Chasing the Moon (18 page)

“Thank you.” She took the glass and sipped it. It wasn’t bad, though she wasn’t much of a drinker and had never had a martini
in her life, so she couldn’t tell if this one qualified as the stuff of legend.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Guests!” growled Peter-thing as he lurched to answer the knock.

“Never really a fan of martinis,” said Diana’s unseen conversationalist.

Zap floated over and had a seat in a recliner. The eyeball monster laid his tentacles on the armrests and leaned back. “Feels good to take a load off.”

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I see the multiverse in ways your pathetic senses cannot fathom. If I’m looking in your direction, rest assured that I am not staring
at
you. I’m simply staring
around
you at something much more interesting, at levels of reality that you would find both awe-inspiring and psychosis-inducing.”

“If you’re staring at the universe, why does it tend to be the universe behind me?”

He blinked. She’d never seen him blink before. Given that his body was more or less one basketball-sized eye, it took longer than a standard blink. At least three times as long. This was still very fast, but noticeably long for a blink.

“The hubris,” he said. “The unapologetic egotism. Do you really think that with everything I can see, the worlds upon worlds that fall within my merest glance, that you, a speck of dust floating in a roiling sea of infinite possibilities, would be able to hold my interest for even the briefest, most fleeting of moments?”

Diana folded her arms across her chest and stared down Zap.

“I’m just suggesting that you behold the wonder of that roiling sea of infinity in some other direction. If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Zap with a sarcastic squint. “Yes, sir! Right away, sir!” He offered a crisp salute with one tentacle. “As you command, so shall it be done.”

“Knock it off,” she said.

He sputtered, rotated thirty degrees to the right, and focused on one of the masks staring back at him.

Peter-thing approached. When the misshapen host moved to one side, Chuck was revealed.

“New guest. Chuck, this Diana. Apartment Five. Diana, this Chuck—”

“Apartment Two,” she interrupted. “We’ve met.”

Peter-thing clicked his fangs together. “Chuck brings pie.”

“Just a little something I whipped up,” said Chuck.

“Pie good.”

Peter-thing was scant moments away from devouring the gift when Stacey snatched it from his hands. “Now, dear. Leave something for our guests.”

The creature glared, baring his terrible teeth, flexing his long, claw-tipped fingers.

She rapped him on the knuckles with a wooden spoon. “We still have leftover carrot cake in the refrigerator. Have some of that.”

“Did someone mention carrot cake?” asked Vom from the kitchen, already opening the refrigerator. Peter-thing dashed off to scrap with the other monsters for his piece.

“I’m sorry about those guys,” said Diana.

“Oh, they’re no bother,” said Stacey with her unflappable June Cleaver smile. “It’s just nice to have company.”

She went over to try to keep order among the monsters. If anyone could, Diana figured, it would be Stacey. Chuck sat on one end of the couch.

“Hello,” said Zap, waving a tentacle.

Chuck nodded. “Hi.”

“So, some mixer,” said Diana, without any thought behind the statement. Just something to say.

“Yeah,” he replied in his own vague manner.

She opened her mouth, but then shut it. She was about to comment about his evil puppy dog and how it had let him out again, but she assumed he was probably tired of talking about that.

Small talk proved difficult. Every subject seemed either inane or absurd. The problem with being trapped in an abnormal situation, even with company, was that there was no normality to seize hold of to balance things out. A harmless topic was hard to find.

“Seen any good movies lately?” she asked.

“No. Dog won’t usually allow me out of the apartment that long, and my TV only picks up Hanna-Barbera cartoons.”

“Oh. Well,
Scooby-Doo
can be fun.”

“Don’t get
Scooby-Doo
,” he said with a sour frown.

“
Flintstones
?”

He shook his head.

“
Yogi Bear
?” she tried. “
Hong Kong Phooey? Captain Caveman? Squiddly Diddly
?”

“No. None of those either.” He half-smiled at her. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone who was such a Hanna-Barbera fan.”

“I have this tendency to remember unnecessary trivia,” she replied. “And yes, I do realize that unnecessary trivia is a redundant phrase. But some bits of trivia are more unnecessary than others, and I assume that knowing nearly every Hanna-Barbera character ever created is probably in the more unnecessary category.”

He laughed.

“Well, what do you get?” she asked.

“It varies. Mostly
Galaxy Trio
reruns and the occasional
Speed Buggy
episode. Sometimes, if the planets are in just the right alignment,
Fangface
comes in.”

“
Fangface
was a Ruby-Spears production,” said Diana. “Not Hanna-Barbera.”

“Boy, you weren’t kidding about the unnecessary trivia, were you?”

“Everybody’s got a talent.”

“Just do me a favor,” he said. “Don’t tell my TV that.
Fangface
may not be great, but I’d hate to lose it.”

She put a finger to her lips. “Mum’s the word.”

“I was always partial to
Grape Ape
,” said Zap.

The invisible voice spoke up behind her. “I think it’s criminal that
Wait Till Your Father Gets Home
is all but forgotten.”

She jumped. It wasn’t a big reaction, but Chuck noticed.

“That’s just Keith,” said Chuck. “He doesn’t exist.”

