Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

  Seeing her calmed me, too. More than calmed me—I regained myself, the panic almost leaving me entirely. Only one person has ever been able to bring me back to my senses like Medusa did: Bella. GoneGodDamn it!

  “Does this happen a lot? Earthquakes, I mean,” she asked again.

  “No,” I said. “As far as I know, the last time Paradise Lot had an earthquake was when the Others came.” I looked up and saw the diamond chandelier rattle and shake, its huge structure bobbing back and forth like the pendulum of a doomsday clock ticking to the rhythm of the rumbling earth. The only problem was that the hinge on which it hung wasn't designed to handle both its weight and a heavy sway, and it was only a matter of seconds before it came loose.

  “Crap,” I muttered.

  I got up on the table and, with as loud a voice as I could muster, screamed, “The chandelier! It’s coming down!” No one seemed to hear me, so I shouted again, this time trying to get the attention of people I knew. “Miral! Conner! The chandelier—it’s coming down. Everyone needs to get under the table.”

  “What?” Miral said, cupping her ear to hear me in the chaos.

  “The chandelier!” I pointed at the swinging crystals.

  Miral got it and wasted no time, gathering the Others around her, gesturing for them to take cover. As for Conner, considering he was new to Paradise Lot, the guy was all pro. Calm and confident, he’d gotten the idea before me and was already directing Others to get down. I looked over at The BisMark, thinking that maybe he could make an announcement. At first, I thought it would be difficult to get his attention, but he was staring right at me, a calm, curious smile on his face. I pointed up at the chandelier and mouthed, “Warn everyone.”

  The BisMark nodded, but his gaze made me think that he was contemplating something else, completely unfazed that the ground beneath him shook. How long does an earthquake last, anyway? I didn’t have time to think about that now.

  The BisMark turned his head and narrowed his gaze as if in deep thought. Then, as though a switch went on somewhere in the back of his head, his eyes lit up. “Folks, folks—seems the gods have heard us after all. Now, I’m not one to cower, but it does appear that my beautiful chandelier is about to come down. I have no idea where or on whom, so I suggest that everybody get under their tables.” He spoke in a calm, even voice that cut through the mounting chaos.

  His voice overpowered the panic, unraveling it like a loose thread undoes a wool sweater. The crowd slowly calmed down until they stopped screaming altogether. Every single eye trained on BisMark just before they all dropped to their knees, like they were about to start some prayer to the Mecca that was BisMark. But instead of prostrating themselves, they shuffled under their tables. Others of all shapes and sizes crawled for safety, camera crews deserted their equipment, even the staff of stone waiters left the room, lest the chandelier crush them.

  “That means you, Grimlo and Milton!” The BisMark pointed to a dwarf and a cyclops who stood defiantly. “I know you two are some of the toughest Others this world or any other has ever known, but that chandelier light is hotter than the flames of Tartarus, encased in a shell harder than the Great Gold Wyrm’s scales. Make no mistake, it’s about to rain down on this place like fire and brimstone.” He carried on as if he was narrating a play rather than actually trying to save lives.

  The dwarf huffed and the cyclops blinked angrily, but both got under their tables without further protest. I was just about to jump down myself, when I noticed that The BisMark did not move. “Come on,” I yelled. “You too.”

  “Me?” he said, his hands on his chest. With an exaggerated look of indignity, he shook his head. “Oh, not me. I’m not in danger. There is nothing in this realm or in any other that can hurt me.”

  “Oh, give me a break,” I said. I’d seen this before—grand creatures of Valhalla or Tartarus believing that they were invincible because when the gods were here and they were immortal, nothing could harm them. They forget the one fundamental change in this GoneGod world: everyone dies.

  I ran from table to table toward the stage. By the GoneGods, I’d wrestle this feathered peacock to the ground if I had to. But when I tried to tackle him, it was like hitting a big redwood or the side of a cliff. Immovable. And I don’t mean that I couldn’t budge him. There was always some give, even when wrestling a giant beast far stronger than me. I mean he did not move. There was no compression of skin, no ruffling of one of his peacock feathers on that ridiculous suit of his. “Really, Mr. Matthias. I already told you, nothing in the mortal realm can hurt me.”

