Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

  “Ahhh … so a really long time ago,” I interrupted.

  “—before Christ.”

  “Oh … so a really, really long time ago?” I paused as I formulated my thoughts. There was too much old stuff going on here—stuff that, if I understood the rules correctly, should no longer be allowed to happen. “What would’ve happened if someone ate the fish … a hundred years ago? Or a thousand years ago? Fifteen years ago?”

  Astarte shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because,” Penemue chimed in, “there was always a god to stop her. Reverse the summoning before anyone could notice.”

  “And now that the gods are gone …” Sally said, “there’s no one to override the command.”

  “I don’t believe that. There’s always someone to override a command,” I said.

  “How? They’re all gone,” Sally said. “Do you honestly think that there’s some Other sitting in his or her living room, watching this all unfold, completely unaware that they have the … the what? Authority to stop this?”

  I snapped my fingers. “Bingo,” I said. It was true. After the gods left, the world went into chaos. Creatures that were once charged with guarding shrines, protecting items of immense magical power, and trusted with knowledge of how the universe was made—suddenly thrust on Earth. They were stripped of their titles and their responsibilities, forced to be like everyone else: mortal. They might have held onto their pride for a few years … but fourteen years is a long time to be like everyone else. Most Others lived fondly in their past, but no longer held on to any of their past responsibilities.

  But it was more than that. With their gods gone, many rose in rank without realizing it. Celestial beings were governed by hierarchy. When the top slots emptied, you moved up. That was how they ordered their world. There had existed a clear chain of command—defined and divinely ordained in every pantheon. That meant that some Other out there had all kinds of authority they didn’t know about because they didn’t know what section of the pyramid above them had collapsed.

  Penemue nodded. “The human Jean is correct. There is someone, but without the right documents, we cannot know who that Other is.”

  “What kind of docs?” I asked.

  “The celestial library for one. Or perhaps a—”

  “Grimoire of Metatron?”

  “Yes, the Grimoire would help. It does map out various celestial hierarchies and …” Penemue narrowed his eyes as a realization dawned on him. “How do you know about the Grimoire of Metatron? I certainly never mentioned it to you before. I know. I have a perfect memory.”

  “No …” I grinned. “No, you most certainly never did.”

  ↔

  I sprinted over to the computer. “Greg,” I said.

  “Greg?” Penemue asked. “Who’s Greg?”

  “Yeah … that little Jedi wannabe—”

  “And my date,” Astarte said.

  “And Astarte’s date—left around when everything kicked off. And that after he got all excited about the ceremony, the guest of honor and the whole hubbub. He kept talking about how this was not only the event of the year, but of the century. What did he say? The first true feast, not only since the gods left. He knew something was coming.” I snapped my fingers at EightBall. “Ask Brian if there’s any footage of Greg before and after the earthquake.”

  “On it, boss,” the kid said with a salute.

  “He knew Astarte and Atargatis were sisters. And I’m willing to guess that he knew there’d be trouble, too.”

  “Here’s the last footage of Greg right before the earthquake,” EightBall said, handing me the iPad. On it was a very nervous Greg walking into the kitchen.

  “Either he knew something was up and went to the kitchen to confirm it, or … he had something to do with it. Either way, he has answers.”

  “Are you saying that Greg did this?”

  “No, he couldn’t have done this alone. He didn’t have the influence to have Atargatis be the guest of honor, nor that the main course be carp. This stinks of The BisMark … but even a master logician needs minions. And Greg definitely gives me that minion vibe.”

  “OK … so we find my wayward date. He could be anywhere in the city, trembling in fear,” Astarte said, before muttering, “Such a shame—he could’ve been trembling under me in ecstasy.”

  Sally rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

  “Sure, he could be anywhere,” I said, “but where would you go when the world was ending and there was no chance of escape?”

  “Home,” EightBall sighed.

