Chasing the Moon (2 page)

“Why do they always do that?” he asked.

“Be nice,” said Sharon.

“It’s just goddamn annoying, that’s all. I don’t see you doing that kowtowing nonsense.”

“And it’s a good thing I don’t. Someone has to make sure you keep your appointments.”

They circled to the back porch, a sprawling alcove of stone columns with twisted, inhuman figures carved into them. Most of the figures were hidden under overgrown creeping moss. Just enough effort had been made to keep the invading wilderness at bay. A small gathering place was cleared, large enough for the guests to mill about a table of cheese, wine, and caviar.

They were a varied group. The Chosen made no distinction among age, race, or gender. Greg’s need to be liked held no prejudice or preference.

The Chosen studiously avoided looking at Calvin. He thought about getting something to drink, but as soon as he stepped over there they’d bow and scrape and kiss his ass.

He was so sick of this.

Sharon read his mind. “I’ll get you a glass. Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Thanks. What would I do without you?”

He turned toward the marble throne at the top of the steps. It was hard and uncomfortable, but he’d gotten used to that. Greg, a smirking, sycophantic dullard decked out in that ridiculous lavender robe, stood beside the chair. Calvin glanced over his shoulder at Sharon for rescue, but she was already involved in a conversation with another guest.

“Might as well get this over with,” mumbled Calvin to himself. He pushed forth a smile as he approached the throne.

“So good of you to join us, Lord of the Wilds,” said Greg. “We are unworthy of your presence, much less your gifts.”

“Yes. Don’t suppose we could speed this up?” asked Calvin. “I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

Greg smiled. His smile, either by design or incompetence, was a smarmy, counterproductive achievement. Maybe it was only Calvin who saw it as such. Greg never had a lack of friends.

It was always this kind of asshole that Calvin found himself associating with. He sometimes wondered what it said about him.

Greg looked into the night sky. The design of the alcove and the strange magic of the estate made every star closer and brighter. The half moon glittered like a polished nickel.

“The stars are almost right,” he said. “Let them wipe away the corruption of civilization from these frail mortal shells.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Calvin sat on the throne. A charge tickled his elbows, and the moon and its pursuing god whispered its secrets. If only he could hear them clearly…

Sharon appeared with a plate of cheese and two glasses of wine. “Hello, Greg. Lovely night, isn’t it?”

Greg nodded in that familiar, rehearsed, faraway manner. It was meant to be wise and thoughtful, but came across as ponderous and slow-witted. As if his brain were a rusty collection of gears that had to simultaneously process the question and crank his neck.

“I think the McKinneys were looking for you,” she said. “Something about another donation to the temple, I believe.”

With a hasty adieu, Greg scurried off in search of more of the material wealth he spent most of his life acquiring and condemning simultaneously.

“Thank you,” said Calvin. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I do what I can.”

They tapped their glasses together and waited for the alignment. When it neared, the catering staff moved away the table, and the guests—everyone but Calvin on his throne and the staff hiding away behind locked doors—stood nude in the alcove. They formed a half circle, fell to their knees, and prostrateht="0emelves before Calvin, their lord and master.

Greg, toned and tanned, his skin smoothed by lasers and obsessive waxing, a paradox of the natural world and humanity’s obsession with grooming away his links to it, began to preach. Calvin didn’t listen. He knew the gist of it. The new world was coming. Civilization would fall, replaced by something purer, more worthy. The strong would rule. The weak would perish. Glory, glory, something about beautiful chaos, blah, blah, blah, blah.

The crowd writhed and moved with the rhythm of Greg’s
words. There was always that moment near the end of the ceremony when Calvin considered just getting up and walking away. They’d just track him down again. They always did. Or someone like them.

A ray of silver moonlight shone down on the throne. Calvin felt the crackle of extranatural powers pass through him as if he were a prism. It filtered into the crowd, triggering the change.

Greg was the first. His body hunched over as patches of brown and black hair sprouted. A second pair of arms grew from his shoulders. The legs bent and twisted. And the head became a giant pair of jaws, filled with pristine white fangs. The beast clawed the marble, raised its head, and howled.

It turned and stalked toward Calvin as the other guests finished their transformations. Nostrils flaring, the creature studied Calvin with beady yellow eyes. Frowning, Calvin looked right back into its eyes until the monster cowered before him.

“Piss off, Greg.”

The whimpering beast retreated. It joined the pack. Snapping, snarling, the wild creatures ran into the darkened forest. They wouldn’t be back until morning, when the exhausted, naked humans would slink back to the manor with blood on their lips.

Somewhere in the darkness an inhuman monster bayed at the moon.

Calvin went to the small guesthouse. A beast waited for him, curled up on the couch. It raised its head at him and wagged its tail.

“Hi, Sharon.”

He scratched her behind the ears, and she clawed the couch to shreds in her pleasure. She lowered her head.

He smiled. “It’s all right. It’s not my couch.”

He sat beside her. She set her head on his lap. He turned on the television.
The Wolfman
was playing.

Sighing, he changed the channel and waited for the dawn.

“Third rule is don’t pet the dog,” said Mr. West.

A sad-eyed puppy sat in front of one of the three doors in the hallway. It was white with brown and black spots and big floppy ears, and it whined as they walked past.

