by R. E. Vance
I glanced over at Atargatis. She was devastated. She had just eaten her own child. Accident or not, that could play hell on the mind of any parent. And even though my human mind couldn’t comprehend how anyone could get upset over a fish, I did understand what it felt like losing a loved one, a member of your family. I had said goodbye to too many of my own. She was grieving. She wouldn’t run. She would welcome punishment because that’s what the grieving do … blame themselves for something they have no control over. With my limited movement, I shrugged towards the devastated Atargatis. “You know damn well that I’m innocent, don’t you? So is Astarte, so is her sister.”
The BisMark shrugged. “Perhaps this was all an accident. Perhaps the guilty person or persons,” he tapped me on the forehead, “knew of the curse on the Sacred Carp, but assumed that in this GoneGod world, eating it would have no effect … or perhaps their purpose was something else entirely.”
I snorted. “Someone accidentally set off an apocalypse? Now I’ve heard it all.”
“The gods left, but they didn’t take their little toys with them. Any number of foolish mortals or Others could have set it off. After all, the curse is well-documented.” He spoke like we were playing a game of Clue and not actually considering executing five people.
“So if I accidentally ate the carp, but knew nothing about the curse, I wouldn’t have summoned Tiamat?”
BisMark nodded. “A mistake doesn’t set off an apocalypse. It must be purposeful.”
“So ignorance is an excuse.”
“Indeed.”
“I didn’t know. Neither did she.” I nodded at Atargatis.
“Perhaps. But then again, you could be lying. The mere fact that Tiamat is approaching tells me that someone knew. Someone did this on purpose. Since you and the others could be lying, it’s best we offer you all up. I’m—what do you humans call it?—hedging my bets.” The BisMark spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. He wanted to broadcast our little conversation, assure them that this was not how the world ended. In Other logic, he was being perfectly reasonable. Offer up four lives in the hope that the apocalypse is averted.
“It could’ve been you. Or Atargatis, or Astarte …” He scanned the room. “Or that gorgon you came in with. Offer you all up, and if it works—then the problem is solved. If not, switch to Plan B. But do rest assured, Jean-Luc, I intend to keep the offering to a minimum number of kills … That’s why that human will not be part of the ritual.” He pointed at Officer Conner.
“Thanks,” Conner said with less sarcasm that I would have liked.
“Hold on … Medusa?” I said. “What the hell does she have to do with anything?”
“History, dear Jean-Luc. She has just as much reason to incriminate Atargatis as Astarte. More so, if we take certain events into account.”
“If you hurt so much of a hair—rather, a snake—on her head—” I started before the gargoyle’s hand rudely covered my mouth again.
I started to thrash about, determined to get out of the gargoyle’s stone grip and throttle The BisMark. It was one thing to threaten me, Astarte, Conner and Atargatis. But Medusa was an innocent creature who had nothing to do with this. I couldn’t stand it anymore.
The BisMark watched me struggle and said in a loud voice, “And as for it being illegal to sacrifice you, consider this. Once your governments attack Tiamat—which I’m sure they will—they will fail. Seeing that it’s hopeless, don’t you think they’ll fall to their knees and beg whomever they can find to save them? I’m the only one who can. Do you really think they’ll get too fussed over a few insignificant souls being offered up when it means saving the world?”
As if on cue, we heard a voice bellow from the back of the ballroom, “There will be no offerings!”
Everyone’s attention shifted to the archangel-turned-police-chief, Michael, just stepping in.
Hellelujah!
↔
Medusa stood up and went directly to her boss’s side. “Captain Michael,” she said, her words sounding natural yet somehow strange, as if she had called him by the title he once held: archangel. “There is some terrible misunderstanding. Jean-Luc couldn’t be involved in this. He has no knowledge of the old ways.” Captain Michael walked in with several officers in tow, including Officer Steve, the youngest of the Billy Goats Gruff.
