GoneGod World: A Paradise Lot Urban Fantasy

by R. E. Vance

  She paused at the door and said, “You know the origin of ‘Good luck’?”

  I shook my head, not really in the mood for another Other lesson.

  Astarte didn’t take the hint. “The original expression was ‘May God give you luck.’ ”

  “Really?” I said, continuing my Sisyphean task of shuffling around the rubble.

  “Yes—but the problem with that was that often the god’s luck was more of a curse than a boon. So it evolved into ‘May God give you good luck’ and then to just ‘Good Luck.’ That was the last thing they said to us when they left. ‘Good luck.’ I think they were mocking us.” Her eyes took on a distant look as she recalled some ancient memory. “I never liked the expression. It implies that you don’t have control over your fate. That was the lie that the gods tried to convince mortals of … that what happens to you is destiny, out of your hands, the will of the gods. But it was always in mortal hands. Always.”

  I nodded. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Having luck means you have no control. But you always have some control. Even if it is only to run or to fight.” She looked over at me, her deep azure eyes locking with mine.

  A car pulled up to the front of the hotel and its passenger’s side door opened. “Jean, I’m sorry. It’s just that …” she started.

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” I interrupted.

  She looked at me with mournful, sad, vulnerable eyes and for the first time since meeting her I think I actually got to see what she looked like. I mean, really looked like, when you took away all the yearning and lust—deep down she was just like everyone else. Then the veil was thrown back up as she threw back her head and laughed, shaking away all the vulnerability and bringing back the want of her with it. “Look at me, so serious … Really, Astarte, mortality has made you such a drag. Listen here, lover. If you survive this, you look me up. We’ll have a drink or ten, and laugh about when the world almost ended for a second time.”

  “Sounds good to me, Astarte,” I said. “Sounds really good to me.”

  “Yes,” she said, getting into the car, “it really does, doesn’t it?”

  ↔

  With the slamming of the car door, Astarte—my only paying customer—was gone. Not that it mattered. However this was to end, it wouldn’t be with the One Spire Hotel staying open for business. I went inside and saw that my desk had been turned right-side up and there was an envelope on it. Inside, a note read, I’m not really the apocalyptic kind of gal. May you make your own good luck. Damn—even her handwriting was sexy. I opened the envelope and a stack of hundreds fell out—easily a room’s rent for a year. Hell, two years, even.

  I know that seeing that money should have made me happy. It was enough to pay off the landlord and keep all the other friggin’ bills at bay for a while. But it really pissed me off. It pissed me off that there was a hole in my hotel. It pissed me off that after all I’d been through, I’d have to shut down and break my promise to Bella. And it pissed me off that the kind, sweet, literally one-of-a-kind Joseph was dead.

  But what really pissed me off more than anything else, what really boiled my blood, turning my anger into pure unadulterated rage, was that the bastard responsible for all of it was still smiling.

  Chapter 5

  Everything Leaves Behind a Scent

  After Bella died, I joined Special Forces for a couple years. Those were the darkest days of my life and I am not proud of anything I did while obeying orders. It took a while for me to wake up, but I did. I woke up in the middle of what would be my last mission when Headquarters thought I got burned to a crisp by dragon fire. They were wrong and that’s when I went AWOL, leaving the killing and fighting behind. But I still had all the gear they sent with me. And because I was Special Forces, that was some pretty significant stuff. Stuff I’d dragged halfway across the world. Stuff that, if they knew I was still alive, they would have hunted me down years ago to get back. Stuff that was going to be useful now. Most of it I left in PopPop’s cabin where I lived in the years between leaving the Army and coming back home, but I did bring a few things with me to Paradise Lot.

