The Starry Sphinx

by V X Lloyd

  "Since when did you take a hard line against people who break the law?"

  "Gambling is wrong, Moo. Ethico-morally societally wrong. It's an evil." Heath gritted his teeth. "Shakahara's a big poker player. That's his darkness."

  "We all have a darkness," Moony said, philosophically. "What's yours?"

  Heath's response was instant. "Waging war against the chains of human biology." He exhaled long and hard. "That war, it's my light and my dark. In the future, we must somehow transcend these bodies and their urges." Heath remained still for a time, his eyes closed. His eyes opened and found Moony. "Let me guess. Your darkness is pride. Greed. Arroganccce." He hissed. "But you haven't sorted it all out yet. You're still undecided. Dancing with the forces of light and dark."

  "I'm ---" Moony stopped himself. "Actually, maybe you're right."

  Heath nodded eagerly. "You're on the path to your darkness."

  "I'm definitely getting a sense that reality is a much bigger place than I used to. This Shane guy. Where is he?"

  "Shane’s the head of nano-3 distribution at the gear oil place in Spain. For the next few weeks, give or take the intervention of a multidimensional time continuum vortex ... he's just outside Seville. A gambling den built on top of the ruins of some old Masonic cave."

  “A sacred cave?”

  “If anything really is sacred to the Masons. It’s been in the hands of various sects of secret orders before them. The whole area supposedly was struck by a meteor long ago, and chunks of weird rock around there contain liquid water from outer space.”

  That sounded promising.

  "Good, good. Yeah, is there... you know, a more specific address...?"

  Heath shook his head, sucking on his cheek. "You know his darkness. That's all you really need. You want to find someone, look for them in their darkness."

  "And maybe a physical description would help."

  "He's really fat."

  Moony waved his hand, welcoming more, but Heath shook his head. That's all he was going to give him. Moony made a mental note: Shane is really fat. Shane plays poker. Meeting Shane will play a part in brewing the perfect potion. Maybe there was a way Moony could go into his darkness without hurting anybody.

  “Between you and me, Moo, I know you’re going to brew the potion. But take care you don’t alert the Gypsy to that. Go there to meet Shane like you’re taking down nano-3. I’ll spread rumors to that effect to put her off the trail of what you’re actually doing.”

  Moony tried to get the ordering of events straight in his mind. Heath could tell that what he had said didn’t make a lot of sense.

  “Cause and effect are mixed up in this one. Just go look for Shane. You’ll take the path of darkness. Only then will it be possible to win this fight.”

  Moony nodded. “I appreciate this, Heath. I really – I had no idea. Times like this, they show you who your allies are.”

  Heath gave a dull nod.

  A barely-audible whirring sound from outside Moony's front door. Heath's ears twitched and he stood up, listening. The whirring grew a bit sharper. Moony looked around his room for any large blunt object in case he needed a weapon. As he did this, Heath bolted out into the hallway.

  Moony shut and locked the door. He waited a few seconds, and nothing happened. No immediate danger encroached upon him.

  He decided there was no need to investigate whirring noises tonight. He was exhausted. He had a reasonable lead. Everything was headed in the right direction, he decided. His next move would be to Seville.

  Headed toward his bedroom, Moony smelled a delightful scent, something very familiar he couldn't quite put his finger on. Like cedar. Like an outdoor sauna in New Mexico. Like---

  "Kitty."

  Such surprises didn't happen to those who were more careful about locking their front doors, but Moony was not such a person.

  Her intoxicatingly shapely olive-skinned legs were crossed, propped onto his pillows. She reclined on her back, supporting herself on her elbow, reading something handwritten in a notebook. She wore an orange silk dress, something like a wrap or a robe. It rested lightly across her curves.

  He thought of Celia. They hadn't explicitly talked about being exclusive moving forward, hadn't they? She slept with Deb whenever she wanted, with or without Moony.

  But he knew in his heart that he wanted them to be exclusive. Why hadn't he said something?

  Because he had been thick-headed. Moony-mode did tend to backfire.

