Grapeshot Pantheon

by Dragon Cobolt

  “Oh, that was my spell!” Tethis said, cheerfully. “I based it off readings I took from Liam over the past few years.”

  “Readings,” Dr. Summer said, slowly. She tucked the tablet into one of the huge pockets of her lab coat. “How did you take readings in...”

  “A Bronze Age planet of sensual eroticism and mysterious magics?” Tethis asked, giggling. “Well, the basics are pretty simple, if you know any arcanic theory. Which...” She paused. “You don’t. Uh, do you have a stone tablet I can draw on and some chalk?”

  ***

  “Uh, wing cramp! Wing cramp!” Meg squawked. “Make the hole bigger!”

  “I’m trying!” Liam said, tugging. “Just, hold your wing shut a little bit-”

  Meg was no longer able to keep her wing pressed in the unnatural position she had forced it into. Her muscles rebelled and she spread her wings to try and stretch out the cramp. Liam went skidding backwards, covered in the tattered remains of what had once been a cotton shirt.

  ***

  Liv scowled as she looked down at herself. The pants were way too tight. How the hell was she going to kick anyone in these things?

  ***

  Liam rubbed at his back as he walked out of the dressing room and saw the rest of his bizarre extended family. He wasn’t exactly sure how he felt himself. After years of being in nothing more restrictive than a kilt and some body armor, being in a three piece suit with fancy shoes and a belt and socks and everything, it felt like he was suffocating. Of course, he thought, it was possible that this would have been suffocating compared to jeans and a T-shirt. He rubbed at the collar of his shirt and tried to put on a brave face.

  Brax looked like he was still getting the hang of wearing a shirt, since he had leaned his head around and was tugging at the shoulder with his teeth. Someone had covered his finger-tips in metal and cotton finger splints, taped into position. It looked like he had broken every single finger in his hands. Liam felt a moment of pure rage and fear – but then he saw the lack of concern on Brax’s face and instead sighed.

  “Claws?” he asked.

  “I tore the first three shirts, sorry,” Brax said, biting his lip. His teeth had left tiny, ragged rents on his shoulder.

  Fizit looked…

  Fizit looked like the most terrifyingly fuckable businesswoman that Liam had ever seen. She had been given a button up shirt with a suit jacket – clearly, someone had heard ‘head of the intelligence agency’ and gotten out whatever they’d give to some spook from the CIA. It fit her remarkably well, though her pants rode a bit low. She was missing a belt, and her tail was peeking over the back hem of her pants, which added a delicious hint of exposure to her otherwise professional look.

  Tethis had been bundled up into a thick orange sweater with a shirt that looked like it was made for a woman about twice her height. Apparently, the people picking clothes for short-stacks had decided in favor of boobage over height. Liam had a sinking suspicion that that had been the right decision, as it was easier to tuck in a long shirt than it was to free boobs trapped in a shirt meant for a ten year old. She had also gotten some short shorts that, on her, hung almost to the knees.

  Liv was the one who looked the closest to her normal – in that it was hard for her to look like anything but a faintly pissed off elf, even if she was in jeans and a T-shirt now. The thing that surprised Liam was her hair. But he made a note to ask her later.

  Meg’s clothes he was the most familiar with, as they had needed to experiment four times to figure out that no matter how many times you sliced up a T-shirt, there was no way to get the wings through without either Meg’s ability to compress her wings or the T-shirt failing at some point. And so, someone on the base had scrounged up something that Liam had never before seen in his life.

  It was called a Virgin Killer Sweater.

  “It is the best thing since sliced bread,” Meg purred, her hands slipping along the gray colored sweater that barely managed to contain her breasts, which themselves were barely contained by a hastily converted bra, which itself had been a trial to get on without cutting off circulation to her wings. The Sweater itself covered her chest, looped around her neck, but then had nothing at the back. It was simply empty space from the neck loop to the curve of her ass, where it tied together again. This meant the front strained against her belly and breasts, and her wings were perfectly free.

