Keep Evolving: A Paradise Lot Urban Fantasy

by R. E. Vance

  “And this all happened when you were both gods?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And were allied to Chaos.”

  “Yes …”

  Then it occurred to me that the gods who allied with Chaos were no longer gods, while the gods who allied with Nature were gone. The world did not belong to either, and if you applied a god’s logic to it, that meant that the usual cosmic laws were all up in the air. Of course, as humans, we were all about Nature, but this wasn’t our world anymore. We had to share it with Others. Others who allied with Chaos. Others who—once-upon-a-time—were gods.

  “Safe mode,” I said.

  “Excuse me?”

  I snapped my fingers. “The world … it’s trying to reboot in safe mode. It’s trying to return to its previous settings, when Champions like Enkidu were common place and apocalypses were a real threat.”

  “I don’t think so,” Brian’s voice chimed in from the iPad speakers. “Safe mode isn’t about returning to previous settings. It’s about returning to factory settings. As in, when-it-was-first-created settings. If anything, the world is still up for grabs … Nature and Chaos both have equal opportunity to become the world’s operating system.”

  “Windows versus Apple,” I said.

  “And one computer to run it all. The world.”

  “ ‘Apple,’ ‘Windows’ … ‘computer’?” Astarte wore a puzzled look. “I think you humans are delirious with fear. Here, I have a cure … Let me rest your mind and—” She started disrobing.

  “No need,” I said. “Brian and I know exactly what we’re talking about.” And just then, a last-ditch plan occurred to me. I looked at the clock—just over two hours left until dawn. Plenty of time for my plan, with just enough time that if it didn’t work, I could die in a fireball of regret. I turned to the others and said, “I have a plan.”

  “And what—pray tell—is that?” Astarte asked.

  “Actually, I got the idea from IT support,” I mused. “We’re going to have to reboot the system in safe mode,” I said.

  Chapter 6

  Jail Isn’t the Best Place for a Third Date

  I called up the popobawa and told him what I needed from him. It involved taking some “stuff” from Master Greg’s apartment, and delivering it back to him at the beach. The popobawa dutifully agreed and immediately took down everything we needed with uncanny speed.

  With that done, I looked around the room full of geekery, “borrowed” his Highlander sword, the slingshot and a couple issues of Batman (hey—like I said: borrowed. If we survived the night, I’d give it all back; cross my heart) and struck off to the last place we needed to go to get some answers.

  Jail.

  ↔

  Navigating the blocked streets in search of open routes to the jail, we passed by the south bridge that led to the mainland. At the mouth of the bridge on erected barricades stood two human sentries. Bullhorns rang out, commanding the Others to back away or be shot.

  Searchlights beamed up and panic filled the streets as Others loaded with all their belongings, headed to the bridges in hopes of surviving. For the second time in fifteen years, they were being forced to leave their homes. I could not suppress the anger that filled my soul. These once divine beings had been through so much that to go through this again … I couldn’t finish the thought.

  This time it was worse. At least when the gods left, they gave them a chance to escape the darkness, a place to run to. Their new, less celestial, human caretakers were not as kind.

  Little drones no larger than Frisbees hovered over the crowd. At first, I had no idea what they were, but then I saw the digital clocks they displayed and I knew exactly what the Army was doing. They were checking if Others were burning time.

  When Others burn time, clocks speed up. The Army was using the drones to monitor the crowd, to make sure these frightened creatures didn’t use their natural talents to leap off the island and to safety. It was a cruel declawing, and it made me sick to my stomach.

  Humanity at its best, and I couldn’t be more angry. But I’d have to apologize for my fellow humans in my own way later. Now, I needed to get to the jail in the slim hope that we’d find a way to send Tiamat back to the deep.

  ↔

  We eventually managed to weave our way through the streets to the Paradise Lot Police Station parking lot. Usually the place was a hub of Other activity, with centaur beat cops starting or finishing shifts, valkyrie and Gruff detectives bringing in handcuffed mythological creatures of every kind, religion and legend. But now the parking lot was empty.