  “Exactly. Home … That’s where we’ll find him. And I know exactly where he lives. He told me just after he warned me about you and your sister.”

  Astarte shrugged. “Knowing where he is doesn’t help … not when that is outside waiting for us.”

  “Maybe, but I’ve got a plan.”

  ↔

  I’ve never claimed to be a master strategist. At best, I’m a brawler. So when I suggested a plan straight out of The Dukes of Hazzard, I figured everyone was going to laugh at me. They didn’t. Well, not all of them, at least.

  The plan was simple—disguise Sally as Astarte and EightBall as me, and have Penemue fly off with them in his arms. Astarte and Penemue both thought the plan was a stroke of genius. Sally, EightBall and IT support were another story.

  “That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard,” Sally said.

  “It’ll work.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because these are the same guys who thought the Trojan Horse was genius, fell for a wolf in sheep’s clothing and read ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ like it was some sort of cautionary tale.”

  To me it was a no-brainer. Get the other three out safe and sound, and stay behind to deal with the mess. I figured the worse that could happen was that our ruse would immediately be sniffed out and the Others wouldn’t go chasing after the glimmer that wasn’t Astarte and I. They’d know that we were still inside and we’d be in exactly the same place we were before I decided to invoke the Ghost of 1980s TV Troupe Past. But even if that was the case, we’d still be better off. EightBall and Penemue would be safe. Sally, too—not that she factored too much in my calculations.

  So I started going about looking for the right fashion accessories to get this done, when Sally put a hand on my wrist and said one word.

  “No.”

  Cookies and Mopeds

  “No.”

  Sally walked over to me. Her eyes locked with mine. I’m not a tall guy. Depending on my shoes, I might break five-eight. When I need to be, I can be intimidating. I’ve stared down dragons and had metaphorical pissing contests with archangels. I know how to use my stare. And it is mighty.

  But looking down at the five-foot nothing salon purveyor proved to be one of the tougher tests of will I’ve engaged in. “No,” she repeated. “No.”

  “What’s your plan? Sit here and what? Wait?” I didn’t look away—rule number one when trying to convince a strong personality to go along with your halfcocked plan. Exude certainty, convince them that you’re one hundred percent sure of what you’re doing. Anything less than that, and they’ll feel your uncertainty and dig in their heels.

  Sally didn’t say anything. She was stonewalling. That might have been fine, but we needed Sally to cooperate if the plan was going to work. She needed to play the part of Astarte. She also needed to teach me how to get the Being Human Salon defenses back online just in case our plan didn’t work.

  “What’s your plan?” I repeated, throwing in as much force in my voice as I could. “And what exactly is your objection? You afraid that they’ll get you? You already know it’s not you they want. It’s us. Maybe it’s that you can’t stand the idea of dressing like an Other. Well, let me tell you something ... That Other may be a sex-crazed succubus, but at least she accepts others the way they are. That makes her way more human than you.”

  I shouldn’t be riling her up. I sh
ouldn’t get her mad. Angry people don’t think straight. They dig in, and I needed her to cooperate. But the trouble was that I was angry. Angry at the situation outside. Angry that some Other with obscure plans was trying to destroy the world. Angry that I was, yet again, in the middle of it.

  Sally didn’t act angry. She didn’t even raise her voice. “No,” was all she said before turning and walking into her office in the back.

  Normally when someone wasn’t onboard for some harebrained scheme, I’d either go on without them or abandon the plan altogether. I couldn’t do either. This was the best plan we had, and as for going on without her, that wouldn’t work for two reasons—one, we needed her; and two, she had the remote control to her completely over-the-top security system, for whose completely over-the-topness I was at this very moment thanking the GoneGods.

  I could force the remote control out of her hands, but that wasn’t my style. I was her guest, and the last thing I was going to do was rob the lady in her own home. So I followed her to the back office, hoping that I’d come up with something that would convince her to play along.