  “It’d almost be better if she went naked,” a muttered voice drew Liam’s attention.

  Yet another military bigwig was approaching down the corridor, followed by Chelsea. He was an older looking Asian fellow – and Liam was pretty sure he had seen him before, when he had met the President. Dredging up a name, he held out his hand.

  “General Sung?” he asked.

  “Ambassador Vanderbilt,” Sung said, taking his hand.

  They shook.

  “Welcome to Earth.” He grinned. “Officially, this time.”

  Liam laughed.

  The general walked with them through the facility. The old bunker that had become the United States’ first faster-than-light starport had been hastily converted, and the signs of continuing work were everywhere. Men in reflective vests and security badges worked at various walls, taking off ancient looking metal plates to reveal ducting and wire work that might have come right out of the Cold War. Considering the original rationale behind the construction of the bunker, Liam wouldn’t have been shocked.

  “You’ll have an escort,” General Sung said. “To ensure that none of the crazies bother you.”

  “How bad is it?” Liam asked.

  “Well, after your, ah, gods,” Sung said, making sure to emphasise how lower case that ‘g’ was. “Did their little meet and greet, this bunker has had to fend off at least two active shooters. Don’t worry.” He smiled at Fizit, who had hissed like a tea-kettle. “They weren’t exactly the kind of people who’d get past the first layer of defense. One was a fundamentalist baptist of some kind or another, I can never keep them straight. The other was a Muslim.” He shrugged. “But that’s just the people who’ve made it to the bunker.”

  “I thought this place was supposed to be a secret,” Fizit said, her tail lashing from side to side.

  “Well, it was a secret for about a week and a half,” Sung said. “But every government in the world started asking their scientists how we might have done it. The theory is, apparently, common enough among the high energy physicist communities that the same trick that Dr. Brown used to figure out the star-gate in the first place was replicated and...” He spread his hands. “There you go.”

  “You figured that out?” Liam asked, looking at Chelsea. She was waddling along at a comfortable clip. If keeping pace with them made her uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. Her grin was playful.

  “I had motivation.”

  “She means your diiiiiick,” Meg whispered, sotto voce, to Liam.

  “Is Mom talking about-” Brax asked, wriggling excitedly in Liam’s arms.

  “Meg!” Fizit hissed.

  “What?” Meg asked, her wings mantling.

  Sung looked like he had bitten down on a lemon. Chelsea was either less of a prude (and considering how fast she had jumped Liam’s bones that seemed likely) or she was just getting used to Purgatorian attitudes towards sex. Either way, her smile was playful. “It was actually how I met my husband.”

  Meg grinned. “Even when not present, my husband’s dong is magical.”

  Fizit, who had managed to clap her hands over Brax’s ears-tufts, hissed like a tea kettle thrown into a star.

  They, finally, reached the elevators that led to the exit of the bunker. Liam sighed. “So, uh, how did my mom take it?” he asked. “I...I’ve wanted to talk to her for so long. I always worried that she’d be, like...” He shook his head, trailing off. The amount of emotions that he had taken out and pondered for literal years smote him. Every quiet evening for the first few months on Purgatory, he had laid in bed, looking at the ceiling. He had felt the clos
eness of Meg (and later, Tethis and Liv and Mary and Fizit) and he had been happy. But there had always been thoughts of the life he had left behind. Those thoughts had grown less and less frequent.

  Now they were back. All at the same time.

  Sung coughed. “I see that the message didn’t reach you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wish that you’d be hearing this from one of the State Department flacks, but...” He looked at Liam.

  Liam looked at him.

  And Sung told him.

  The elevator door started to close and every workman in the corridor looked up at the sound of Liam’s furious bellow: “You fucking what!?”

  ***

  “So, what do you think of the news? Crazy, huh?”

  Lucy Vanderbilt shrugged slightly as she stirred her cocktail. The dating app she was trying – Cougrr – had promised that the fee for entrance combined with its top of the line algorithmic sorting software would deliver a higher class of man into her life. Looking at the slimy looking, used car salesman type that was filling the seat across from her, Lucy was less than convinced. She shrugged slightly and sighed.

