Mysteria Nights

“Here? In this town? Not even close, chumly. Not even a little bit close.” She paused. What came next went against her nature, and she could hardly believe she was thinking it, much less saying it. “But it’s really nice of you to be concerned. I, uh—” She was struck with a sudden coughing fit, recovered, and finished, “I appreciate it.”

“But you cannot remain stuck here for—for a lifetime!”

“Says the guy whose people live for centuries. You ever thought about what it’s like to be human? With a life span of maybe sixty years? Well. It was sixty years in my day. It’s more like eighty-some now.”

“At eighty-some,” he admitted, “we have barely attained maturity.”

“Right. So why would I want to check out early? Huh? Huh?”

“But are you not lonely? Do not lie. I know you are.”

“You don’t know shit, chumly.”

“I do indeed know shit, Rae.”

“How so?”

“Because,” he replied, “I am lonely, also.”

“You?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. Also her irritation at his incessant probing. “But you’ve got a zillion river nymphs to hang out with. You’ve got your queen back after she was exiled here for—what? A hundred years? You’ve got the whole Mississippi River to run around in. And you’re lonely?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Well, jeez.” She paused, chewing on that one. “That’s the saddest damned thing I’ve ever heard. And I saw the Depression.”

Ten

Withering whipped the ball down the lane, envisioning the pins as a pack of Daniir demons, and watched with total satisfaction as they scattered and disappeared. She threw her arms over her head in triumph. “Die! Die, you filthy, unearthly scum! Die, die, die! Yessssss!”

“Uh, okay, that’s another strike.” Thad was eyeing the other bowlers, who were eyeing Withering. “Just simmer down, okay?”

“This is a battle like any other,” she said grimly, snatching up another ball, testing its heft, and readying herself to hurl it down the lane. All strength, no finesse—which had always worked fine for her. “And I will win it.”

“That’s the spirit,” he muttered, marking down her score.

“Although I detest wearing group shoes.”

“Hey, they spray ’em every night with a disinfectant.”

“This woman is not comforted.”

“This woman,” he sighed, “is kicking my ass at a game she barely remembered and has never played before. If I can put up with that humiliation, you can wear the bowling shoes without bitching.”

“The man has a point.” Kuh-clank, Bam! “Die, die, die! Arrrrghh! There’s one still alive.”

“It’s a pin, Withering. It’s never been alive, not once.”

Hmph. Although she found him disturbingly attractive, distractingly attractive, he didn’t have much in the way of a competitive spirit. Did the man not know that everything, every single thing, must be won? No matter how long it took, no matter the cost? Even a silly game of pins and balls? You could never know who was watching, weighing, judging. Deciding the manner of attack based on her most recent actions.

“I think,” he was blathering, “you could stand to, uh, lighten up a little bit. You’re not fighting demons tonight. Tonight is about taking a break, remember?”

“This woman does not understand this man.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” he said, and got up for his turn. Without hardly looking, he tossed the ball down the lane, and it went into the small alley—what was it called? Gutterball. A shameful, humiliating gutterball.

He cheerfully marked down a zero—how could he stand it? He hadn’t even tried. He didn’t even care. “Like we were talking about earlier,” he continued. “You deserve a break. You’ve spent as much time at war as you spent in Mysteria raising hell with your sisters. I can’t think of anyone who deserves a break more than you.”

“It is difficult—and unworthy—to take a break from one’s responsibilities. It pleases some on Earth Prime,” she admitted, “to call me queen. But does a queen ever get a vacation from royalty?”

“But you’re not on Earth Prime. You’re back home. And while we’re on the subject, I think this ought to be Earth Prime. What’d you say this was? Secondary Earth? Jeez. How many are there?”

“Thousands,” she replied simply.

“Well, from what you’ve told me, Earth Prime is all weird grass and demons and only a few humans. This Earth has Mysteria and tons of humans and almost no demons. Ergo, we’re Prime.”

“I,” she said, amused, “did not name the parallel universes.”

“No, you only rule one.”

“Hardly that,” she said, laughing a little to hide her discomfort. Why was he looking at her like that? So intently, as if everything she said was exceedingly important? “This woman keeps it safe for those who cannot protect themselves. If it pleases some to call this woman queen, this woman has other things to worry about.”

“See, see?” He threw another gutter ball, ignoring her groan. “This is what I’m talking about. You won’t even take the spoils of war—a royal title! It’s just kill, kill, kill and work, work, work with you.”

“And bowl, bowl, bowl,” she said, snatching up another ball. “Now watch this, Thad. You have to look at where the ball goes. Visualize the enemy lying dead and bloody. Then throw.” She hurled the ball; the pins split apart so hard, one actually flew into the next lane. “Then, victory.”

“Psycho,” he sang under his breath, marking down her score.

“This woman is unfamiliar with that word.”

“It means terrifying warrior queen.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Your face does not match your words; this woman thinks you lie.”

“Well, you’re a pretty smart psycho. We’ll add that to the list of your very fine qualities.”

“You seem oddly cheerful.”

“Why not? I’m on a date with a gorgeous warrior queen who bowls like a fiend and can eat half a large pizza by herself.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You may blame yourself for that last, sir; you make an excellent pizza pie.”

“It’s true,” he said without a trace of modesty. “I do.”

“But you cannot bowl,” she teased, then remembered one of Scornful’s favorite epithets, “for shit.”

“Ouch, nasty! Gorgeous, there’s hope for you yet.”

Eleven

They walked outside the bowling alley, to Thad’s serial killer gray van (which his employees occasionally used for deliveries; thus, the logo WILSON’S PIES: YOU COULD DO BETTER, BUT WHY BOTHER? plastered on the sides in bright red paint). Thad was still fumbling with his seat belt when Withering seized him by the shirt and hauled him toward her. His elbow hit the horn, which let out a resonant brronk! and then her mouth was on his.

“What am I?” he asked, managing to wrench free and gasp for breath, “the spoils of war?”

“No. I wish to mate. Right now.”