Hey, I thought. Ignorance is not an excuse for breaking the law. Of course, I didn’t say it out loud. Part of me believed that ignorance of celestial, divine or esoteric law was very much an excuse. I sat back, trying to get comfortable with the gargoyle still clutching to me and letting the scene play itself out.
“He’s guilty,” The BisMark said. “He protected the offender.”
To this Atargatis stood up and, with an angry accusing finger, said, “I was tricked. And I’m beginning to think that I was tricked by you. You always hated me and my family.”
The BisMark raised an eyebrow. “If I hated you, why would I invite you as my guest of honor? Why not simply let you fade into obscurity?”
“You bast—”
“Enough,” Michael trumpeted. Everyone turned toward the archangel, and I could have sworn I saw The BisMark shudder in momentary fear. “You two can settle your little ancient quibble after.”
“After?” The BisMark said with mocking scorn, evidently forgetting that he was afraid of Michael. “There will be no after. Not for her. The Beast must be satisfied, the guilty offered up.” For the first time this evening, The BisMark looked worried.
Medusa shuddered at this and, addressing the crowd, yelled out. “Jean-Luc is not guilty! He’s innocent, and I will not—” She took a step forward, but before she could get any closer, a heavy, angelic hand fell on her shoulder.
“Medusa,” Michael said. “No one will be offered.” He took a step forward. Every eye was on him. The BisMark scowled as he met the archangel’s gaze. “Such offerings, necessary or not, are the old way—”
“It’s been used in the new world, and quite successfully—” The BisMark started.
“No,” Michael interrupted. “There will be no appeasement through blood. Tiamat shall be sent back by other means.”
“But Tiamat comes to consume us!” cried out a particularly nervous gnome. To this the audience whined and muttered words like beast, death, appease, kill.
They stood in front of each other. Michael was a head taller than The BisMark, who—I swear to the GoneGods—grew as they continued their debate. Michael wore a look I knew well. I’d seen it before. His eyes were heavy but distant. It was the look he got when searching for some faint, ancient memory. Only thing was, for Michael, searching his memories meant going through hundreds of thousands of years. An easy task if you were willing to burn a little time to do it, but doing it au naturel meant hard concentration and frequent disappointment. Evidently, whatever Michael was looking for was important enough to pay for with a couple hours of his life.
The BisMark gazed into the archangel’s eyes with unnatural confidence. The entire room watched them go at it with the same intensity that the crowd had watched Astarte and Atargatis wrestle.
We all waited for a flinch, a flicker—any sign of weakness. A good strategy on their part, the eyes being the window to the soul and all, but experience had taught me that, whereas the eyes were great mood indicators, the hands were better. A finger will twitch before an eye softens; a hand will clench before a gaze diverts.
Michael’s hands were steady, relaxed, his talons hanging loosely at his side. The BisMark’s hands were also calm, his feathery exterior steady, except … except the feathers didn’t go all the way to his otherwise human hands. They stopped at the first knuckle, replaced by brown, almost goatlike fur. And what’s more, although his hands hung loose and free, his pinkie twitched.
“Other means will be very costly to me,” The BisMark finally said.
Michael nodded.
“Very well, but only if you agree to incarcerate all involved, in case an offering becomes necess
ary”—Michael stirred, but The BisMark held up his hand—“should other means fail and the need arise. Or would you rather Tiamat consume the world?”
Michael groaned, which, coming from an archangel, sounded more like the low rumbling of a jet engine. “Very well …”
“But Miiichael!” Medusa protested. “He’s innocent. I know he is!”
“There is one more condition. After, we must conduct a trial, and should they be found guilty, mortal—human—punishment will be inflicted on them.”
Michael gestured to Officer Steve, who strolled over to Atargatis. “And these two humans,” The BisMark pointed at me.
“He’s not guilty. He has no idea what’s going on,” Medusa said.
“Perhaps that’s true of your human officer.” The BisMark gestured, and the gargoyle immediately let Conner go. “But the hotelier … he has quite the history of hating Others.”