  “All the same,” I grunted, “I think you should get down.”

  It was at that moment that the chandelier let loose from the ceiling and, just as my luck would have it, swung to the stage. The whole thing came shooting our way.

  “Again, Mr. Matthias,” he said. “As I mentioned earlier, those stars will not hurt me. Nothing will. Nothing can.” He swirled around to put his body between me and the stars. I watched the bits of crystal shoot across the room like a meteor shower of fire.

  “Ohhh, crap!” I yelled, trying to free myself from The BisMark’s grip and get to cover. But he held me, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. Streaks of orange and yellow, red and blue flew past us, and not a single shooting star touched him. I watched in horror as a tiny fleck of flame flew between The BisMark’s earlobe and neck, missing him by no more than a millimeter, and landed right on my forehead. It felt like I’d been stung by a bee—a bee with a stinger dipped in sulphuric acid and lava. “Ahhh!” I screamed.

  “You should have taken your own advice and gotten under a table, Mr. Matthias,” he said, licking his finger and rubbing the boiling pinprick on my head. The heat immediately subsided and with it, the earth finally stopped shaking.

  ↔

  The chandelier falling seemed to be the earthquake’s cue to stop. Little streams of smoke billowed from where the stars had fallen, littering every inch of the stage. Every inch, except where The BisMark stood. Behind us was a shadow perfectly outlined by little black pocks of fiery heat. I guess he was right—he really didn’t have anything to worry about.

  He picked up one of the smoldering meteorites. He tossed it to me and I yelped—in a very manly way—as it touched my flesh. But it wasn’t hot to the touch. Warm, yes, but far from the heat that burned my forehead.

  “Thing about stars,” The BisMark said. “Once they fall, they lose their sizzle.”

  “Stars?” So Medusa was right. I looked around at the black motes on my stage and muttered to myself, “Falling stars just ruined my stage … and why not? An angel lives in my attic and my girlfriend has a head of snakes. ”

  “Indeed,” The BisMark sighed, bringing me back to the present. “That chandelier, as you called it, took me over three hundred thousand years to collect and design. And now … gone in the blink of an eye. Such is the way of this mortal world, is it not? Very well, then, I shall adapt. That is what I have done and that is what I will always do.” The BisMark looked at me curiously. “As for you, Mr. Matthias. That was very brave of you. Foolish, but brave nonetheless.” He moved, and I watched as his shadow followed him, leaving behind another silhouette of clean, unmarred stage. “Of course, please bill us for the damage.”

  He strolled over to Atargatis, who was composing herself as her seven creepy kids helped her up. Bob picked up the partially eaten fish off the floor like he was picking up his dead hamster. Little solemn tears rolled down his cheeks. His sister consoled him as she, too, cried. A lot of emotion for a ruined dinner, but who knew with these Others? I guess for immortal children, it was perfectly OK to cry over spilled milk.

  Astarte stood close to the stage without saying or doing anything, her expression equal parts curiosity and concern. I considered a running interception in case she tried to get at Atargatis again, but I could see from her downtrodden gaze that she wasn’t going to attack.

  “OK,” I said, “I’ll assess the damage.” I had no idea ho
w to do it, but I figured I’d employ the crew of dwarves to fix it up and charge The BisMark double.

  “Very good, Mr. Matthias. You do that. But in the meantime …” The BisMark snapped his fingers. Stewart suddenly animated, turning the mics back on. The BisMark tapped his mic—three muffled cracks echoed across the ballroom, punctuating his first three words. “Well, well, well … looks like we brought the sky down! But this is not the first time that the earth shook or the sky fell, and we’re still here. We are still here!” He wagged an admonishing finger up at the heavens. “Try as you might, you will not ruin this night!”

  The audience slowly emerged from under the tables, silent until a storm giant started to clap thunder. “That’s right,” The BisMark said, pointing at the storm giant. “Bring the rain. Bring the lightning. Bring the hurricane. We’ll ride through it all. Won’t we, Jean? Please join me in giving thanks to my hero who gallantly risked life and limb to protect me!” He stepped back, pointing at me, before clapping himself.