  “I wouldn’t have believed it if it wasn’t for the footage. And even that was a bit much.” She sipped her drink and wondered when the waiter was going to come by with their bread.

  “Well,” the man began. His name was already a bit hard to place. Was it Simon? Or Gideon? Something with an ‘ion’ at the end, she could remember that. “I’m just wondering what it’s going to do to the Middle East.”

  “Oh?” Lucy asked.

  “Well, you know how they are,” the man said, shrugging slightly.

  “Oh,” Lucy said. Mr. Vibrator was definitely in her future tonight.

  “And, listen, I’ve worked there for years.” He nodded, tapping his chest, puffing up slightly. “And even after all that, I can’t tell what’s going to set them off.”

  “Ah,” Lucy said, looking down at her drink. It was gone now. She pursed her lips slightly. “W-What do you do in the Middle East?”

  “Oil,” the man said, grinning. He looked like he was pretty damn sure that’d get her even more into him. His eyes dipped to her dress. Lucy frowned ever so slightly.

  “I heard that this Purgatory place has a lot of interesting things,” she said, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s supposed to be a jungle planet, according to what the news networks have said. That means it’ll have plenty of oil. Assuming, of course, the return of Hephaestus, the god of smiting and mechanics, doesn’t upset the energy market.” She smirked. “Or do you think that he couldn’t invent a cold fusion reactor that’s cheap enough to be built in your backyard.” She shrugged.

  The slimy man coughed. “W-Well, uh...” He rubbed his collar. “That sounds a bit like a pipe dream. Besides, uh, you don’t really buy that they’re gods, right?”

  “Of course not literal gods. Just beings who have demonstrated superhuman ability on live television, and they seem to be friendly with the United States.” Lucy said. She shrugged ever so slightly, careful to keep her arms over her chest. No sense giving this guy a show. “OPEC countries might not be the best long term investments.”

  The slimy man nodded. “Yeah. Well.” He paused. “Did you see, uh, any good movies?”

  The waiter came with bread and refills for the water. Lucy sipped her water once, smiled, and said: “I need to freshen up. Be right back.”

  The restaurant's bathrooms were near the back, hidden from view by a thin half-wall topped by artificial greenery. Lucy looked around for some kind of exit for a few seconds before a quiet cough drew her attention. She turned and saw a smiling waitress.

  “Need an escape?” she whispered.

  “Yeah,” Lucy said.

  The waitress glanced back, looking through the fake shrubbery. She found Lucy’s table and clicked her tongue. “Him again?”

  “I should add some choice anonymous comments to Cougrrr,” Lucy said, her voice dry.

  The waitress chuckled, then glanced Lucy over. Lucy’s cheeks heated as she saw the interest in the other girl’s eyes. Fortunately, the waitress either guessed that now was a bad time, or she remembered that she was on duty. Instead of saying anything, she pointed. “The back exit’s that way.” She winked. “Come again, next time you swipe right.”

  Once outside, Lucy thought about switching on her phone to see if there was any fresh news about Purgatory. Unlike most of her congregation and most of her coworkers and most of her friends, she was excited by this. Yes, to see human beings (or human-like beings) claim to be gods was faintly sacrilegious. But she had never saw the point of yelling at someone over their belief, unless it was directly threatening her livelihood. God would sort it all out in the end. But the promises of their abilities was... exciting.

  A pang struck her.

  Liam had always been into science fiction and fantasy. She tried to imagine what he’d be saying about this.

  Oh, Mom, he’d say. If Thor can call down lightning at will, maybe he could power up capacitors. And if mjolnir is even half as powerful as the legends say, well, maybe we could, like, figure out how that works. Oh, wait. Don’t let anyone let Loki see the Thor movies. He might get ticked off.