Michael thought about it for a long moment before finally conceding. “Very well—take him in.”
“And his date,” The BisMark said, pointing at Medusa. Michael’s eyes widened, but The BisMark quieted him with one word. “History.” Michael considered this before nodding in agreement.
With that the Gruff went around arresting us all.
The BisMark nodded with approval. “You’re far more agreeable now that your god is gone. Very well, Archangel Michael. I shall do what is required of me—Tiamat approaches and I must prepare. Now, if you please.” He gestured to all of us.
“Go,” Michael said.
“What? You’re letting him go?” I burst in, getting in close.
Michael shot me a look that would have stopped an avalanche. Then, turning his attention to The BisMark, he bore down a finger on his chest. “Once that imminent danger is dealt with, you will submit to a full investigation—”
The BisMark waved a dismissive hand, cutting Michael off. “Of course.”
“Release Conner,” Michael said. Then, gesturing at me, “And cuff him.”
“Hold on—don’t you have to tell me what I’m charged with? As far as I can tell, you’re arresting me for delivering the wrong fish.”
“You’re correct, Human Jean-Luc. You’re charged with conspiracy to use a weapon of mass destruction,” Michael said.
“Holy—” I started. Michael shot me a look. “—guacamole,” I finished. “Come on, that’s what you charge terrorists with. You know me, I’m no terrorist. I’m a hotelier. And a bad one at that.”
Michael nodded. “Your actions—”
“Alleged actions,” I corrected.
“Alleged actions released the Beast—a creature far, far more powerful than any nuclear bomb. Even if it was an accident or an act committed out of ignorance, you’re an accessory, a fact that will be taken into account during your trial.”
“Trial?”
“If it comes to that … yes. We must first conduct an investigation,” Michael spoke with the enthusiasm of an angel forced to sign his fifty-six thousand seven hundredth benediction.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you know damn well that I had nothing to do with this. What’s more—you know that if a big, bad monster is coming to town, I’m exactly the guy you need on the street, helping. This is lunacy.”
Michael sighed. Well, sighed might not be the right word. Being an archangel of the highest order, his deep baritone voice made James Earl Jones sound like a pipsqueak going through puberty. What came out of Michael was more like a bass drum that shook the entire room. “Rules must be followed.”
“Rules!” I yelled, then abruptly stopped. Michael was the original Boy Scout. And by original, I mean the very first one. Ever. He followed rules to the letter of the law, never wavering, never questioning. He would have arrested God if he caught Him with His hand in the cookie jar. Hell, he’d even arrest himself, if he found a probable cause. Nothing I could say or do would change that, so I saved my breath. If I was going to get out of this, talking was not the way.
Steve made his way forward, and I saw The BisMark standing off stage with Stewart. Evidently, the two of them were scheming their master plan to stop the Beast, or whatever that monster was. Since it was coming out of the ocean, I personally thought it was the kraken.
I looked over at Medusa. She was already in cuffs, her snakes covering her face in shame.
Officer Steve approached me, shifting from four legs to two with an unnatural grace. “Mr. Jean-Luc Matthias?” he asked.
“Seriously, Steve. We just spoke a few hours ago.” The giant goat stared at me expectantly. “Yes,” I sighed. “I’m Jean-Luc Matthias.”
Officer Steve pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Jean-Luc Matthias, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a—”
I saw a blur of movement from the corner of my eye, and it gave me an idea. “Just a minute,” I said. The BisMark stood near the edge of the stage where Atargatis was being read her rights. Officer Steve put up a hoof to stop me, but I said, “You. Peacock Man.”
The BisMark looked down at me over the rims of his glasses.
“I want to speak to you.”
“Jean-Luc Matthias, you’re under arrest—” Steve continued.
I shuffled out of Officer Steve’s grip, twisting my wrists before he could cuff me. I took a step forward, and his hooved hand grabbed my shoulder. I didn’t resist. I was close enough to The BisMark for what I needed to say. “You have this whole thing figured out,” I said. “This apocalypse, this Tiamat. Even Michael is behaving exactly like you need him to. Your plan is near perfect … but you forgot one thing.”