  The audience hooted and whooped at me, while I tried to shield my face. It was one thing to be hanging out in the background, hiding from the cameras. It was another thing altogether being in the center of the stage. Turning my back to the audience, I whispered, “What are you doing? The cameras.”

  “Oh, come on. I’ll burn a bit of time to blur out your face. Promise.” The BisMark’s eyes illuminated, and I wondered if this was a trick to lure me in and then very publicly turn me out. If the Army found me, I would be court-martialed. That was serious jail time. But I was comforted by one undeniable fact about Others: They didn’t believe in mortal justice. It was one of the hardest things for them to accept in this GoneGod world, and whenever they got a chance they exercised their own brand of divine retribution. If they had a beef with someone, they never called the police or sued you. They performed some ancient ritual that usually involved chanting, incense and blood. Lots of blood. If The BisMark wanted to take me down, he’d do something much more elaborate. He was that type—just look at his suit.

  Still, The BisMark was different, and maybe, just maybe, his special brand of justice was indeed mortal justice. I had played into his hands by jumping on stage and standing in front of everyone. And so I had a dilemma: I either trusted BisMark, or I didn’t. Not that it made any difference. The cameras were trained on me and there was nothing to do but hope BisMark was true to his word.

  And as if reading my mind, The BisMark whispered, “Don’t worry … I will be true to my word.”

  “OK,” I said. “I’m going to believe that you are. Besides, I can’t worry about that now. We have to cancel the gala, send everyone home. That was an unnatural earthquake, and—”

  “Cancel? Why? Things are going great. After all, it’s not a party unless Nature or Chaos takes notice. It’s just their way of saying, ‘Hi.’ ”

  “Nature? Chaos?”

  The BisMark shook his head. “Oh, Human Jean, you have much to learn. That earthquake wasn’t a bad thing. It was a boon.”

  “For who? I don’t think that—”

  But before I could finish, he spun me around and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, OnceImmortals and AlwaysMortals, let me present to you our human friend who risked life and limb—and a few strands of his hair—to make sure that yours truly was safe. He put my life before his, and if that doesn’t make him a hero, then I don’t know what does. Unlike Hercules, he’s not half a god. Unlike Odysseus, he hasn’t been cursed. Unlike Benkei, he doesn’t have a destiny to fulfill. He is just an ordinary, regular human. But he is a human who cares.” The BisMark lifted a single finger up. “Give it up for the human who cares!”

  The Others went friggin’ crazy. And I don’t mean the usual stomping and grunting, hopping and cheering. I mean that every single Other hooted and screamed. I know that most of it was for The BisMark, with less than ten percent of it for me, but that ten percent was enough. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my skin felt tight. Their screams chased away the air, and I couldn’t breathe. I started to go dizzy and I felt like I was going to faint. The BisMark grabbed my wrist and lifted it up in a victory dance. But he might as well have blindfolded me and spun me ’round and ’round. My heart raced as my vision blurred, the crowd turning into a hazy, macabre scene of cheers and jeers. I was going to pass out, and—I swear by the GoneGods—The BisMark knew it. He wanted me to pass out, and a voice that was more inspiration than anything else spoke harshly within me—This is my moment. Mine! And you’re stealing it.

  The voice was crushing, and I knew that in a second or two I’d fall to my knees and pass out. Then what? Get carried away? Taken to my room? Left alone. That wouldn’t be so bad.

  You always hated being the center of attention, echoed another, softer voice—this time not from my mind, but from somewhere much deeper. You would be happy if the world left you all alone, my people-hating Jean …

  “The whole world,” I whispered, “but not you. Never you.” And then I saw her. Bella, standing in the crowd. She was not clapping or cheering. Just giving me that playful look of hers—a look that said, “Buck up, Jean, it’ll be over soon.” The apparition I knew to be a dream folded her arms over her chest. “In this life and the next,” I mouthed.