  The thought of sleeping with someone else right now made him feel sad. He loved Celia, and he wanted to be her one and only. Was he really so unprincipled that he would sleep with another woman simply because she was beautiful and had spontaneously arrived in his bedroom?

  Kitty, Sphinxlike, clearly knew his mind, even if she hadn't scanned it. "I'm not here for that."

  He drew from his understanding of Documentation of the Terrestrial Human Gentleman, Volume 4 and gave a simple nod and just the right kind of smile.

  "Mooony," she said, drawing out the vowels. Her voice was rich, velvety, smooth. "Your name is no mere literary device. It's no coincidence. "I've read your star chart. Your moon is in your twelfth house."

  He shook his head. "What's a star chart? Like a navigational thing for flying a spaceship?" He wondered if he was about to be sent on a mission through the spheres.

  She shook her head. "It's astrology, you silly alien. Your star chart is the diagram of the positions of the celestial bodies at your time of birth. The sky separated into twelve sections called houses." She traced her finger along a figure drawn on her notebook that looked like a big wheel with a dozen spokes. "The twelfth house is a heavy place to have your moon. It means you're hard on yourself. Maybe a complex relationship with the mother. Major karmic shit to dig your way out of in this life. You have magnificent spiritual gifts. But you camouflage your sensitivity. That discretion can be an asset. It isn't a coincidence that I chose you."

  "My secret is hardly a secret. Everyone seems to already know."

  "But you aren't known to the enemy overseas."

  Moony's mind backtracked, curious whether she had factored his astrology based on his birth on whatever alien planet he was born on.

  Kitty interrupted his train of thought with her silky voice. "It's been about twenty years already since we lost the last Steward. It used to be that being a steward meant being just one of many. But as my sister's side gained claim of the earth, things darkened, and my side could only risk having a single Steward on this planet. For many years, there were none. Now we have you."

  "Of everything so far, that fact is the greatest riddle: You chose me."

  "You're not governed by your design. Nature doesn't rule all your desires. You're more than your habituation. You only need to uncover the part of yourself that knows this. You can't force the revelation. Once you find that, whether you survive the potion or not, you'll know the reason why. But not until then."

  "The jellies said the Sphinx cursed me--"

  "The jellies live in an echo chamber of strangeness."

  Moony nodded. He could certainly agree to that.

  "Some regard the Sphinx as a benevolent trickster. To you it feels like your telepathy has been taken from you. But really you're being offered the only viable path."

  He sensed that he was being told the truth. If only he could understand why all this was happening to him, rather than anyone else on Earth.

  Kitty could feel as much.

  "You're more empathic than you are consciously aware. But because you aren't really emotionally available, it taxes you. Now that you're a steward, your personal defects are getting highlighted."

  "If you're trying to tell me that the Sphinx needs me, I can't see how."

  Kitty laughed, her voice soft. "I don't need you. I want to help you. You're not letting me."

  "Help me do what?"

  "Help you see things how they really are."

  "Once I get to Seville, I guess I'll see things how t
hey really are."

  She shook her head. "You need to go at the right time. Nothing stacks up right when you hurry."

  "What's the right time?"

  "You sure believe that if you put me on the spot, I'll tell you what to do."

  Moony paused. "Tell me what to do."

  "If you go, go when it feels right. Not because anyone tells you, and not because it sounds like the right idea."

  "But, no, that won't work. I can't trust my feelings. My feelings aren't worth shit. Heath said I needed to go into my darkness, and only then would it work. I wish I could just find the answer for this in the documentation."

  "Well, ever since the Qualids removed your tracking device, your telepathy hasn't really been worth shit either has it? Disconnected from her direct network, your link only uses local data, and only occasionally syncs with anonymous hubs, if there happen to be any around you. So you'll have to do your best with what you've got. Stop holding back."

  "What should I do about what Heath said about darkness?"

  "Heath gave you very good advice. You'll need to shift your alliance to the dark side before it's over."

  "Until then?"

