by Ramy Vance
“Make love, not war,” I said.
He laughed at this, not knowing that I wasn’t trying to be funny or cute. I had attended the Mother’s Day Peace March in 1965 (well, attended the after-dusk part, at least). Nowadays, it was a cliché printed on a T-shirt. But back then, it meant something.
I looked up at Justin. “I guess I see what you’re trying to do,” I said.
“Look, I know it’s not enough, but it’s something. It will make sense tonight, I promise. Will you come?”
“To the party?”
“No—the vigil. For my speech. I’m super-nervous … I could use a friendly face.”
I didn’t say anything.
Justin gave me an empathetic smile and said, “I know you’ve been through a lot, Kat. Think about it. I could use all the support I can get.”
“What about your dorm buddies?”
“They’ll be there. The humans, at least. We’re encouraging Sal to lay low for a while.”
“OK.” I nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” Then, looking at his wristwatch, he said, “I’m late for class. Maybe see you tonight, but definitely see you at the O3 party?”
The O3 party was this weekend, which meant delaying leaving by a day or two. I could go and pretend it was my goodbye party—even if no one attending knew me, knew I was leaving or cared. Still, I should at least attend one college party to see if they lived up to all the hype 1980s comedies promised.
I nodded at Justin.
“Great,” he said, flashing a big, perfect smile as he started to jog away. “Glad I can make you commit to at least one of them.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving me at the entrance of campus, holding the Other-hating flyer. I crumpled it up and tossed it in the nearest rubbish bin.
Arrgh—Others! I wondered if the gods knew how many problems sending them to Earth would cause. If they would have still done it.
My guess was … yes.
I guess “hindsight is 20/20” only applies if you actually care about the people you’ve left behind.
WISE SAGES AND PALE WHITE RIDERS
So I was stuck here until after the weekend. Fine. Just meant more time to get my affairs in order. Affairs—hah! All those college movies talked about hooking up with boys, falling in love, dancing, partying … living. Sure, I saw students playing frisbee, hanging out by the founder statue and generally just chilling on campus, but what I didn’t see was me being a part of that.
Maybe I don’t deserve it.
“Oh, shush,” I growled at myself. I deserve to live and be happy just like everyone else.
Pulling my purse closer, I walked into the Admin building and straight to a receptionist with hipster glasses and purple hair tied into a ponytail.
“I want to drop out,” I said.
She looked at me over the rims of her glasses. “Day Two jitters?” she asked.
“Day Two coming-to-my-senses,” I said.
“Uh-huh. Student ID, please.”
I opened my purse and handed the laminated ID card to her.
She keyed my details into her computer. “A student advisor will see you shortly. Until then, have a seat.”
I WENT into the waiting room, where three humans huddled at one end and four Others hung out on the other side. The awkwardness between the two groups was palpable. The Others were comprised of two cherubs, an oni demon and a gargoyle that looked like a stone dragon the size of a tomcat. Among the humans was the mousey girl from Gardner Hall (the one who’d handed Deirdre some soil) and a guy who looked like he was auditioning for Small Town Hick at the local school theater.
I nodded at Mousey Girl, giving her a knowing smile. She promptly looked away in fear, blushing as she pushed up her thick-framed glasses.
The two cherubs were both only five inches tall; one looked like a baby with a halo and dove-like wings, while the other one resembled a cute, miniature devil with bat wings. I figured them for shoulder cherubs. You know—the angels who sat on your shoulder and encourage you to do good or bad. Given how they huddled together, I knew they were scared. Made sense … shoulder cherubs were meant to sit invisibly on your shoulders and guide you through the murky waters of morality. They weren’t used to being visible, shoulderless and sitting in a human waiting room.
They were harmless.
The oni demon, on the other hand, looked like the manga version of the classic Western image of the Devil—red skin, pointy tail, horns—but with huge eyes and tusks that protruded up out of his lower jaw. He was clearly nervous as well, grinding his teeth together, which, because of the large metal ring in one of his tusks, made a clicking sound every time he separated his jaw.