  Astarte and I got out of the van and I told the popobawa what I needed him to do. Without hesitation, he saluted me and said, “Your will shall be done, Master of Master Form Filler.”

  With the little guy gone, Astarte and I headed to the back entrance. Sure, the police station might’ve been mostly abandoned, but we were still wanted fugitives—I didn’t want to risk running into the one cop who decided to do paperwork on the night Tiamat arrived. Lucky for me, after bailing out Penemue from the drunk tank countless times, I knew my way around the station.

  The back entrance was open, but Medusa’s reception desk was empty. We walked right in, down the corridor and to the cells, which were usually empty. I’d guessed the police weren’t bothering bringing anyone back here.

  A lone occupant sat in a cell—a harmonica-playing satyr.

  And in the adjacent cell—Medusa and Atargatis, arm in arm. They were both laughing, tears streaming down their cheeks.

  ↔

  “Oooh, a jailbreak—just like in The Baby-Sitters Club,” Medusa giggled, dabbing the corners of her eyes.

  I eyed the gorgon with my best “This is serious” look.

  “Just kidding,” she said, and pinched her lips closed with her fingers, quite literally suppressing a smile.

  Marty hissed. I hissed back. He gave me a look, and I rolled my eyes—I really didn’t have time for this. “Fine,” I muttered. “How are you doing, Medusa?”

  “Good,” she nodded. “We had a good chat, didn’t we?”

  Atargatis nodded and squeezed Medusa’s hand. “A very good chat.”

  “Look,” I said. “We only have a couple hours left, and we need to get Atargatis out of here. She’s the only one who can stop her child from destroying the world.”

  Atargatis shook her head. “There’s nothing I can do. There’s no god to provide intervention, and—”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” I said, clapping my hands impatiently. “Things are different now.”

  As if making my point, the back door smashed open and Enkidu came running in. Astarte raised a hand, instructing him to calm himself.

  I pointed at Enkidu. “The old ways are coming back, which means, you’re all the divine intervention we need,” I said.

  Atargatis’ eyes widened as she looked at Enkidu. The satyr stopped playing his harmonica and groaned, saying to me, “Wait a minute. You gonna stop the end of the world?”

  “Yeah,” I said, with a bit too much optimism given our predicament.

  “Oh?” The satyr looked disappointed. “I was looking forward to it all ending,” he muttered.

  Atargatis ignored the fatalistic satyr. “When … when did Enkidu return?”

  Astarte stepped forward. “I don’t know how long he’s been wandering in the mortal world. I suspect since the gods left. But when the fish of Urfa were delivered, he was drawn to them. To me. That is why he came to the docks. He tried to stop us from delivering the fish. He tried to stop all of this.”

  “Then he’s not of Chaos.”

  Enkidu growled. Astarte put a calming hand on his shoulder. “I suspect he’s of both worlds. For now, at least.”

  “Don’t you see? You can stop this. You’re the authority that we need,” I said.

  “But I ate the fish,” Atargatis said. “I am the offender.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but you can assign a Champion or Avatar or whatever you guy
s do when hiring representation. That person could speak on your behalf.”

  Atargatis tilted her head to one side as she contemplated my idea. “You are right, Jean-Luc … except for one thing. Creating a Champion takes years. Champions must be cultivated, and then they must go through several trials by fire. You don’t just wave a wand and poof, ‘You’re a Champion, you’re a Champion … You’re a Champion!’ ” Atargatis waved her hands around “knighting” the air.

  A solemn silence fell over us. Then the satyr chimed in. “You know, I always thought it’d be a big guy who ended the world. But who am I to complain? I’m just happy to go down in flames.”

  “Most likely you’ll be eaten,” I said.

  “Six in one hand, half a dozen in the other. An apocalypse is an apocalypse.”

  I glared at the satyr, who put down his head and resumed playing his harmonica.

