by R. E. Vance
And so there I was, strolling with Medusa on Paradise Lot’s Promenade, eating ice cream … having a good time.
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To the casual observer, Paradise Lot’s Promenade still had all the features of a holiday beachfront—an ice cream parlor, an arcade and bowling alley, a few seaside cafés and restaurants, and an old Ferris wheel that should have been decommissioned a decade ago. A straight line of beach with a strip of road that separated the sand from the buildings, there was nothing particularly unique about the Promenade except that it belonged to Paradise Lot. That meant that although it was a fully-developed vacation spot, it missed the only thing that made promenades promenades: vacationers. Once-upon-a-time humans had come from all over the world to visit Paradise Lot’s oceanfront, but nowadays you hardly ever saw a bipedal AlwaysMortal here. Paradise Lot was where the Others lived. Not all of them, of course, but this was probably the only city on Earth that had an Other-majority population, and even after fourteen years of cohabiting on this tiny blue planet, my species still avoided Others-only neighborhoods.
That was not to say that Medusa and I were alone. The beach was filled with sunbathing lizard people, kappa and tláloc, who had permanently set up camp here.
Medusa took my arm and pulled me in close so I could smell her vanilla conditioner. It was strange to smell it, given she had no hair, and I suspected that it was more like vanilla-scented leather relaxant for her snakes. She was a petite girl, standing about five foot nothing, which meant that I was almost a head taller than her. I felt tall. I rarely felt tall, especially not when my best friend was an eight-foot fallen angel.
We walked on the sun-baked beach in relative silence as we both licked away at our ice cream cones in a losing battle to eat it before the sun did. Medusa had an unfair advantage as her snakes partook in the occasional lick on their mistress’s behalf.
We reached the water and Medusa touched the sleeve of my black collarless jacket. “Why do you always wear this thing?” she asked.
I looked up at the cloudless sky with its blistering hot sun and said, “I guess I misinterpreted the day.”
She giggled. “No, silly. Why do you always wear this jacket?”
I didn’t tell her that it was my hotelier uniform that I wore every day. Nor did I mention that I really didn’t have much in the way of a wardrobe. And I certainly didn’t tell her the truth: that I was on this date out of a sense of duty, and that this jacket was my uniform. Wearing it made things a little less blurry. For me, at least. Instead I shrugged and said, “Habit.” I looked up at the relentlessly bright sun and sighed. “I guess some habits are bad for you.” I took it off and slung it over my forearm.
Medusa giggled.
“Aren’t you hot?” I asked. It was a stupid question, given that she was wearing a light sundress and little else. And as if to answer my question, she looked up at the sky. Immediately one of her snakes moved so its shadow would cover Medusa’s eyes. Medusa did what she always did: she smiled.
Ahh … Medusa. She wasn’t what you’d expect if you read the legends about her. Sure, she had a head full of snakes, but she wasn’t a scary, hideous monster. She was one of the friendliest Others to come to this planet since the gods left. And she was far from hideous. Quite the opposite—she was beautiful: rosy cheeks, charming dimples, cute freckles on her cheeks that accentuated her infectious smile. And her body—well, ahhh—she looked like she’d been sculpted. Sensual curves in all the right places, a bosom that sat firm in her low-cut dress … Medusa was hot. My eyes must have lingered a little too long because one viper on her head hissed at me with ice-cream-colored lips.
“Marty, be nice,” she said, petting the snake. “Actually, the tongue-flicking cools me down.”
“Really?” I asked.
“No,” she laughed, pulling out lip gloss from a chic Hello Kitty purse. “But you deserved that for staring. Want some?”
“Ahh, sorry,” I said, taking the gloss as I willed myself not to blush.