“So ILve been told.”

He tapped his temple with his finger. “It helps not to think about it too much.”

She imitated the gesture. “Can do.”

They shared a smile. Diana wasn’t given to romantic fantasies, but she felt a connection, a spark. She noticed it because she’d so rarely come across it before. They had something going on here. Something undefined, but promising.

Vom came over and plopped onto the sofa between Diana and Chuck, ruining the moment.

“So what are you two crazy kids up to over here?” he asked.

“Flirting, I think,” said Zap. “Fascinating ritual, really. I’m not familiar with how the custom proceeds, but I believe they were about to engage in intercourse.”

“By all means,” said Vom, “carry on. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Actually,” said Smorgaz, “mating usually only proceeds when the female has been properly inebriated to levels that impair her judgment without imminent threat of inducing vomiting.”

Chuck excused himself to go to the bathroom.

“Thanks a lot, guys,” said Diana.

“Did we do something wrong?” asked Vom.

“Forget it. It’s no big deal.”

She caught Zap staring at her again. He folded his tentacles and turned his giant eye toward the ceiling.

Stacey and Peter-thing came over with a plate of cucumber sandwiches.

“Everyone behaving over here?” asked Stacey with her warm smile.

“Snack snack,” said Peter-thing.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Vom grabbed two handfuls and devoured
them in one gulp. There was one left, and he gently plucked it from the tray and, with one furry green pinky out, moved it toward his mouth. “Uh… anyone want this last one?” he asked.

Nobody did.

“Delicious,” he said. “Absolutely delightful. You must give me the recipe.”

“It’s an old family secret,” said Stacey. “My lips are sealed.”

“Cucumbers and mayonnaise,” said Peter-thing. She wagged her finger at him, and he recoiled.

“Now, Peter, why would you do such a terrible thing. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you.”

Peter-thing pouted. His large, red eyes welled up with tears.

“Sorrrrryyyyyy.”

“Oh, you know I can never

Grinning, he leaned forward, and Diana assumed he was about to bite her head off. Instead, they kissed, and the batthing switched hosts as their lips touched.

Despite all efforts not to think about it, Diana wondered how the couple managed sex. She could imagine it, but managed, through sheer willpower, not to dwell on the images that went through her head.

“You’ll excuse us,” said Peter.

When Stacey-thing turned around, he slapped her rump. The thing jumped hosts again, and Stacey giggled.

“Oh, Peter, you naughty boy.”

Diana smiled. The couple weirded her out, but they were also kind of sweet at the same time. Take away the bat-creature one of them always had to be, and they probably had the best
relationship she’d seen in a long while. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company and were making the best of a tough situation. There was something special about that. Weird, but special.

She got up and caught Chuck as he came out of the bathroom.

“Hey, sorry about the monsters,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. You get used to that sort of thing around here. And you can’t really blame them for getting confused about how our reality works. Hell, I was born here, and I’m still figuring it out.”

He ran his hand through his hair, and a few strands fell across his forehead, cementing forever his resemblance to Superman for her. She’d always loved Superman. Never been a fan of the bad boy. The rock-solid, dependable good guy was underrated.

She caught herself staring into his brown eyes. They twinkled.

“You want to grab a drink?” she asked. “I hear Peter is a superb mixologist.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Bowing, he indicated he’d follow her, and when they walked he put his hand on her back. Not too high. Not too low. Just the right spot to indicate friendliness without familiarity.

You could keep Batman, she decided. She’d take the Boy Scout any day.

Greg stood before the small banquet. He didn’t like standing behind a podium, saying it distanced him from his audience, triggering sense memories of long, dull lectures that a lifetime had taught most people to tune out. But Greg had a message to spread, the good word, and for all his faults, for all his smarminess, all his one-dimensional eagerness, he was a believer. That was what bothered Calvin the most about Greg.

He believed.

Over the millennia Calvin had been associated with many people like Greg. The words might change, the setting might differ, but it was all the same. Where once mortals whispered the secret names of unfathomable things in shadowy temples or sacred grottos, they now did so at invitation-only brunches or casual pool parties. Most people who wanted to touch the unknown were drawn to it like moths to a bug zapper. They
didn’t know why, and they weren’t usually smart enough to wonder about it until it was too late.

But Greg believed. He was that rare breed of human capable of understanding a vast universe in which he was just a mote of dust, and not being driven into a deep depression or raving lunacy by that knowledge. It helped that he had a direct pipeline to something bigger than his tiny universe, but even in this Greg wasn’t fooling himself. He didn’t believe that Fenris cared about him or that, when the time came, the monster-god chasing the moon would even notice him. He only wanted to get what he could from Fenris while he could get it, and it wasn’t greed or fear that compelled him. It was the belief that this was the best a mortal could hope for, and that it was his duty to share that information with his fellow specks of dust and help as many as he could, because he was a humanitarian. And Calvin wasn’t so certain he disagreed.

Greg’s intentions were noble, and he was merely using the tools of his time to spread the word. Calvin still didn’t like him, and he was looking forward to the cataclysm. Even if whatever waited for Calvin beyond wasn’t worth going to, at least he could avoid these brunches.