  "Live your life, and continue to listen for the answer to your riddles." Kitty smiled. Hers was a face that knew real kindness, and her smile was authentic. "You're learning the art of getting out of the way, which is different from just being passive."

  Moony sighed. "What's the potion going to do to me when I drink it?"

  Kitty's face grew grave. "No one can say. It will likely spell the end of a great many things."

  *

  The Bi-Weekly Whitecomb Art Fair began at nine the next day. A few bank customers came and went, glad to have the extended hours. Some patrons slowed their walk to that of a museum's pace to take in the paintings, occasionally taking a cookie as well.

  The fish tank Mr. Perry Whitecomb had brought in for the occasion sat on an untrustworthy table designed by a Sod Hill tenant. It was five feet tall and had three legs. The artist comforted Perry by explaining that three legs formed a pyramid and would prove to be much more stable than a table with four legs. The more basic the shape, he said, the stronger the structure. But since the fish tank weighed more than either could guess and contained jellyfish, Perry was nervous it would collapse. Interesting note: the table was not designed to support any weight at all.

  "I just love this piece," said Joanna, pointing at a mostly green painting. “Is it for sale?”

  Moony wasn’t a person who had what you would call an artistic sensibility. But seeing his mother regard the painting, he felt encouraged to try. After some dull moments spent deciphering it, he got the impression something canine lurked behind the canvas, an opaque green window. He didn’t wonder why. He had the sense that if he stared at it, a three-dimensional scene would reveal itself to him the way magic eye paintings worked.

  Perry had neglected to work out details of sale possibilities with the artists. No prices had been set. He mentioned this since he had nothing to hide. Joanna laughed, charmed. She offered to pay whatever the artist asked for the piece, "but don't you tell them I said that. Just find out what their price is, would you?"

  Because Joanna was dressed in yellow and rust, colors which complimented the bank’s decor, many patrons assumed Joanna was an artist. They asked her which pieces were hers. Alas, she would say, none of them, not unless she could buy them. She released an enchanting laugh, its edges textured beautifully by the smoking she did.

  The table, motivated by an unseen force, rumbled under the burden of the aquarium. Perhaps the helium balloons tied to it would help, thought Perry. They couldn't hurt.

  Moony did a double-take as he watched the Gypsy exit the bank, alone. He moved a step or two toward the door to inquire about her presence, but no further. There were no security guards at the bank today. Then he surprised himself. Rather than shrinking away in fear, he made an effort to read her mind.

  It yielded a single clear answer:

  The Gypsy was thinking fondly of Celia.

  The breath caught in Moony’s throat. At once, Moony raced over to Perry. He grabbed his arm and asked him to text Celia to make sure everything was OK.

  Her smiley-face heart-eyed reply came within seconds.

  Moony sighed. Perry slapped him on the back and the two men rejoined the meandering crowd.

  Why would the Gypsy be thinking of Celia? It didn’t make sense. He would need to ask her about this as soon as he saw her next.

  Some sort of businessman engaged himself in conversation with Joanna. "I'm in real estate," he said, since everyone those days in suburban Denver was in real estate. He might have been flirting. Spotting his wedding band, she intimidated him into moving elsewhere. In her mysterious way, she motivated some men to become more authentic. This motivation, incited spontaneously in this man, would last a full two weeks, unsupported by any other event. He came to treat his wife a little better for the remaining seven years of their marriage.

  A woman approached Moony, an attractive bank teller who looked to be returning from break. "What a nice collection of art," she said.

  "I'm pretty weirded out by these jellyfish," Moony said, truthfully. "They remind me this time not that long ago when I got abducted by aliens into a flying saucer." The woman stared at him, curious, then winked a goodbye to him as she made her way toward the bank’s back office. "But also, there's something else," Moony continued, to himself. "Something about the jellies that I can't quite recall." He wondered how they would figure in to his trip to Spain. Would they try and stop him from producing the serum?

  Standing next to the jellyfish, Joanna became the center of attention at the art show. She crafted entrancing falsities about the artist of the green painting.