  “No, that’s not true at all.” Medusa’s eyes widened as a wicked smile crawled across her face. “I think I know how to stop this,” she hissed.

  Chapter 7

  Apocalypses and Children, Children and Apocalypses

  Ever heard the expression, “You’ve got to start an apocalypse to stop an apocalypse?” Me neither, but apparently that was the plan. The gods were hierarchy-driven—that extended to gods, to pantheons and, apparently, to apocalypses too.

  Medusa told us her plan, and despite my best judgment, I let my date out of jail in order to do exactly that. Start the End of Days.

  Again.

  Medusa told me where the keys were kept, and I unlocked the cell. Leaving the rest behind, Medusa and I wandered into the empty precinct and into the police chief’s—a.k.a. Archangel Michael’s—office. It had your typical look—awards and diplomas on the wall, a framed newspaper article with the headline “Angel Climbs Police Ranks at Record Speed,” a desk with mounds of paperwork. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except the desk chair.

  Built for an angel over ten feet high who weighed more than an elephant, the desk chair had a frame of soldered steel with reinforced beams that did their best to hold Michael’s immense weight—and still you could see the dips and the bends where it was losing.

  And this was the guy we were about to steal from.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I said.

  “What else would you have us do?” Medusa said. “Let Paradise Lot be consumed by Tiamat?”

  “No, of course not. But why not ask Michael—” Before I could finish the sentence, Medusa and all thirty snakes rolled their eyes.

  “It was just a thought.”

  Medusa turned, walked up to the back wall and started checking every inch of its surface, her snakes coiling and slithering. Occasionally a snake’s head banged against the dry plaster, looking for the false panel where Michael hid his safe.

  “Astarte and Enkidu—do they have a lot of history together?” I said.

  “History,” Medusa chuckled, lightly knocking along the wall. “How casually humans use that word. Enkidu, Gilgamesh and Astarte—their friendship was a historic event whose ripples are still felt today. When Enkidu died, I thought Astarte would die of a broken heart. And when Gilgamesh died … she nearly did. Poor thing spent one hundred years mourning him. When she finally emerged from her misery, she was never quite the same.”

  I understood that. When Bella died, I thought I would die, too. Every part of me just stopped. I became a walking, breathing zombie, numb to everything and everyone around me. It took years for my heart to beat again, and even then, a part of me never found its way back to life. I shook my head. “I thought Astarte despised love. You should’ve heard the speech she gave me about love versus lust. It was quite dramatic.”

  Medusa stopped fiddling with the wall and faced me. “I’m sure she forgot that lust is a choice, but love … Love strikes without warning or mercy.” Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, then she looked down and turned back to the wall.

  After a few more knocks, Medusa put her hand against the wall and pushed. The false panel that I swear by the GoneGods I would have never found in a thousand years opened. Divine craftsmanship, indeed! The panel revealed a safe that, unlike the paneling that hid it, was of human make. Medusa’s snakes pressed their tiny heads against the cold steel, and Marty put his mouth around the turnstile lock.

  “Enkidu—he’s human, right?” I asked.

  Medusa nodded.

  Click, click, click to the right. Stop.

  “If he died … how’s he back?”

  “Because he was a Champion of Chaos, his soul didn’t go to any of the heavens or hells. It went to Chaos, and as you already know, the gods took neither Chaos nor Nature with them.”

  I nodded. That fit with everything I’d uncovered so far. “Astarte thinks that some Others are trying to bring Chaos back as the dominant principle.”

  Medusa stopped moving and considered this. “I guess that explains why it was possible to summon Tiamat in the first place.” She shrugged before going back to the safe.

  Click, click, click to the left. Stop.

  “She blames The BisMark.”

  “Makes sense.”

  A gear clacked, fell into place, and the safe opened.

  Medusa pulled open the safe door. Inside lay paperwork, a passport, a gold watch and a trumpet case. I walked up and took out the case, opening it with shaking hands.