“Does it bite?” Diana asked.

“No.”

“Whose is it?”

“It belongs to Number Two,” said West, “but he lost control of it about a year ago. Now he’s lucky if it lets him out on the weekends to pick up groceries.”

He wheeled and stared at her with tightly narrowed eyes. So much so she wasn’t sure they were even open.

“Mark my words, Number Five. Bad things happen to those who don’t follow the rules.”

His long mustache twitched and he scratched his shaggy
head, then turned back, walking up the six steps to Apartment Number Five. He fumbled with an overloaded key ring. As far as Diana could tell there were only seven apartments in this small building, but he must’ve had at least three dozen keys on that ring.

“This’ll be yours,” he said.

She wasn’t so sure. The rent on this place was remarkably cheap, but if a creepy landlord came with the package, she’d have to think it over.

She didn’t have to think it over for long.

The small apartment was fully furnished. It came with a brand-new sofa, a television, an old-fashioned jukebox like she’d always wanted. The jukebox even had all her favorite songs on it.

“Does this work?” she asked.

West shrugged and mumbled.

The kitchenette was bare except for some silverware in a drawer, but she didn’t cook anyway. There were a few Mr. Fizz sodas in the fridge, though.

“I didn’t know they still made this brand,” she said. “They’re my favorite.”

“Help yourself.”

“Really? Are you sure it’s okay? What about the former tenant?”

“He’s gone.”

“But won’t he be coming back for his stuff?”

“I doubt it.”

She hesitated but decided that one soda wouldn’t hurt anything. It tasted just as good as she remembered. Better.

He showed her the bedroom. Superman posters decorated the walls, along with art prints and a huge black-and-white photo of the Arc de Triomphe and another of the Eiffel Tower. It was bizarre. She knew she had eclectic tastes, and she had never expected anyone else to share them.

“There’s no way anyone would leave this stuff behind,” she said.

“It’s not his stuff,” he said.

“It’s yours. If you want it.

The rent on this place was half what she’d expected, and the décor meant she could just grab her three suitcases from the car and be unpacked within the hour. It was too good to be true.

“What’s the catch?” she asked.

He smiled. “Ah, there’s a smart girl.”

She stiffened. Her first thought was that this guy was a fiend who lured innocent young women into a life of orgies and pornography, but it would take more than a jukebox and a sixpack of soda to get Diana to strip on a webcam. Maybe if a good cable package came with the deal…

“Rule number two,” he said. “Never open this closet.”

He pointed to a door tucked away beside the bathroom.

“Why?” she asked.

“A good question. People who ask too many questions don’t usually last. Number Seven asked a lot of questions. Used to.”

He fumbled with the key ring and managed, after some rattling and grumbling, to pull off the key to the apartment and offer it to her.

“It’s all yours if you want it.”

She didn’t reach for the key just yet. A sixth sense warned her that she was striking a Faustian bargain. Odd, since she
wasn’t sure what a Faustian bargain was. But it was something not to be taken lightly. She knew that.

“If you don’t want it,” he said, “somebody else will.”

“What’s the first rule?” she asked. “You told me the third and second rules, but not the first.”

He paused, chewed his lip.

“The first rule is turn the lights off when you leave a room. Just because I pay the utilities that doesn’t mean I’m made of money.”

Diana would’ve sold her soul for paid utilities, so she snatched the key. West was surprised enough to open his eyes to a softer squint.

“Where’s the lease?” she asked.

“There’s no lease. You stay as long as you’re able, Number Five. Leave whenever you’re willing.”

She followed him out the door. Her three suitcases were already sitting in the hallway.

“Hmm,” he said. “Apartment must like you. That’s a good sign.”

He waddled away without saying another word. The moment he was out of sight, even the jangle of his keys disappeared. Silence filled the hallway. No, that wasn’t quite right. Music came from somewhere. So light it almost couldn’t be heard. Like a chorus rehearsing. She couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, though.

The puppy in front of Apartment Two glanced forlornl in her direction and whimpered.

She glanced around her shiny new apartment. So what if the landlord was a bit of a nut? This place was made for her, and
with the run of bad luck she’d had in the last few weeks, this was a good omen. Things were turning around.

She fed the jukebox a nickel. The mechanical arm grabbed the gleaming vinyl disk and set it on the turntable. Frankie Avalon sang about the virtues of beach life, and she smiled.

Diana wasted no time getting unpacked. She needed to claim this apartment. She’d been living out of suitcases too long, bumming off of friends like a vagabond. She shoved her clothes into the dresser so eagerly that she didn’t fold most of them. But once she closed the drawer she felt she’d made her mark. She lounged around for an hour, sitting on the sofa, drinking soda, watching TV, just relaxing. Chubby Checker, Aretha Franklin, and the Big Bopper kept her company. And when she was tired, she fell asleep on the nice comfortable bed and dreamed the strangest dreams.

She was herself, but she wasn’t herself. She flew across other worlds, strange realms without form or substance, lost cities and ghosts of forgotten civilizations passing beneath her. Time rendered everyone and everything into dust. From the tiniest speck to the greatest of the ancients. In the center of it all the slumbering god lay still, wrapped in the dream that foolish mortals and inhuman deities alike called reality.