by R. E. Vance
“Have we met before?” I said, looking back up at him. I tried to imagine him without the liver spots or wrinkles. I tried to see him as he once was and remembered nothing.
“I don’t expect you would. I was … in the background. But we have met. More than once. We never spoke though, even on that long, turbulent plane ride to Helsinki.”
Helsinki? I had been there only once, as a guard for the Ambassador and Bella on one of their failed diplomatic missions. I had never liked flying, and when the plane was tossed around like a leaf in a hurricane, I threw up, several times. I was convinced that some demigod once worshiped for weather was trying to kill us all. I was supposed to be the soldier. The one calm in the face of death, and yet I was falling apart. Like I said earlier, I want to see death coming, and falling out the sky in a metal cage didn’t cut it.
And all the while, Bella and the Ambassador had laughed at me, both cool as cucumbers. “What’s the matter, Jean-Luc?” the Ambassador said. “Scared of a little wind?”
“Easy for you to say,” I said. “You have wings.”
“Ahh, yes—that is true. And moreover, should we fall from the sky, I am strong enough to save at least one of you. But only one. Tell me, Jean, who should I save? You, Bella or someone else?” He gestured to the half dozen or so fellow passengers.
“The one who has the most worth,” I said without hesitation.
The Ambassador chuckled. “That is a soldier’s answer. But we are diplomats now. Answer me as that. Who do I save?”
“I don’t know,” I said in between dry heaves.
The Ambassador opened the question to the floor. “Come on—someone must know the answer. Who do I save?”
A couple of people jokingly said, “Me, please.”
Another said, “If you save him, he’ll barf on your shoes in thanks.” Another laugh.
Then, from the back of the plane a voice said, “No one. Not even yourself.”
“Indeed,” the Ambassador said, snapping his blunted fingers. “To save one over another is to value one life over another. And in this brave new world, no one life, no matter their species, role or purpose, should be considered more valuable than any other. That includes my own.”
“So do nothing?” I snorted with derision.
“I never said that. But as a leader, it is incumbent on me to save everyone or die trying.”
Lost in the memory, I refocused on Hermes and said, “It was you on the plane. The one who answered the Ambassador’s question.”
He nodded. “He was a great Other.”
“Was he?” I asked.
He met my uncertainty with his own certainty and nodded. “He was. And so was your wife. Not a great Other, but a great creature—a great human being.” He poured himself a second glass. “You do not have to drink, but you do have to join me in a toast. To Bella.” He handed me the glass.
I could drink to her. We clinked. “You knew her?”
“Worked with her. She was such a special human,” he said, taking another sip. I could have sworn when he started drinking it, the glass was filled with white wine, but now it was a crimson red.
“And you’re in town to meet Joseph?” I asked.
Hermes nodded.
“And the cynocephaly? Were they here for Joseph as well?”
“Guards that knew both the Ambassador and Bella,” Hermes said. “They were to meet us in town and resume their role as guardians while we continued their work.”
“And what was their work, exactly?”
“All in good time,” Hermes said.
“All in good time? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I have yet to assess your character and deem you worthy to know.”
I felt the rage within me rising. “My character,” I said. “My character? You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re the guy who comes into my town, destroys my hotel, and I’m the one being judged?” Hermes met my gaze with an even demeanor, which only served to anger me more. “So Penemue guessed right. You are the messenger.”
“The messenger,” Hermes said absently. “Yes, I suppose you could call me that.”
“You’re the guy responsible for that doozy of a message … What was it? ‘Thank you for believing in us, but it is not enough. We’re leaving. Good luck.’ You couldn’t have given us a little more, don’t you think?”
Again he nodded, casual and relaxed, as if I was asking him if he was the one who cooked dinner or brought the dessert.
“Of all the arrogant Others I’ve met … Our world changed in an instant, thousands died and all you could give us were those three short sentences.”
“What did you expect me to say?”
“An explanation. A reason. Some guidance.”
“Really,” he said, pointing at me. “And tell me, had I spoken page after page of instruction, would you have listened?”
“Maybe not me, but others might have.”
“Really? And what would have happened when one group interpreted my words one way and another group understood them another way?” he said, bitterness rising in his voice. “I’ll tell you: exactly what happened every time they gave me the task of sending you mortals a message. More misinterpretation. More war. More death. No matter what I said, no matter how I consoled you, tried to guide you, you humans have an incredible ability to hear exactly what you want to hear and then kill anyone who understands differently. Well, no more. If this was to be the last message I was to give the mortal realm, then let it be clear for once.”
“And was it?”
Hermes shook with rage. “I don’t know,” he yelled, “you tell me. In all the fighting, all the killing, did any of it have to do with how the message was received? Or was it just human nature’s unwillingness to share? You know, Joseph told me all about you … about your desire to redeem yourself, your promise to Bella … He told me about how you want to fix some of the things you broke. Clean some of the blood off your hands.” Hermes drew in close, his face less than an inch from mine. “But you are not the only one with blood on your hands. Try eons fighting over misinterpreted messages, centuries of killing for words misheard, and then you will truly understand what it means to have blood on your hands.”