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We ate our ice creams in silence, looking out at the water. I don’t know what Medusa was thinking about, but from the way her snakes eyed me—all thirty of them—I knew she wasn’t contemplating the beauty of the ocean. Medusa slowly and not-so-subtly edged her way closer to me millimeter by millimeter. She started to yawn, then stopped mid-inhale. Crap, she was going for the whole “I’m tired,” throw-your-arm-up-and-on-your-date’s-shoulders maneuver. An oldie but a classic and the same move I’d used the first time I kissed Bella. Of course, we were fourteen at the time, and it was more of an awkward pressing of the lips than an actual kiss, but hey—it counts! For a fourteen-year-old, I’d been suave.
Medusa wasn’t a teenager—she was older than agriculture. But in another, very real sense, she was fourteen. It had been fourteen years since she got kicked out of her home, and fourteen years since she was forced to live on Earth and play by human rules. In the time I’ve known her, she’s been the bubble-gum-chewing teenager, then the modern woman who followed all the glossy magazines’ advice and—now—the cutesy-chic, fun-loving young lady. With each evolution, she improved upon herself as she tried to figure out who she was in this GoneGod world.
In other words, she was doing her best at being mortal. Aren’t we all?
She pretended to yawn, more committed this time, and threw up her arms. I countered with a yawn of my own, also throwing up my hand and blocking the descent of her arm with a counter move I call Kara-Date-O. If she noticed, she didn’t show it.
I felt terrible. Medusa was a perfectly delightful gorgon, and here I was treating this date like an episode of Prison Break.
Medusa nodded and asked, “Is something wrong?”
I stared off into the distance and touched the twisty-tie that was wrapped around a silver necklace I wore. The tie was what I’d used to propose to Bella all those years ago, wrapping it around her finger and promising that one day I’d buy her a real ring—when I could afford one. The little piece of industrial plastic was the last sentimental thing I owned that had belonged to her. Bella—she was, is and always will be the best part of me.
I knew I should move on. Hell, Bella’s last words to me were, “Live well.” And I might have been able to, had I not discovered that Bella still existed, stuck all alone in the once-upon-a-time Heaven. The angel Penemue—my best friend and the only one who knew that Heaven was not, in fact, completely empty—was looking for a way back to her. Sure, the odds of finding a way into Heaven were one in a billion, but it was still possible and I couldn’t fully give my heart to another knowing that.
And that wasn’t fair to Medusa. She was a sweet girl who wanted what every love song and romantic movie promised: a partner to share your one life with. I prayed she’d find it—it just wouldn’t be with me.
At least, that’s how I saw it.
“I’m thinking about tonight,” I lied.
She nodded. “You know,” she said, her voice lingering, “I was at his last gala. We sunk Atlantis.”
“Excuse me?” I said, wondering if this was some Other expression like, “We raised the roof” or “We brought the house down.”
“Don’t worry—The BisMark is a serious guy. I’m sure tonight will go smoothly. He’s organized tons of events for the gods, and nothing went wrong. Better than that—they were boring events. Lots of speeches, proclamations—official stuff, really. Atlantis was a special case. Promise.” Medusa’s lips pursed in a way that showed she wasn’t really promising anything.
“Sure … I feel reassured,” I lied. “Now back up to the part where you sunk Atlantis?”
“It was a wedding, you know. That’s why we were gathered in Atlantis—to celebrate the union between Poseidon and …” She playfully patted my forearm. “Look at me talking about ancient history. I must be boring you.”
“Are you kidding?” I said, turning to face her. “What happened?”
“We had a party. Things got out of control. Atlantis was sunk.”
“That’s it?” I said. “A city disappears and you sum it up in three sentences. You got to give me more than that.”
“OK, Jean-Luc, I tell you what—you can ask me three questions.”
“Great!”
Medusa lifted a finger. “In exchange for you granting me a request.”
I pulled away, hoping that her request didn’t involve a bottle of wine and satin sheets.
She must have seen my doubt, because she quickly added, “A PG-13 request.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.” She crossed her heart, her finger accidentally—tantalizingly—tugging one of her straps. “Whoops,” she said, pulling her strap back up.
I gulped. “Fine, done.”
“Great,” she beamed. “What do you want to know?”
“OK—Poseidon sunk Atlantis, you already told me that. Why?”