  ↔

  It turned out I didn’t have to say anything. As soon as we were alone in her office she raised a hand, silencing me before I could speak, and said, “If this threat is as big as you say it is, the Army will be sending in troops,” Sally said. “We’ll wait until they get here.”

  I took a deep breath, calming myself. Then I shook my head. “The Army will only make things worse. Believe me—I know.”

  She nodded. She’d seen enough of how the Army dealt with Others to know I was right. “Still,” she said. “What are you going to do about it? Go off and—”

  “Get that damn book from Greg. Find out what he knows. But more importantly, find out who can stop Tiamat.”

  “It won’t work,” she said.

  “Maybe … But that’s not all we can do. We’ll find a way to stop the last of the signs from culminating and—”

  Sally snorted. “That’s like trying to battle a sandstorm with a butter knife.”

  “I’d rather do that than sit here and do nothing. Look, I get that you don’t like me. I don’t particularly like you, either. But you have to see how this plan is our only hope. You won’t be in any more danger than you are now, and I will be free to help instead of trapped in here with you. Besides, what do you care what happens to me?”

  She narrowed her eyes and angled her head as she looked at me. “Of course I care what happens to you.” There was softness in her voice, but there was also confusion on her face.

  I took a step back. I was absolutely at a loss as to why Sally cared. I ran my hand through my hair, took a step back, tried to figure out what’s going on—and for the first time since entering in her office, I looked around. I mean, actually looked around. We were in a typical office: square room with a small desk facing the door; files sat on shelves behind the desk. Hell, it even smelled like an office. Musky, its walls absorbing the smell of percolated coffee that seeped into the drywall.

  And then there were the walls. There were no plaques of achievement or family photos; they were completely bare except for one small chalkboard on the wall opposite the desk. It was one of those “Today’s Special” menu boards that you might find in any café or restaurant in the world, its black face still stained with white and pink chalk that had been erased long ago. The old board was empty, except for the name of the restaurant at the top: Hot Mama’s Cookies.

  The name snapped with memories from long ago, when I was young and Bella was alive and the Others had yet to come.

  My PopPop used to take me there for a treat—a reward for when my little league team won, a consolation when we lost. Sometimes I’d go there after school and have a hot chocolate, the only thing I could afford on my meager allowance. When I got older, it was my go-to place for dates with Bella. She loved the a chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies. I was happy with an oatmeal cookie, a glass of milk and a chance to see her smile.

  That’s why Sally looked so familiar. She was Mama, the woman behind the till—and I didn’t recognize her. Sure, it had been fourteen years since I last saw her, but it was more than that. She was different then. Smiled more, wore an apron over summer dresses—not the dresses and layers of makeup that was her uniform now. Then she was young, now she was worn. And not the worn that comes from the passage of time. It was a worn that betrayed how hard the last fourteen years were for her. How much she must have struggled to hold on to something she loved.

  When the Others came, she lost her business, her community, everything. I guess we all dealt with loss in our own way. And here I was, judging her. Sure, her mission was horrible and evil, but she had her reasons. Human reasons. In my own mission to help Others and to keep my promise, I forgot that it wasn’t just Others that lost so much. Humans lost too.

  Sally lost too.

  “Mama?”

  The older woman’s hard look all but disappeared. It was as if hearing that old name uttered again had somehow melted away so much of the hate and anger that had colored so much of her last fourteen years. She didn’t acknowledge what I called her, but I could sense that something had suddenly become very different between us. She put both hands flat on the desk and took in a deep breathe. “You’re dead set on this ridiculous plan, aren’t you?” Sally’s words jarred me back to the present.

  I nodded. “I have to do something,” I muttered. “I can’t let this happen. I need to at least try to save my city … my hotel, my business, my home.”

  “And if I don’t agree?”

  “I’d find another way out of here and over to Greg’s. One way or another, I’m going,” I said. “And this plan, as ridiculous as it sounds, is our best bet. I know … I’ve lived amongst the Others for years now. I know how they think.”