With each of the demon’s tusk-grinding clicks, Hick Boy clenched his fists like he was just itching to charge at the oni. “Stupid human—you’ll need a crowbar or machete to do any damage against that thing. Its skin is tougher than a coconut shell. Believe me—I once got into a fight with one of them on Zamami Island off of Okinawa’s mainland when—”
Everyone was looking at me. OK, girl, I thought—in my head this time—go with it. I turned to Hick Boy and said, “You’re clearly scared of this guy, otherwise you wouldn’t be acting so aggro.”
“You mind your own business,” Hick Boy said, in a Southern accent I couldn’t quite place. Mississippi? Possibly Georgia.
How cliché, I thought before saying, “I can’t mind my business when I see you trying to burn holes in that poor guy. Can’t you see, he’s just as scared as you are?”
“Kowai janai,” the oni demon boomed, at which Hick Boy stood up. So did the demon, while Mousey Girl screamed.
I got between human and demon, all of my five-foot-nothing frame separating the two massive bodies of aggro testosterone, and yelled, “Yes, you are scared. Both of you are.”
I must have said it with a force that belied my size, because both of them stopped.
Pointing at the oni demon, I said, “Do you speak English?”
The oni demon nodded, his tusk ring clicking.
“OK,” I said. “The rest of us would be more comfortable if you don’t yell—and if you need to yell at all, do it in English so that everyone who can’t speak Japanese can understand you.”
Hick Boy chuckled at this.
“And you,” I growled, pointing up at him. “I thought you Southerners were all about hospitality and being good ol’ Christians or whatever. Where are those Southern sensibilities your mama taught you? Huh?”
“My hospitality doesn’t extend to freaks,” he said.
“Bold words for a guy in flannel. It’s summer and not 1976.”
I saw Mousey Girl’s eyes widen with terror. I needed to calm the situation down if I didn’t want to get into yet a third fight in two days, and my sassy comebacks weren’t helping. I made a soothing gesture and said, “I have an idea—if everyone will sit down, I think I can fix this.”
Hick Boy and oni demon stared down at me for a long moment before finally sitting down in agreement.
“Good,” I said. “Presumably you all are here to drop out.”
Several nods greeted me, with Hick Boy adding, “I didn’t sign up to go to school with a bunch of freaks.”
“I’ll get to you in a minute,” I said, glaring. “First, you.” I pointed at Mousey Girl. “You’re scared, right?”
She nodded.
“I’ve seen you around. You live in the dorms? Gardner Hall?”
“No, I live off campus. I came up to visit a friend, but—”
“You saw lots of weird creatures about, so you just went home where it’s safe?”
Again she nodded.
“So might I offer you an alternative? See that guy over there?” I gestured at the stone gargoyle. “He’s a protector. And given that he’s here, willing to leave this place, I’m willing to bet he has no one to protect. Do you?”
The gargoyle closed its stone eyes in despondence. It let out a long sigh that sounded like pepper b
eing ground, then shook its head. I bent down close and tentatively put out my arm, as I’d read these little protectors preferred. Seeing my arm before it, the gargoyle’s eyes widened in awe. Without further hesitation, it leapt from the chair to my arm, its stone claws gripping my jacket sleeve. Ah, well—the jacket was ruined anyway. That grinding-pepper noise picked back up, but it wasn’t sighing. Was that … was it purring? It seemed to like me. Up close, I saw that the gargoyle had several runes carved along its body—beautiful, really.
I walked over to where Mousey Girl sat, scowling at how she cowered in her seat as the gargoyle on my arm got closer. “Problem,” I pointed at Mousey Girl, then gestured to the gargoyle. “Meet Solution.” She still seemed nervous that the stone creature was so close, so I added, “Why don’t you two just go for a walk together? Out in public, with lots of eyes watching you. The campus is a safe place to get to know each other. And if it works out … well, this could be a win-win.”
Mousey Girl considered this before finally nodding and standing up. The gargoyle jumped off my arm and the two of them left together.