Hermes stood up and poured himself a second drink. Taking a large gulp, he turned to me and said in a calm voice, “But we’re really not here to talk about me. This meeting is about you and the girl whom you promised to love forever. In this life and the next.”
↔
“How do you know those words?” I demanded. “That’s what I said to her the night I proposed.”
Hermes ignored me. “When the gods left and kicked out their denizens from their realms, it was like …” He searched for the simile. “Like kicking out your family, turning off the lights and locking up the mansion.”
“So?”
“Look, when the gods created humans and Others, they gave both of us immortality. For humans it was the afterlife. For Others it was endless life. And when they left, they took that immortality away from everyone. And that was OK. At least by Bella’s estimation. At least it was equal to all. But what wasn’t fair was forcing us all to live together. For so much change … But if the Void could be reopened, for both humans and Others, then we’d have more space. And what’s more, it wouldn’t be about Others coming to Earth, it would also be about humans going to the Void. Equal. Even.
“So, Bella was seeking a way to reopen the Void. She figured if we get into that space and start again—this time without the gods to control us—well then, we’d be masters of our own destinies. And with that, things would get better.”
I was stunned. It was true that I knew she was working on a secret mission, but I always assumed it was diplomatic in nature. I figured it was something like trying to find a territory where the Others could make their own nation—I just never assumed that that nation would be on another plane of existence.
“Did she?” I asked, the words stumbling out of my l
ips. “Did she find a way back?”
“I was hoping you knew the answer to that.”
I shook my head. “All I know is that my wife is dead because a bunch of Others tried to play God.”
Hermes looked down, hope draining from him. “You are right, Human Jean-Luc. We did try to play God. I am sorry for your loss.”
“Oh, you’re sorry for my loss. OK, then. All is forgiven. Are you friggin’ crazy?” I screamed. “You’ve got to give me more than that. What happened? Tell me something! Anything!”
His eyes softened. He said, “Yes. She failed and that failure came at the cost of her life. Still, she found something. A clue as to where the Void is and how to get there. That’s why Joseph contacted me, but before we could meet, the Avatar of Gravity showed up.” His voice was distant. “That’s why I saved you. Because I hoped you knew something. But you don’t, and I lost all that time believing in something that doesn’t matter anymore. The mission is over. Failed. Done. Their once-upon-a-time divine purpose lost. It simply doesn’t matter anymore. We tried to right the world, fix what was broken, and we lost.”
“What about the Avatar? He clearly thinks there’s hope.”
Hermes shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I believe he followed the Unicorn in town for the same reason I saved you. For the hope that the Void was found. Once he learns that such hope is false, he too will disappear.”
“Not good enough,” I said. “He killed Joseph. He hurt a lot of people. We can’t just let this go.”
Hermes laughed. “Why not? For justice? What justice is left in this world? Peace is all we can hope for. Leave him be and he will leave you be. Nothing matters anymore. Now go. Leave me to live what little time I have left to tend my garden.”
I looked over at this supercharged Ghost and in him I saw utter defeat. I’d seen it before, in the eyes of soldiers who, either from fear or exhaustion, believed there was a bullet out there just for them. And like a self-fulfilling prophecy, those guys never lasted very long. Then I thought of Bella and the mission she had been on. How damn important it was. How much she believed in Others and this Ambassador. How determined she was to help. I couldn’t let this all fade away. If not for me, then for Bella.
Our eyes connected. Even though I was looking at a face that was more than sixty years old, his eyes were still those of a young man. They had yet to soften by years of experience and understanding, still holding the hardness of youth and determination. There I saw the glint of empathy. He knew Bella. He knew me. And he knew how much we loved each other. How I would end my life without a millisecond of hesitation if it meant she could breathe for another hour. That’s what we meant to each other, and everyone who knew us knew that.
I stood to take my leave as the pain still burned inside me. I thought about telling him about my dreams. About Bella. And how Grinner knew about them. That might mean something. Then again, it might not. I looked over at the old, defeated Ghost and knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Like I said before, I’d seen that look. He was done—no point in adding to his anguish. Still, before leaving I wanted to let him know that although his fight was over, mine was not.
“It does matter,” I said, offering him my hand. “It matters to me.”
He didn’t take my hand. Like I said—defeated. Fine, I’d leave him to his relative peace.
I headed for the door, when the chandelier lights flickered. Shock painted his face and in haste he ran over to his candles. They were all still lit and yet, somehow, Grinner had found us.
The old man’s eyes darted around the room before he took a deep breath and, resigned that escape was not an option, said, “It will not matter to you for much longer.”
Chapter 7
Betrayal Can Be Sweet
The lights flickered as Hermes stood too fast for his old, brittle bones to handle. “Damn,” he winced as he lit more candles. “I don’t understand. I just don’t understand. The candles, they are not working.”
“Just tell him what you told me,” I said, drawing my sword. “That it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Hermes ignored me, still looking at his candles.