  I still had the chest piece of my battle suit, an Army-issue flashlight, my Swiss Army knife and my hunting sword. The hunting sword wasn’t Army-issue. I got it off of an Other I took down in a particularly bloody battle, and because I was the scourge of the OnceImmortals, the Army let me keep it. It was eighteen inches long and curved downwards, with the last third of the blade about twice the width of the rest of it. The single edge ended about four inches from the tip where it met another razor-sharp edge, turning the last four inches into a double-edge knife. As it was intended to be a one-handed weapon, the hilt was not quite long enough for both my hands to hold it. The blade was engraved with an intricately decorated mural, depicting an ancient hunt. I asked Penemue one night what the image was of, and he—drunk and face-down in his bale of hay—looked up long enough to say, “Young Human Jean, this is the Earl King’s hunting sword. The one he carries with him on the Great Hunt. To possess it can only mean one thing. You are the one to have brought down the great King. Not bad for a social worker. He was a legend and an epic asshole. With the gods gone, he would have been hell-bent on taking over this world. Still, he did have his loyal minions …” Then he put his finger over his lips and pretended to zip it up.

  I thought about that as I tied the scabbard around my waist and sheathed the sword. Then, placing my backpack on the driest section of pipe I could find, I took a deep breath and clambered out of the sewers.

  ↔

  Tracking magic is easy. Hell, you could download novelty apps to your phone that work pretty well. All you have to do is find time.

  Seems that magic not only speeds up one’s biological clock, aging the user proportionally to the amount and strength of the magic, but it also screws with your watch. The faster the second hand spins, the closer you are to magic. Simple.

  Since my cell phone was one of those flippy kinds from the previous century and completely un-app-able, I went to my toy shelf and pulled out my Mickey Mouse wristwatch. It would do just fine.

  I left my room and checked the second hand. It was going slightly faster. I walked into Joseph’s blown out room. The site was still as it was—pipes flattened and the far wall missing. The only difference was that Joseph’s body had been taken to the morgue. I shook my head as renewed anger swelled up inside me. I looked at the watch again and saw it spin around at nearly double-speed.

  Good. This would be easier than I’d thought.

  ↔

  One last thing to do before I could begin the hunt. I knocked on Judith’s door. Light seeped out from the crack beneath her door and although she had no feet, the base darkened. She didn’t open the door.

  “Judith,” I said. “I’m going out and I don’t want you here alone just in case that guy comes back. I think you should go. Home.” There was a rustling and I heard a click from inside. The light went off. “I know you hate it there. I do, too. Too many things to remind you of Bella, but it’s not safe here.”

  Even though a closed door was between us, I could still feel the awkward silence. “Look, I just want you to be safe. Astarte is gone. Penemue is drunk and … Listen, I know you hate me. I know you think this is all my fault. That I’ve screwed up again. That’s fine, but I promised Bella that I’d take care of you and …”

  The door clicked open and Judith floated in front me. She was wearing her Sunday hat and carrying a packed bag. She glided by me with hardly a look, but when she got to the top of the stairs, she stopped. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “Not directly, but I figure I can find out where he’s staying or something about him. A weakness maybe. Anything that will help take him down.”

  “OK,” she said. She started to move again and stopped. I could see that she was having a raging debate with herself, and the side that she wasn’t rooting for just lost. She shook her head and with a sigh, looked at me
and said, “I don’t blame you. For Bella. I know you did everything you could to save her.”

  It was an old pain. A scene I’ve replayed over and over in my head. The attack, the confusion. Bella lying there, me locked out, too late to get to her. As kind and unexpected as Judith’s words were, it didn’t matter. I blamed myself. “I wasn’t fast enough,” I said.

  Judith rolled her eyes. “Always looking to argue with me.” Her voice lacked its usual ire. “No one would have been fast enough. I saw the footage. I know what you tried to do. And if I don’t see you again, then I just want you to know that I don’t blame you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Things were evolving between us. This might even have been a new chapter for us. Too bad it was likely to be a very, very short chapter for me.

  “Now, what happened at this hotel and to Joseph,” she said, the shrill quality of her voice returning. “I absolutely blame you for what happened here. Really, Jean. There’s only one way to make this right. Kick that smiling bastard right in the teeth.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “That’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

  ↔

  Armed with my Mickey Mouse watch, I tapped on Castle Grayskull’s front door and said, “Tink—it’s time to go.”