“Freaks,” Hick Boy snorted.
I turned to glare at him again, but what had just occurred had given me a change of heart. Instead I sighed.
“No, not freaks. Just different. You say your Southern sensibilities don’t extend to them. But is that the right thing to do? I mean, deep down?”
I walked over to the shoulder cherubs and, extending my hands, invited them to jump on. I carried them over to Hick Boy. He tried to move away, but before he could, I said, “What? Scared of something smaller than a ferret?”
He shook his head defiantly and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you are trying to do, but—”
“Shh … just listen.”
The angels began talking in his ears and—miraculously, in a world where miracles had left with the gods—Hick Boy listened. The thing about shoulder cherubs is they don’t tell you what’s right and what’s wrong; they don’t even tell you you’re right or wrong. They tell you your right and wrong. Everyone has a different moral compass. Well, not everyone … and some of those who do have one clearly need to get it recalibrated …
Sorry. I’ve clearly let my analogy run away from me.
The point is, shoulder cherubs … the words they whisper into your ears are guided by that moral compass. And whatever they were saying to Hick Boy, it worked. His shoulders relaxed, his fists unclenched and he actually smiled—not the prettiest thing, but definitely an improvement for him.
I pointed to the oni demon. “Now, you. What’s your name?”
“Takashi.”
“Good. Now, Takashi, loosen that ring in your tusk and … smile.”
The oni demon pulled out the tusk ring and tried to smile, which, judging by how big those tusks were, was not an easy task, and did not yield the most aesthetically pleasing results. It was awkward, not very human-like, but somehow endearing.
“Now, might I suggest one more thing?” I said to the two monstrous smiling buffoons. “Oni demons, among other things, are famous for distilling their own sake.” Takashi nodded proudly. “And Southerners are famous for their bourbon. Why not have a drink together first, kill each other later? Or at least talk it out. Can you do that?”
“Hai.” Takashi bowed his head, then, correcting himself, said, “Yes.”
The good angel whispered in Hick Boy’s ear, but he didn’t move. Then the devil said something, and Hick Boy’s smile turned unquestionably wicked. “Don’t mind if I do.”
The two of them left at that—although that wicked smile of Hick Boy’s was a bit worrisome. Ah, well. God didn’t create the world in a day.
Phew, I thought, sitting down in a now-empty room. That went better than expected. Satisfied with my little display, I picked up a magazine, but before I could settle I heard, “Katrina Darling? Given that you just cleared the room, I guess you’re next.”
I looked up, expecting to see a human counselor, but what—or rather, who—greeted me was Medusa.
As in the one-of-a-kind, Queen-of-the-friggin’-Gorgons Medusa.
“Ahh, hi,” I said, gulping, trying not to stare at her snakes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a huge fan.”
SNAKES AND SAGES
L iving for over three hundred years gives you a lot of time to see just about everything you want to see. But while Medusa was one of my idols, she’d only become seeable in the last four years, and I hadn’t yet had the pleasure.
And believe me, the pleasure was all mine.
She was beautiful—creamy skin, flawless symmetry, everything you’d expect from a Greek goddess, all topped with the more-than-intimidating nest of vipers cascading around her head, surprisingly similar to a regular hairstyle. But what surprised me was her age. Sure, I was living proof that someone could live an incredibly long life yet still resemble a teenager, but I would never have guessed that my idol—Medusa, Queen of the Gorgons—and I would actually have something in common! As I followed her out of the waiting room, I noticed every fashionable article of clothing on her body with delight.
We have the same fashion sense! Medusa’s stylish, just like me!
Oh, GoneGods, I was fangirling so hard. I had heard she was on campus, but I never expected to meet her face to face … this was the best day ever. Then I remembered why I was here and what had happened in the last twenty-four hours and, well, my joy came crashing down like a flaming Zeppelin.