“Forgot?” The BisMark said, lifting an eyebrow. “Please, indulge me. What did I forget?”
“Bob,” I said.
Chapter 5
Bob’s Back, Baby!
“Bob?”
“Yeah, Bob,” I said, kicking up. I let myself fall—not backward, but forward—so that my belly hugged the stage floor. It hurt like hell to have so much crashing down on me. Bob jumped on the stage, claw hand out—he was going for my abdomen. But instead of slashing me like he intended, he raked the gargoyle across its back. Way to go, Bob! Of course, had I not been fast enough, I’m pretty sure he would have disemboweled me, in which case it would have been, Bad Bob! Bad!
The stone creature actually winced in pain, let go of me and turned to grapple with Bob.
With no gargoyle on my back, I rolled away. I wasn’t sure what to do next. I could try to free Atargatis or attack The BisMark, but since everything was happening so fast, I decided on the default option—run.
I tried to get off stage, but The BisMark stepped in my way. He didn’t attack. I guess doing so would sully him. Instead, he just blocked my path. I tried to get around him, but every time I slid to one side he mimicked me perfectly, down to the twitches of my hands and my facial expressions. He was flawless. It was like trying to outrun your mirror image in a room full of mirrors … I swear to the GoneGods, at one point his face even started resembling my own, like he was becoming me.
I took a step back, and he stepped forward. It was then that I understood what he was trying to do. Back me up so that one of the gargoyles could grab me.
I couldn’t let that happen, and if he wasn’t going to get involved by attacking me, I’d just have to make him. But again, he anticipated my moves perfectly. I took a swing at him, and he dodged like someone who didn’t have a care in the world. He just kept moving in front of me. We weren’t fighting, we were dancing—synchronized swimmers swirling in the currents of air.
I needed to get out.
But whatever I needed didn’t matter. I was losing ... that was, until the lights went out.
↔
Every sound, every light, every bit of ambient hum created by everything that runs on electricity shut down, and the ballroom went dark, with the only light being a soft effervescent glow from the table’s centerpieces and the strange crystal vat that sat on the stage. This was
my chance. I rolled to the side, and The BisMark, either distracted by the sudden darkness or unable to mimic me without actually seeing me, didn’t follow. I tumbled off the stage, hitting the ground with a clank and an “Ow!”
I pushed through the darkness, dimly lit by the candle centerpieces. In the faint glow I caught a glimpse of Medusa, who stood in handcuffs off to the side. When our eyes met, I mouthed “I’m sorry,” hoping that the small gesture would make up for our ruined date. She smiled, her dimples catching the soft light. Hellelujah!
I also saw Michael, who stood motionless, his hand around Medusa’s arm. He just watched, not letting me go, but not trying to capture me either. Instead he boomed out one misplaced word: “Deputy!” I would have assumed he was yelling at one of his officers, except he was looking right at me. Then Michael did something I never saw him do before and I would never see him do again: he winked.
At me.
I didn’t have time to think about that now and thanked the GoneGods that he wasn’t getting involved. In the past, Michael had chosen inaction when dealing with me. He once described it as letting fate decide what to do. It spurred me to run. Whatever my role in all this was, being locked up in a cell wasn’t it.
I made my way to the main hall when another gargoyle—how many friggin’ gargoyles were there?—leapt to grab me. ScarFace.
At the last second I managed to duck, and ScarFace flew over me. I thought I had cleared him, but his hand reached back and latched on to my wrist. Crap! I was caught. I felt myself being lifted off the ground when I heard a smash. Penemue slammed a chair over ScarFace’s back. The gargoyle hit the ground. It was down, but it would be a matter of seconds until it got back up. “I guess I’m in it now,” the angel said with a huff.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said. We bounded for the hall’s double doors, when they burst open.