“Loki,” she said. “The damn trickster said something he shouldn’t have.”
“And?”
“And … nothing. Back then tricksters were always messing with gods, Others and mortals alike. Loki said something he shouldn’t have, Poseidon got angry, threw his typical temper tantrum and sunk Atlantis.”
“Argh,” I said. She was being coy. I gave her a look that said, “You’re holding back on me.”
She smirked. “Poseidon was the groom. He was very drunk, and Loki—well, Loki always knew how to push his buttons.”
“He was the groom? Who was his bride?” I asked.
Medusa’s smile temporarily disappeared before her eyes flickered with a realization. “Ah, ah, ah …” she said, wagging her finger. “And to answer your third question—yes, he was the groom.”
“No—wait a minute—I only asked two questions.”
Medusa held up three fingers. “I believe your first question was, ‘Why did Poseidon sink Atlantis?’ I answered Loki.” She lowered a finger. “Then you asked, ‘And?,’ to which I added pertinent details about Poseidon’s character. As for your last question—you wasted it by asking if Poseidon was the groom, even though I clearly had told you he was already.”
“You’re devious,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and pretending to pout.
“I am not,” Medusa said, playfully punching my arm with such force that it knocked me over. Man, even playing, man-oh-man she could punch! I’d hate to be in a real fight with her.
“Ow,” I laughed, grabbing my arm.
She giggled in embarrassment and leaned over to offer me a hand. When she did, her purse fell, its contents spilling on the beach. Keys, lip gloss, lip moisturizer, skin moisturizer, nail polish, leather relaxant—presumably for the snakes—a Hello Kitty wallet, phone and …
“What’s this?” I asked as I picked up a small, wooden winged horse.
Before I could say or do anything, Marty’s scaly jaws snatched the trinket out of my hand and put it in Medusa’s purse.
“It’s nothing,” Medusa said, snapping her purse shut. She looked across at the sun that was beginning its slow descent beneath the horizon. “It’s getting late, we should go,” she said, her grin returning. “But first … my request.”
I groaned and eyed her suspiciously. “Fine, but I reserve the right to do something equally evil to you.”
“Deal,” she said and stuck out her hand.
I took it. “Very well, then—spill it. What do you want?”
“Invite me to the gala. I know you can have a plus-one, and I’d like to go.”
“Oh,” I chuckled. “So that’s it. All of this was so you could get an invite to the gala?” I might have been offended had I not been the cool guy with connections. I was so rarely the cool guy.
“Did it work?” She batted her eyelids at me.
I thought about how the gala would be another date. Our third date, to be specific. Given the kind of advice she was reading, third dates were the no-holds-barred dates. Medusa and her thirty snakes knew a lot of holds and … Stop it! I growled to myself.
I didn’t want to lead her on any more than I already had. Saying no now would go a long way to ending the crush. OK, Jean-Luc, let her down easy. Tell her that you can’t bring anyone. Be kind, but firm. Medusa touched my arm, felt the fabric of my coat that hung on my forearm between her thumb and forefinger. Whatever happens next, Jean-Luc, don’t invite her. Medusa looked at me expectantly, her eyes as well as the eyes of all thirty of her snakes staring at me. It wouldn’t be fair, Jean-Luc, she doesn’t know human customs. She’ll take this date seriously. Marty got in close, scowling at me as I hesitated.
“Well,” I started. Better now than later, I thought. “It’s pretty full, and …”
“Yes?” Medusa held her breath, her eyes locked on mine. Hell, thirty pairs of snake eyes were locked on me.
I should tell her that now is not a good time. No, what I should really tell her is that there will never be a good time and that we should just be friends. I should point out that going arm-in-arm to the gala would send the wrong message to everyone, including us. Then a polite kiss on the cheek—that should send the right message that I wasn’t interested. You know, let the gorgon down easy with a clear signal that has been documented over and over again by every teenage glossy magazine in existence. Medusa would get the hint, of that much I was sure.