  She came out in a flash and shook her head in protest.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’m not taking you with me.”

  She gave me a concerned look and cocked her hand like a pistol, mimicking a shootout.

  “No, no—nothing like that. I’m not going guns blazing. This is a recon mission, and that’s all. No engagement.” I didn’t know what it was about talking to Tink, but my old military vocabulary always snuck out whenever I wanted to get her to do anything she wasn’t interested in.

  She gave me a skeptical look, to which I crossed my heart and said, “Swear to the GoneGods.”

  She nodded and buzzed around, seemingly convinced. That was the thing about Others—they took swears, oath, and promises very seriously. I guess in some ways we were pretty similar.

  “But still,” I said, “I don’t want to just leave you behind in case he—or anyone else, for that matter—comes back. We need to hide you.”

  Tink fluttered around, a golden tail of dust following her. She buzzed around my head three times and, like a comet, shot into Castle Grayskull. She popped out a couple seconds later wearing Man-At-Arms’s helmet and carrying He-Man’s sword. She saluted me, buzzed around three more times and grabbed an old velvet pouch I used to hold my dice. She handed it to me, gesturing for me to put it around my neck.

  “No, Tink. It could be dangerous. We’ve got to hide you. In the spot we talked about. The drainpipe of the church, and you climb to the top. When I’m back, I’ll hit the pipe twice and you come down. Remember?”

  She nodded and then tried to push through my fingers again.

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  She fluttered into my face and wagged a finger at me. I’d seen that look before. She was coming and that was that. Truth was, I was glad to have some company and swore to myself that I’d hide her before engaging anyone.

  “OK.” I softened. “OK, but first sign of trouble, we hide the pouch and you with it. Agreed?”

  She nodded once and dove into the pouch. I put it around my neck right next to my silver necklace with the plastic twisty-tie, and with a whoop the pouch went flat. I didn’t know how she did it. Burned time, I suspected. When I asked, she insisted that she didn’t, miming that there was a hole in my chest where my heart should be. Thanks, Tink, way to make me feel good about myself.

  With Tink in tow, I dressed, opting to leave behind my collarless black jacket and put on my old leather jacket and jeans. I started to put on my old Army-issue, steel-tip boots and then thought better of it. Where I was going, it was better to wear my knee-high rubber boots.

  I grabbed my old Army-issue canvas bag, prayed I wouldn’t have to open it and headed out the door.

  ↔

  I didn’t want to take the risk of being seen, so I decided to use the one advantage I had in getting around this city. I had my own personal tour guide in the sewers below. I headed to the basement and lifted the drainage grill in the center of the floor. Being in frequent use, it lifted easily enough and I climbed down.

  I made a lot of noise when entering CaCa’s domain. The last time I came in here I scared the lumbering, gentle beast half to death, and with a knee-jerk reaction he employed one of his natural defenses. There was very little natural about it. Think of a skunk’s spray, then imagine that it hung in the air like a squid’s black ink cloud. Now replace both spray and ink with what CaCa was famous for. It crusted within seconds, simultaneously blinding, nauseating and encumbering me. There were not enough baths in the world to get that stuff off of you and I never, ever wanted to go through that again.

  “Hi,” I cried out in an exaggeratedly friendly tone. “It’s me. Jean-Luc.” I added, just in case, “From upstairs.”

  There was a clamoring as I looked down the man-sized sewage drain. I couldn’t see anything and as for smell—well, there was only one thing I could smell. I turned on my flashlight and saw a river of human- and Other-waste that was thankfully only ankle-high.

  I held my breath and spoke loudly again. “Hey, CaCa—are you down here?” He might be out, painting another one of his masterpieces from his vantage point below. But then my flashlight caught a stirring and I focused on where the movement came from. Perfectly blended with the sludgy browns and grays of the pipe behind him, two eyes opened, a piece of something yuk falling into the sludge below. A grunt was followed by a hand that removed itself from the background as CaCa breeched forth from where he had, quite literally, stuck himself. It looked like someone coming out of mud, if not for the smell.