  Lucy smiled to herself. Instead of turning on her phone, she walked through the parking lot, found her car, slipped in, and then drove out. As she drove home, she tapped her thumbs against the wheel. Street-lights flashed in her windshield and the darkness of night cloaked the suburbs she buzzed through in mystery. She found her eyes blurring despite herself. It had been two years. But she supposed that never being sad about the death of a child, even two years later, would be far worse than the alternative. She wiped at her eyes with her thumbs, driving slower as she sniffled.

  Distracted, she almost rear-ended a parked car before she rounded the bend to her house. She and her husband had gotten the place before prices had skyrocketed in California, and held onto it stubbornly. The price had gone up and up and up, and she figured if she ever desperately needed a million dollars in a hurry, she could nix it. But for now, she was going to keep it.

  Even if it was hard being the only woman in a house made for a family of five. But George had died before Liam had gotten any brothers or sisters. And now Liam was dead too. She shook her head.

  “Man, one bad date, and you get maudlin as heck, Lucy,” she said, shaking her head, then drove up into the garage. As the garage door wheeled shut, something nudged at her mind. Her brow furrowed. There had been several dark vans parked on the street. Like, at least four. She stood up in her car, feeling a prickling fear slide along the small of her back. She reached into her purse and found the mace that she carried. She knew she was being absurd, but…

  She opened the door.

  And dropped the mace on the floor.

  The living room held a ghost.

  An exceptionally well dressed ghost.

  Liam was pacing back and forth on his chin. “Why don’t you just interrupt the date? Or call her?”

  A lean, limber looking Asian woman in clothes that could best be described as aggressively civilian, sat in Lucy’s favorite chair. She was looking around the room periodically, and she said: “Well, her phone’s off and it’s considered a breach of security when people might-” She stopped, looking at Lucy.

  Liam turned to look at Lucy. Lucy felt the blood roaring in her ears.

  Her son was very... odd for a ghost.

  She’d have expected him to look the same. Instead, his skin was a few shades darker. His hair looked like it had been exposed to sun and wind and salt water. Also, he was definitely more muscular than he had been when the bomb blast had taken him from her. He was wearing a button up white shirt, a belt, and a set of black pants. The shirt’s sleeves had been rolled up, and she could see tiny seams of scars that definitely hadn’t been there the last time she had seen him. But the look in his eyes was exactly how she had remembered him.

  “Hi Mom,” he said, his voice husky.


  “Holy shit, that’s your mom?” A blonde haired, blue eyed woman leaned into Lucy’s line of sight. In contrast to the normal clothes of the others, her voluptuous body was contained in a single expanse of grayish cotton that looped around her neck and her hips, but left most of her sides and her back entirely exposed. That was not the most striking thing about her. Even her eyes, which glowed like a pair of LED lights, were not the most striking thing about her.

  That was her wings. They were broad and pale white and intensely real. Seeing winged people on the TV was different from seeing them in person. There was a kind of horrifying realness that the mind wanted to rebel against. They had to be fake. They had to be fake.

  “Dude,” the winged woman whispered. “Your mom is hot.”

  “Meg!” Liam yelped.

  Lucy felt as if she should faint. That would make things a great deal simpler. She could fall over and when she woke up, she could deal with this then. Instead, she stayed stubbornly conscious. She put her hands over her mouth and drew in a slow, shuddering breath. Liam stepped forward and suddenly, she was in his arms. And he was real. Her son was real and here and alive. He gave her one of his spine-cracking hugs and Lucy hissed. But she didn’t try to pull away. She simply clung to Liam and squeezed him back. When he set her back down, her knees were quivering.

  “I’m going to go chew out my men for not giving us any heads up,” the Asian woman said, her voice a low growl. She stalked off. The winged woman – Meg? - waved after her. Lucy managed to walk to the sofa before sprawling back, her knees unable to keep her up.

  “Sorry, Mom,” Liam said. “I didn’t mean to drop in like this. The State Department are keeping the details of my return, uh, secret. For at least a few days more.”

  Lucy shook her head. Mom. She was being called Mom again. “W-What? How? Happen?” she gasped out.

  Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where to start?”