  “OK,” she sighed. “All right … Let’s say this works and they all disperse. What next? Are you going to walk the eight miles to Greg’s apartment?”

  “We’ll run,” I said, but I couldn’t deny she was right. It would take us a couple hours to get there, and then what? We had six hours, and that would waste a full third of the time we had left. For the first time I felt the magnitude of what we were facing. Maybe, if we had more time … but we didn’t. We were screwed, but still—I had to do something. I looked away.

  Sally stared at me for what felt like an eternity before shaking her head in what I thought was going to be a renewed protest. Instead, she simply sighed and said, “Fine.” She shook her head and slammed a fist on her desk. “Fine,” she repeated. “But if you get killed, I will not accept an iota of blame, do you hear me?”

  I nodded.

  “And you are most certainly not going to run eight miles.”

  ↔

  While Sally and I had been debating the merits of my plan, the others were dipping into Sally’s accessory supplies: supplies I apparently owed her a full price for, should we survive the calamity. I witnessed the transformation of Astarte from a sex goddess and Queen of Lust into an evangelist in pajamas and fluffy slippers. “I’ll need better shoes,” she said, and Sally pointed to the back of the store.

  Sally’s transformation was a bit more dramatic. She cursed me as she put on leather pants, a PVC tank top, and slicked back her hair to mimic Astarte’s androgynous hairstyle. It was ironic that despite disguising herself as an Other—something she hated—Sally looked good. OK, “good” might be a stretch.

  She must have liked the way she looked, because she kept eying herself in the mirror. Like Astarte always said, “Leather is liberating.”

  EightBall and I exchanged his hotel uniform for my white tux. Then we covered his facial tattoos with the Being Human’s makeup stock. We also found a wig of brown hair that, with liberally applied glue, looked decent enough on EightBall’s shaved head.

  “Do I really have to wear this?” he groaned. “I look like a fool.”

  “Yes, you do.” I patted him on the shoulder and pulled out the Blueto
oth earpiece. Putting it in my ear, I looked in the mirror. It felt good to be out of the tuxedo shop’s reject and back in my hotel uniform. EightBall’s collarless black jacket was a bit tight, but after what I had been in, I’d take tight over blindingly white.

  With the two of them ready, it was time for the grand exit. Astarte leaned in close and said, “Medusa would’ve loved this.”

  Crap. Medusa. In all the excitement, I forgot about her. Again. “Yeah,” I agreed. “She would. OK—you guys ready?”

  Penemue nodded and with hardly an effort picked up Sally in his massive arms. For a moment, they looked like a Harlequin Romance novel cover. As was evident by her blush, Sally must have realized this. Penemue shifted her to one arm, put another arm around EightBall and said, “Both of you, hold on. I’m going to have to get a running start for this to work.”

  Penemue charged, and at the last possible moment I pushed a button on Sally’s control panel and the reinforced door opened up. The angel burst through, knocking over a valkyrie and a dwarf before taking to the sky. By the GoneGods, he had power. Astarte, looking like Sally, cried out, “Stay out of my salon, you filthy world breakers!” I pushed another button, which immediately slammed the front door, locking us in.

  “Hey,” the dwarf cried out, “they’re escaping.”

  “After them!” cried a minotaur. And with that, the mob of Others chased after the flying angel.

  I jumped over the desk and looked at the security monitors. The Others were running after them. Holy guacamole, it worked.

  “I can’t believe it—your stupid plan worked,” Brian sighed.

  “Hey!” I said. “Never underestimate the ’80s. Never!”

  Hellelujah!

  Hairy Men, Bulls and the Predator Three

  With the coast clear, I grabbed the iPad and put it into one of the salon’s gaudy handbags. I also grabbed Sally’s keys and opened a trap door that led to a small underground garage where a moderately fast and highly fuel-efficient pink Vespa was parked.