  “So this is it?”

  Medusa nodded. “The Fourth Trumpet that Michael never got to blow when the world ended.”

  “Hellelujah,” I said, holding the silver instrument. It had no valves or slides, no decorations or carvings; it was a simple piece of metal that ended in an unobtrusive cone.

  “I told you I was an end-of-the-world kind of gal! Let’s go.” Medusa started out of the room.

  I grabbed her arm. “Astarte thinks it was The BisMark. So did I. So much so that I was blinded to other possibilities.”

  “Possibilities? Like what?”

  I ignored her question. “It’s just that he’s too smart and powerful to do something so reckless.”

  Medusa looked down at my hand, then up at me.

  I let go of her arm. “At first I thought it might be some third, unknown player, but that doesn’t make any sense. Too many variables. Too big of a risk that something could go horribly wrong.

  “Still … it might have been a mistake. Maybe someone who knew about the curse but thought that in the GoneGod world, it wouldn’t summon Tiamat. Remember, fifteen years ago eating the Holy Carp of Urfa wouldn’t have done anything. It’s only after the gods left that the old ways started to return.”

  Medusa’s face flushed.

  I walked over to Medusa and took her hand in mine. In the softest voice I could muster, I asked, “What did The BisMark mean when he told Michael that you had to be arrested because of ‘history’?”

  “You think it was me?”

  “I saw the Grimoire of Metatron—”

  “And?” She crossed her arms.

  “It established motive.”

  “Motive?”

  I gulped, but went on. “And what happened in Atlantis—Atargatis marrying Poseidon … Poseidon going crazy with jealousy over you … It was more than that. According to the Grimoire, you and Poseidon were together. That was, until the day he married Atargatis.”

  “That wasn’t my fault. I already told you it was that damn trickster, Loki. When The BisMark arranged the marriage with Astarte and she didn’t show up, I was sure that Poseidon would return to me. But then Atargatis stepped in, and I was devastated. So I ran out on the balcony. King Laomedon followed, to comfort me. Loki—that trickster bastard—told Poseidon that I was sleeping with King Laomedon, that I had been for some time. Poseidon flew into a rage. He stormed the palace and found us talking. That’s when he slammed his trident onto the ground, cracking the earth beneath, and sunk Atlantis.”

  “Yes, but that didn’t change the fact that you hated Atargatis for taking Poseidon away from you.” I
kept pushing. “And that’s not all. You insisted on coming to the gala. You were in the kitchen when you found me. You had an opportunity to switch the fish.”

  “So that’s it? Even mortal law would find that circumstantial,” she hissed.

  “And Greg … he had one of the Eyes of the Gorgon. A talisman you created.”

  “I don’t own the Eyes, and haven’t for a long time. I gave them to Poseidon. He put them in his crown.”

  “Greg said he was working for his master, but denied it was The BisMark. He also said that his master doesn’t know everything, and that being an AlwaysMortal gave him certain advantages. Also, you knew ScarFace, and—”

  “And what, Jean-Luc?” Her eyes glistened with tears that swelled but would not fall. “And what?”

  I paused and softened my voice. “I don’t think you meant to summon Tiamat.”

  Medusa cocked her head to one side, glaring at me. “And what about the part where I had Atargatis eat her own child? Was that an accident too?”

  “You were in love with Poseidon.”

  “What else?”

  “Medusa—” I started.

  “No, don’t get all soft on me now. You were all ‘tough guy,’ talking about apocalypses and accidents. So tell me. What else did you read?”

  “That you had a child with him.”

  Medusa shuddered as all thirty of her snakes hissed at me. I thought the gorgon was going to slap me or scream or something. But she only stared at me with an expression that betrayed nothing.

  “It stands to reason that you were bitter he chose Astarte over you. And that you were even more insulted when Astarte didn’t show up and he agreed to marry Atargatis.”

  “Anything else?” she said in a cold, even voice. “I’d like to get all the evidence against me before I start defending myself.”