in the seventeen thousand years since you hit puberty.”
“I will smite you where you stand, little sister,” Atargatis said, redoubling her thrashing. To EightBall’s credit, he held on tight. Atargatis, realizing that she couldn’t break free, used her left foot to pop free the high heel off of her right foot and shot it across the room at Astarte.
At the last possible second, the succubus ducked. The heel of the shoe hit me on the forehead, and my eyes watered from the blinding pain. I saw stars before a little stream of blood trickled down my face. “Ow!” I said. I summoned my most authoritative voice and yelled, “You two! Cut it out now!”
Maybe it was my wound, or maybe the fight had gone out of them, but both sisters stopped thrashing. Atargatis took a deep breath and resumed calm with an unnatural speed. “Dear human, I apologize for my sister’s behavior. Now, if you could kindly tell your servant—”
“Employee,” I cut in.
“Yes, employee … If you could tell him to let me go, I promise I will not resume my attempts at ending my dear sister’s life.”
“And you, Astarte?” I asked, still holding her tight.
Astarte stopped moving. “She started it.”
I nodded to EightBall, who eased his grip before letting go. Seeing that Atargatis was true to her word, I let Astarte go. She adjusted her blouse with a huff. “Good thing you intervened, Human Jean-Luc. Another moment and I would have disemboweled my dear, sweet sister.”
“Astarte …” I said in a warning tone.
“Please, it is this boy that should be thanked. One more second, and I would have had your head on a silver platter.”
“Ladies,” I repeated, gesturing for EightBall to be ready.
“As if,” Astarte said. “I was the huntress.”
“And I was a goddess of war.”
“More like a bitch of war.”
“And what did you hunt, whore? Helpless mortals who would throw you a bone just so they could tell their friends they biblically knew the Great Whore of Babylon?”
“How dare you? When I bedded mortals, I changed history. I was Cleopatra. I was Helen of Troy, and the mortal desire for me launched a thousand ships.”
“Hah, you were barely a memory to them, forgotten as soon as they expelled their lust. I, on the other hand, created legacies,” Atargatis said. “My children and my children’s children have been a part of every great god and mortal this world and any other have seen.”
“And yet he left you behind.” By the way she said “he,” I knew she was talking about someone specific.
Atargatis’ eyes went cold. I swear to the GoneGods, my heart skipped a beat or two as her lips curled. In a low rolling growl, Atargatis said, “You do not speak his name.”
“Whose name?” Astarte sneered. “Poseidon? Poseidon … Poseidon
. Poseidon!”
“Whore!” Atargatis lunged at Astarte.
I grabbed Astarte, and EightBall held on to Atargatis. We were right back to where we started. From the corner of my eye I saw Stewart approaching. He held a piece of paper in his hand. “The details, Mr. Matthias.”
“Ahhh, as you can see, I’m busy.”
“Mr. Matthias, must I stress again the importance of the—”
“Getting the fish,” I said, grunting as I bear hugged the succubus, trying to lift her off her feet. She heeled my shin and I nearly dropped her. Lucky for me, Greg helped by grabbing her legs.
“Mr. Matthias,” Stewart repeated. He appeared to not notice the fight that was going on. Hell, maybe he didn’t.
“Yes, yes,” I said, pulling Astarte away. “If you don’t mind, can you put it in my coat pocket?”
Stewart stepped forward and, amidst Astarte’s thrashing, put the paper in my pocket. “Mr. Matthias. We need the fish no later than eleven thirty. That should be enough time to prepare them for precisely—”
“Midnight. Got it.” As soon as those words left my lips, Stewart looked up and for the first time acknowledged Astarte. “Ahhh, Astarte,” he said. “It has been a long while. How are you?”
“Oh, go choke on a bone,” she yelled at Stewart.
“Indeed,” he said, stoic as ever.
Chapter 7
Come Drive with Me …