  CaCa separated himself from the wall and raised a hand in a sort of wave. From the way he did it, I knew that he was mimicking something he’d seen humans do. The wave was as unnatural to him as my presence here was to me. Still, not wanting to discourage him, I waved back. He smiled and as his lips parted, little bits of solid waste fell from them.

  Hellelujah, we can only be what we are, I thought and wondered if I was as repulsive to him as he was to me. I don’t think so, because even though he literally wore a shit-eating grin, I sensed he was genuinely happy to see me. He gestured for me to follow as he lumbered away from the cellar grate entrance.

  ↔

  CaCa led me to a drier—and considerably less fragrant—open chamber adjacent to the pipe I had entered. It was large, about three times larger than the breakfast room that I used for the “Coping with Mortality” seminar. In it were two dozen erect easels, each with canvases on them. I walked around the room and saw Paradise Lot, not for what it was, but for what it could be. Pictures of humans and Others walking hand in hand, children playing in clean streets, vibrant businesses that catered to all species. Each was rendered to a level that would have made Norman Rockwell turn green with envy, for CaCa captured hope in ways that I doubted any mortal born could. These paintings were the end of one possible path we could all take. And even though I really wanted to share in CaCa’s view of a brighter tomorrow, I knew all too well that there were darker, more likely futures for Paradise Lot.

  “I love them,” I said to a smiling, proud CaCa. He raised his hands up like an old man dismissing a compliment, as if he were saying, These old things. A hobby, nothing more.

  Such humility. CaCa was the best among us and his reward was to be tucked away, forever below, all because of the way he looked—well, and smelled. And yet, despite that, he was still so hopeful. But not for himself—I noticed that no painting had him walking in the sunlight above—solely for his fellow Others and humans.

  CaCa disappeared behind his latest painting. I started to go around, but he gestured for me to stay on the other side of the aisle. I guessed whatever he was working on was not quite ready.

  “CaCa,” I said, “I need your help.”

 
He looked around from his painting with an inhumanly wide smile on his face in an imitation of Grinner.

  “Yes. I’m looking for him. He killed the Unicorn.”

  CaCa’s smile immediately disappeared.

  “I need to also find that man who fought that grinning Other. Can you help me?”

  He shrugged.

  “That’s OK,” I said, “I have this.”

  I showed him my watch, the second hand running slightly faster than normal. CaCa understood.

  “I don’t want to wander the streets above in case Grinner is out there. And besides, he’s not who I’m looking for. I want to talk to that other guy. The one who saved me. I figure that if he burned time he’ll be relatively easy to find.” I pointed at my Mickey Mouse watch. “Can you take me around?”

  Without hesitation, CaCa stepped out from behind his canvas, smoothing his rumpled chest with his hands. With an unnatural speed, he drew a crescent on his chest that reminded me of a knight’s banner. It was of a unicorn and human standing on a crown. Apparently this was his way of saying that he was in.

  Chapter 6

  The Light at the End of the Tunnel of Shit

  Using the sewers was a fast way to travel around Paradise Lot. We walked under the city, the second hand of my Mickey Mouse watch revving up bit by bit as we progressed through the tunnels. And then we found it, in the heart of the city—Mickey went crazy, his tiny arm spinning ’round and around with such a fury I thought he’d fall apart. From the sidewalk’s drainage grate across the street, I could see the building where one of the most powerful Others the world has ever known was holding out.

  There was only one thing to do. Watch and wait.

  We were just on the outskirts of Paradise Lot and, although technically a human part of town, this area was still close enough to the center that most of the humans moved out. And it showed. The adjacent houses were falling apart with several of them boarded up or with broken windows. It was an old story. Once-upon-a-time, families lived in this neighborhood, their kids playing together as the community thrived. Then the wrong type of neighbors started showing up. Real estate prices dropped and crime rates rose until it was “Bye-bye families” … Only difference was now humans discriminated against Others, as in with a capital O, instead of just others.