  I knew that she wasn’t there. She was the mirage I needed in order to find balance. And it worked. Just thinking of Bella equalized me and, suddenly, I was fine. Oh, my Bella—you could always save me. I sighed and, calmed, looked over at The BisMark. He was grinning from ear to ear, loving the elation the Others bestowed upon us.

  He looked at me and smiled.

  I smiled back, and for a split second his lips betrayed confusion. He patted me on the back and bowed in my direction, hands clasped together in reverent thanks. Then in a low, respectful voice he said, “Jean, amongst your species, you truly are one of a kind.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  Hellelujah!

  Apocalypses Aren’t Just the End of the World—They’re a Mind-Set

  The crowd eventually died down and I was ushered off stage by Stewart, who exhibited about as much emotion as a toaster. Clearly I had had my moment in the spotlight, and it was time to give it back. That was fine by me.

  Besides, I had something far more important to attend to—Astarte was gone. I didn’t like the way she had lurked near the stage, staring at her sister with that odd look of hers, but sometime between the crowd erupting and me getting off stage she had disappeared. Atargatis sat at the table holding back tears, as her seven children stood around her solemnly watching their mother’s despair.

  Either she was upset over her moment being stolen, or Astarte had managed to get in a quick jab before disappearing. Maybe it was both. Either way, it was clear that her evening was ruined.

  At least that was how I saw it. Just once I’d like to be able to read situations concerning Others correctly. Had I read this one, I would have done something. Anything. Instead, I went back to my table, completely unaware of what was coming.

  ↔

  Music I didn’t recognize pumped through the speakers as the stone gargoyles cleared the tables, the chairs and the spilled dinner. Others from all walks of life started dancing in their own quirky way. A cèilidh jig, a do-si-do, a pako-pako and a dozen other dance styles mixed on one dance floor.

  At least twerking hadn’t caught on—thank the GoneGods for small miracles.

  Awkward and staged, more than one Other pandered to the cameras, and I was starting to understand what The BisMark was up to. He wanted to show the human world their vulnerabilities, their weaknesses. If we were to get along, the humans needed to see the Others not as powerful creatures of myth or the tangible reminder of the GoneGods, but as fragile beings … just as lost as everyone else.

  The thing about Others—many of them may walk on two feet, but their gait wasn’t human. Maybe it was their bulk or extra appendages, or the fact that most of them lived a near eternity in places far more pleasant, or far more hot than Earth—whateve
r it was, you could always tell an Other was an Other by the way they walked. And so when they attempted human dances, it came out clumsy, awkward and somewhat humorous. Sure, the average home viewer would laugh at a dust devil doing the Macarena dance, but laughing at it would dull the monster’s teeth and make its claws less fearsome.

  You can’t be afraid when you’re laughing. The two emotions simply can’t occupy the same space.

  And once the laughter fades, most humans will step up and teach that very same dust devil how it’s done. Not that there’s anything right about the Macarena.

  I wasn’t sure if this tactic would work, but I had to give it to The BisMark—at least he was trying.

  ↔

  I scanned the room, looking for Greg. Maybe he’d know where Astarte was. But he was gone too, which probably meant that the two of them went upstairs to start another awkward dance of their own. And with Brian in the room, Astarte was about to be the centerpiece of a nerd-vana.

  So that was one problem solved. I hoped. Sex doesn’t have the habit of solving a lot of problems. It was more of a “defer to a later time” kind of animal. Very well then—one problem deferred and a dozen more to deal with. If—and the jury was still out on this one—The BisMark was right and the earthquake was a good sign, or simply some Other burning a bit of time for fun, then I didn’t have to worry about the fact that the ground shook. Still, my experience taught me that an act of nature was rarely an act of nature when Others were around.

  But until the problem presented itself, there was nothing I could do about it. So, yet another problem was deferred, which meant that the problems I had left were still numerous and demanding. I had Sally and her Being Human Salon to deal with and, despite Stewart’s assurance the WildMan wasn’t going to crash the party, I doubted the gargoyle knew what they were up against. I swear that his chest hair alone could stop bullets. Regardless of whether or not he crashed the party, he attacked my friend, and I wasn’t going to let that go. Sooner or later we were going to have words. More than words.