But instead of following my well thought out plan, I ran my hands through my hair and stammered, “Sure … I can get you in.” Crap!
“Yes!” Medusa said with far too much enthusiasm given that I was right in front of her. All thirty of her snakes simultaneously hissed.
“Of course, I’ll be working, but—”
“Don’t worry, Jean-Luc. I’m not a demanding date,” she said, giving me a hug. And with that, I had a date. Again.
Oh well, I thought. Maybe I can let her down easy at our wedding.
Hellelujah!
Chapter 2
De-Evolution and the Manicure
We watched the sun set, and then I took Medusa home to get ready for the gala and went back to the hotel. Even though my date with Medusa ended with me screwing up, I was in a pretty good mood. Things were, for once, going my way. I had just booked the hotel’s first major gig; the typical Other drama that usually filled my life was at an all-time low; and ever since I took out the god-wannabe who killed the unicorn Joseph, my reputation in Paradise Lot had been at its best. If only Bella were here to see it all—she’d be proud.
Despite the GrandExodus having happened fourteen years ago, the world seemed to be doing alright. It certainly hadn’t descended into the chaotic hell promised by Fox News. In fact, if you really boiled it down, things were pretty much as they were before. Good guys and bad guys and everyone in between. I’ve known evil angels and good devils, murderous pixies and empathetic ghouls. But mostly I’ve met lost Others trying to find their place in the GoneGod world.
Paradise Lot was still a slum for the OnceImmortals, and they were being exploited as cheap labor—but at least they were getting employed. Across the bridge, the mainland-employed Others worked ridiculous hours for minimal pay doing all sorts of menial jobs: pixies cleaned houses, genies scrubbed windows, fairies washed dishes.
And even though they did the jobs no humans wanted, they were still being crapped on for stealing work from the AlwaysMortals. I’ve never seen a human wake up at three a.m. to get on a bus and drive for four hours before reaching farmlands, only to return late that night exhausted and sore. Hecatonchires did that every day, using their fifty arms to pick apples or peaches or whatever crop was too expensive for them to actually buy—while human farmers paid them a fraction of the minimum wage.
Despite all that, I still couldn’t help but feel hope. In only fourteen years, humans had progressed from fighting Others to being wary of them. Wariness is a big step up from distrust and hatred, and a hell of a lot better than fear.
Being wary isn’t enough to stop commerce, and that was what made me hopeful. Affluent humans had started employing particular Others for m
ore than just being cheap labor or maids. They were starting to see the specific and unusual skills these creatures possessed. Of course, they never dirtied the hem of their pants by actually coming to Paradise Lot to employ these Others. They didn’t need to—not with the Internet.
Minotaurs were particularly good blacksmiths. Fairies loved glitter, and although they’d bling anything you asked them to for free, they were often paid by rich kids to do something special for their phone cases, backpacks or jeans. Leprechauns were accomplished tattoo artists and pixies were incredible seamstresses.
And then there were the dwarves who could dig better than cranes. I never thought I’d see the day when a construction company asked for dwarven help, but it happened. A construction company sent their head guy over to ask for structural advice over some large government bid. By the end of the “consultation,” the engineer hired the whole dwarven crew. I should know—a dwarf’s key negotiation technique is to stare down their opponent. Not a great strategy when dealing with a French engineer. I advocated on their behalf and, although I’m no corporate negotiator, got them a hell of a lot more than the three tons of coal and two tons of gravel they were asking for.
Finally, there were the artists. Elves danced, satyrs piped, kelpies pontificated and cyclops prophesized—each of them slowly becoming YouTube stars one view at a time. Amongst them was CaCa, a former resident of mine who was literally the god of refuse (the really smelly kind). CaCa was an incredible artist. With a bit of help from EightBall, we were able to set up for him a website and a PayPal account. About once a week I addressed a package to some exotic destination. By the sheer volume he was moving, he must’ve been doing well—but, still, he lived in the sewers. Go figure.
All in all, Others were proving their worth, and it felt good to see it all evolving in the right direction. It was just going to take time.