Medusa led me into a tiny room just big enough for a small desk and two chairs. In an effort to maximize space, shelves had been fashioned to the wall behind her and climbed all the way up to the ceiling. They housed all sorts of files and books, and one of them even had Medusa’s purse and several of her personal effects out, like a cubby or an open-ended locker.
An old PC sat on the desk. She gestured to one seat and, taking the other, began tapping away at her keyboard. Two of her snakes rose high about her head and, using their mouths, picked up a bowl of jellybeans from one of the shelves. They placed the bowl in front of me.
“Help yourself,” Medusa said, not looking up from the PC screen.
The two snakes flicked their tongues at me. Snake hospitality?
“Johnny and Alfie are two of my nicer snakes,” Medusa said, punching ‘Enter’ twice on her computer keyboard. “ ‘Katrina Darling—Major Undeclared. Gardner resident.’ Interesting—says here that under ‘Roommate Preference,’ you ticked None. An Other roommate?”
“Changeling.”
She looked away from the screen. “Yikes—they’re …”
“Monumental tree huggers?”
“Quite literally, in my experience,” Medusa said. She gave me an appraising look, not unkindly. “But something tells me you can handle it. After all, you were quite resourceful in the way you handled the tension in the waiting room.”
“Thanks.”
“That said, I’m not sure how I feel about encouraging students to start drinking at—” she looked at her watch “—ten-thirty in the morning.”
“Yeah, well …” I blushed. “College life,” I added lamely.
“So you want to drop out?”
“I just don’t know if this place is for me. I mean—if my first day is any indication, then I definitely don’t belong here.”
“So drop out,” Medusa said without any hint of sarcasm or irony. “I did.”
“Excuse me? I heard … I mean, aren’t you a student here?”
“Was. They opened up the school for Others last semester and I was the first to enroll. For my one and only semester here I studied Sociology—which is really just a funny way to say ‘Studying Humans.’ I even got a 3.96 GPA. I had a full scholarship—which, given that I donated the Golden Fleece to Other Studies, they kind of owed me. Loved it here.”
“And you dropped out?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
The largest snake on her head dipped into her purse and pulled out a badge. “Thanks, M
arty,” she said, handing it over to me.
Looking at the badge, I said, “You’re a Paradise Lot Police Officer?”
“Not yet, but if everything goes right, I will be in two years.”
“So what are you doing here? Isn’t Paradise Lot …” I thought about it. “Where is Paradise Lot?”
“Oh, you know the place,” she said. “That island in New England’s Lake District. The new home for most Other refugees. I’m not there now because the school asked me and a couple other Others to come to campus at the start of the semester to do a few guest lectures on human, Other relations. You know, talk to humans who want to drop out because of Other attendance. They figured a familiar head of snakes such as myself—” the snakes all hissed, as if saying “Ta-daaaaaa!” “—would help with the adjustment … so, surprise, here I am.”
“And you’re handling my case because …”
“Because,” she said drawing out the word just like I did, “I was visiting the Head of Student Admin when some five-foot nothing, cute girl came in and did what you did. Well, I was so impressed that I asked if I could handle your case and well … here we are.”
“You think I’m cute?” I blurted and immediately regretted it. As my cheeks cycled through seventy shades of red, I tried to recover from my little faux pas by asking, “And Paradise Lot Police—what’s that about?”
Medusa smirked before saying, “I took a look around me and asked myself, ‘Where can I do the most good?’ My choices were to stay here, study humans, then get a job with some political party or activist group … or I could go to Paradise Lot and help out my own kind there.”
“So you chose to become a cop?”
“Paradise Lot is quickly becoming the only Other-majority city in the world. You know what that means?”
“That Others enjoy a good wordplay on classic literature?”
She shook her head. “There are so many kinds of Others from different traditions, religions and folklore that the mishmash of cultures in such a small place will mean a lot of conflicts. And right now, because Others are the newcomers, we need to prove that we can not only live on Earth but that we will be productive, peaceful citizens. If the world turns on their TV and sees fighting in Paradise Lot, their distrust of Others will only grow. I went there to play my part in keeping the peace.