There were two points of entry into this room. Others were into “grand entrances” and, given the kind of personality Grinner had, I was pretty sure he’d come through the front door. I stood next to it, readying my sword. If I could time it just right, I might be able to impale him before he even got in.
That plan went out the window when the building started to shake. He wasn’t coming in the front door, or any door for that matter. He was going to simply use Hermes’s house to crush us.
Struggling to keep my balance, I yelled over to the demigod, “Do something!”
He returned my gaze with bitter, frustrated eyes. “I have already wasted enough time on you.”
The baseboards were beginning to crack. I looked out the window and saw Grinner standing in the middle of the street, looking as youthful as he did the day I first met him in the parking lot of St. Mercy Hospital. Holy crap, this Other had hardly aged at all, with only light wrinkles and a few strands of white hair to show for his epic battle with Hermes.
Grinner lifted his hands up in the air, and I was no longer looking directly at him from the first-floor window. I was looking down at him from the first-floor window. He was levitating the whole house. Grinner wrenched his hands apart, and the floor on which I stood crumbled away. I grabbed on to the window ledge, my feet dangling beneath me as I hung from the floating home.
Hermes had been smarter or slower than me, because he didn’t grab on to anything when the building lifted. He just sat on his wood-panel floor, which did not budge, clutching on to those damn candles, which were no longer lit. Meanwhile my flooring did move. A lot.
As the building hovered about fifteen feet above the ground, I prepared to let go. My plan: fall into a roll and use that momentum to charge Grinner with sword in hand. If I timed it right, I’d be able to cut off his head before he did anything else.
That was the plan, at least, but the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Grinner pushed down with the palm of his hand just when I was about to make my move, dropping the house flat and cracking open the ground—and Hermes and I were together swallowed by the Earth.
↔
We tumbled into the sinkhole Grinner had created, and I gracefully hit my head on every loose piece of furniture, debris and floor as I fell, conveniently missing carpets and pillows on the way. Hey, at least I was being consistent. Above me, the low-hanging chandelier was compressed against the ceiling. Grinner had flattened the building on top of us. I tried to imagine what it looked like from the outside—a building perfectly flat, the rubble on the smooth level surface a comical jigsaw puzzle of brick and mortar, roof tiling and chimney. To the unsuspecting pedestrian, it would have looked intentional.
Hermes sat in the corner, still kneeling by the candles, gathering them around him like some goblin hoarding gold, even though he knew there was no escape. If only to hold on to them one more minute. He quickly put the unlit candles in pockets, leaving behind the few that had somehow managed to keep their flame. He held the candles in his hands, under his armpits, one in his mouth.
“Come on,” I yelled, the words sending a jolt of pain through my head. I was looking around the collapsed room for an escape.
Hermes looked up at me, managing a smile despite the candle he bit into, and said, in a muffled voice, “Uh, coming …” But it was too late.
As the words left his mouth, a section of the ceiling crumbled and Grinner slowly lowered himself inside, sealing the hole he made behind him.
↔
“How did you find us?” Hermes asked, still clutching his candles.
I was less concerned with how he found us and more concerned with escape. I stood to face Grinner, my head still spinning, when the room went heavy—as in the-opposite-of-being-on-the-Moon heavy—and I dropped to my knees.
Grinner hissed, “How else? The fall
en angel betrayed you.”
Penemue. That’s why he was so insistent on knowing where I was.
Grinner turned to Hermes and, in an exaggerated show, blew out one of the candles that remained lit. Once he’d done that, his smile widened, pushing his eyes out to the sides of his head and making him look like a crazed deer. He said, “You almost made it. Almost escaped. But how can a OnceMortal defeat one such as I? Still, to be so close must make you bitter.” Then, turning to me, he said, “What is the mortal expression? ‘Close only counts in …’ ” Grinner snapped his fingers, gesturing for Hermes to complete his thought.
“Horseshoes and hand grenades,” I muttered.
“That is correct. Horseshoes and hand grenades. You cannot blame me for not remembering. Despite all these years of being mortal, there are so many of your mundane objects I have yet to learn about.” As he said the word mortal he brushed the arms of his black overcoat as one might try to clean dirt off one’s self, and now he was holding the box—he must have taken it from Penemue. Grinner looked over at me. “But that is all about to change.”
“How?” Hermes asked. “The Ambassador and Bella—they failed.”
The Avatar of Gravity’s smile widened further. “You are half-right. The Ambassador did fail, but the human known as Bella … she did not,” he said, tossing me Joseph’s box.
I grunted as I caught it—it felt as heavy as a bowling ball. “What do you want from me?” I asked, my head hurting way too much to think of anything obnoxious to say.
Grinner chuckled. “A kiss and nothing more.”
Prologue
There is this girl whom I love very much. I’ve only been back with her for less than a year when the Devil walks through our front door and offers Bella a job. These days, the Devil calls himself the Ambassador, because he has dedicated his life in this new GoneGod World to brokering peace between humans and Others. He’s still too large, too red, too self-assured and too sulfurous-smelling for me—a stinking rose by another name.