  "We said goodbye to each other in St. Petersburg, and that was it."

  "Oh, how lovely!" gasped a patron in response.

  "Yes, I guess you could say that portrait is of the mood between us. Green is the color of jealously, you know. Envy, too, but also of beginnings – oh, we were so young." She looked away and was bored.

  Heath walked from painting to painting, whispering to his rock about science.

  "Now that's remarkable!" said another patron, believing Heath to be a piece of performance art.

  Joanna leaned against the table and it tumbled. Hundreds of gallons of water spilled. Jellyfish waged their assault on the commercial carpet. Patrons and customers wailed and gasped. Joanna yelled "My jellyfish!" even though they were not her jellyfish. Perry ran to the bathroom for paper towels. Bystanders stood by. Bank employees searched for the security guard. Moony grabbed his mother's wrist as if she were a drunk teenager and escorted her to the car. She laughed guiltily and loud.

  Inside the bank, a bank teller who had decided it her responsibility to at least attempt to pursue the guilty party slipped on the wet tile floor and landed face-first on a helpless jellyfish, which promptly wrapped itself around her skin as if in defense. Paper towels in hand, Perry took out his flip phone and dialed an ambulance.

  *

  Joanna stared at Moony as he drove, considering to slap his face for extricating her without her consent, but Moony could feel her redirect her anger towards her shoes. There was some saltwater on her feet, which she encouraged to soak into and ruin her shoes.

  "To the shoe store."

  His jaw clenched and released. "That was sort of fun." On the one hand, it had been. On the other hand... He thought about how the Bible verse had hinted at spying the road ahead. Maybe it had something to do with Celia. He was suppressing one emotion or another. Joanna didn't suspect anything because she didn't mind either way. She sent Perry a text message saying she would be spending her afternoon at Saks Fifth Avenue teasing the shoes.

  "Oh, yes," she said, queenly. She paused. "I really did like the green one. The sky is very pretty today. Blah blah blah." In response, Moony appreciated the blue beauty of the empty sky. He was practicing her ability to select what would a
ffect her. He lit a cigarette. His mother’s face showed the beginnings of becoming aghast.

  "Don’t smoke those detestable cancer sticks in my car." She decided she couldn’t tolerate the smell of cigarettes anymore. “It’s as if you’re living on the street.”

  Moony considered living on the street. "I've been thinking about travel. To Europe," he said, wondering why he bothered to make small talk about his actual thoughts.

  "There's nothing wrong with that. Stay in the Cannes apartment."

  Moony decided to run a red light, since the way was clear.

  "Yes, and you should also go to Croatia. People around here vastly underestimate it," she said. "And stay with the Langs in Germany. They have a place right there on the Rhein. In Freiburg, near the Black Forest, maybe." She thought for a moment. "I remember when we stayed there -- you were eight. You were convinced the place was overrun with tarantulas, ah, you were so afraid of spiders!"

  He blew smoke in her direction.

  *

  Perry, toweling a jellyfish off his cowboy boot, worked with several bank employees to assess and attempt to remedy the water damage to the bank. "These are cement floors, and a cement foundation, correct?" The conversation had the seriousness of those foundations. "The tile adhesive won't be corroded from the saltwater, will it?" He spoke on the phone with a professional, "Well, that's good. That's good. That's great. 'The water's salinity will discourage the habitat of mildew,'" he repeated to the bank manager, who was red in the face.

  *

  The Saks Fifth Avenue store in Denver's Cherry Creek mall bustled with Valentine's Day shoppers. Moony and his mother entertained themselves with the shoe section. Karisma, a sales associate who was extravagantly busty and overweight, helped Joanna feel flirtatious toward the ordinary-looking, yet expensive shoes: "The gold buttons on these look quite marvelous," "Yes, quite enjoyable," “Black goes with everything,” et cetera.

  Moony sat slouching in what might have been the single most uncomfortable chair in the known universe. It was clear acrylic, molded in a swoopy futuristic design, and felt hard and awkward. It was the sort of chair that resented having an actual occupant.