by R. E. Vance
As Astarte’s outburst grew, I calmly walked over to Sally. “May I?” I pointed at the remote control.
“Of course,” she said with a wicked smile. “By all means.” She flipped up the top and I pushed the red button. The siren shrieked, forcing all of us to cover our ears. Of course, the effect was worse on Penemue, but I needed everyone’s attention. And given all the grief that twice-fallen angel had given me over the years, I relished the minute’s bit of payback—even if it made my own ears ring in agony.
The siren stopped and we all groaned. The world went silent—even the mob outside went quiet.
I let the ringing in my ears settle before speaking in a calm and measured tone. “As much as we would like to indulge our little insecurities, we can’t. We do not have that luxury.” I waited to let the words sink in. “Now that we’re all done fighting, can we please return to the apocalypse at hand? What are we going to do about it?”
“We are doing it now,” Penemue cut in. “We are doing the only thing we can. We are running.”
Sally and I both shot Penemue a look.
The angel held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “It is poor form to execute the messenger. Besides, I only speak the truth. Tiamat comes, and the only one who could stop her is guilty of raising her—”
“Giving up is not an option,” I said.
Astarte stepped forward. “I fear the angel may be right. Running is your best chance of survival. The fifth sign—the Blood Moon—will appear just before dawn.” She looked over at the clock. “We have less than six hours to stop the unstoppable. But running … You can gain a lot of ground in six hours.”
“I’m not running,” I said.
“I know,” Astarte sighed. “We’ve had this conversation before, when the Avatar of Gravity appeared. It seems that you’d rather die fighting for this slum than live a coward.”
“If I remember correctly, the last time some Other tried to destroy Paradise Lot, you got in a car and drove off.”
Astarte sighed. “Yes, I did. But this time is different. This is a family affair.” She fiddled with the pendant.
“OK. So we stay and fight. But what are we going to do? I don’t even understand what we’re up against. Back at the gala, just before the kids tried to kill their mommy, one of them referred to Tiamat as her sister. When she said it, I thought of it more as a ‘Monsters Unite’ expression of solidarity. But she was being literal, wasn’t she?”
“Yes,” Astarte said. “Tiamat is my niece.”
“Your sister birthed that thing?” I thought about the size of a monster that was capable of destroying a city, not to mention the world. “But she must be”—I spread my arms—“ginormous.”
“She didn’t come out that size. She grew.”
“And the carp?”
“Also my sister’s children.” Astarte rolled her eyes. “You mortals think so organically. Remember, back when the world was young we had access to unlimited wells of time. And my sister was the goddess of fertility and agriculture. She birthed most of what you humans eat to survive.”
“Did she really?” I asked.
Astarte shrugged. “That’s what you humans once believed. Isn’t that enough?”
I looked over at Penemue, who nodded in agreement. “She’s telling the truth.”
It was my turn to shrug. “Fine … Let’s gloss over the fact that everything I’ve ever eaten is your sister’s great-great-great-grandchild. The carp. Let me get this straight … When Atargatis ate the carp, she was actually eating her child?”
“Not exactly. She ate the symbol of her child. One of the Holy Carp of Urfa.”
“Overkill, don’t you think?”
“We were a young pantheon of gods … We wanted to secure our power and did so by having grand gestures for little offenses.”
“I see.” Really, I didn’t. “And you didn’t think to mention any of this earlier?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Really?” I asked.
“My sister has so many children; you can’t keep track of them all. I mean, do you know what it’s like to be an aunt to thousands of birds, animals and fish, not to mention some of the other, stranger creatures my sister bore? And I’m the slut … bah …” Astarte waved her hand dismissively. “Besides, she was tricked. She would’ve never willingly eaten one of her offspring.”
“But Tiamat knows and is coming to spank its mommy?” Sally asked.
“Yes. Tiamat is wrath. It’s the old way of settling anger and punishing mortals for their digressions. A long, long time ago, we placed a protection over the first generation of Atargatis’ children. Should any be hurt, Tiamat would enact revenge. She comes because she senses such a transgression has taken place. Tiamat comes because her family has been wronged, but I doubt she knows—or cares—who hurt it. She simply does what her nature dictates. Tiamat comes to punish.”
“And why can’t you stop it?” Sally asked.
“Because,” Astarte said with a heavy sigh, “a long, long time ago, I defied Atargatis and she stripped me of my powers.”
“And others in your pantheon?”
“Gone or dead. My sister and I are the last of the Assyrian pantheon.”
A silence filled the room as we all mulled over Astarte’s words. There was something wrong here. Atargatis’ reaction was too over the top given what had happened. Sure, she didn’t expect to eat one of her sacred carp and summon Tiamat, but she also acted like she couldn’t summon Tiamat. Her reaction was the difference between accidentally hitting someone while driving a car versus being responsible for hitting them with a car while being in the backseat. The former was a bad mistake, but the latter wasn’t possible. “OK, but why was Atargatis surprised?”
“Because she was tricked.”
I shook my head. “She was surprised by Tiamat coming in the first place. She even said … ‘This shouldn’t happen. Not anymore.’ Why would she say that?”
“Because we aren’t gods, and only gods can summon Tiamat.”
“But you could summon her too … once-upon-a-time.”
“Yes, but it’s been a long time since we had that power.”
“For thousands of years … you used to have power. What happened?”
“Let’s just say that a long, long time ago we picked the wrong side and lost.”
What she said was perfectly clear in its simplicity—they were once in power, and then they weren’t. “When did you lose?” I asked.
“Why does it matter?”
“It does. Please. When did you cease being gods?”
“We never really were gods. Just powerful, well-worshipped Others up for …” She searched for the word. “Promotion. But to answer your question, we lost our chance four thousand years—”
“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 gu
arding 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-Luc 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.”
Chapter 2
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 shouldn’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 soo
n 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.
