“So,” the Duchess continued, “I take it from your presence in the back room that Ms. Clovis knows who you are and why you’re here. Are we calling you Merit?”
Kirby said, “You’re not sneaky, are you.”
I looked beyond the Duchess, through the door. I wished Azrames were in here, not only as a friend and safety net in the whirlwind of gods and the supernatural, but because he would know what to say. He’d been the one to hack for our tickets, and I wasn’t sure how he’d done it. He was also better at keeping my spaghetti plate of lies straight than I was. I had no idea whose name these were under, how Shri had identified us… She had, however, called me an author.
“Merit, please,” I told the Duchess.
Be reverent.
Even if he wasn’t in the room, his lesson remained. My high-roading with humans wouldn’t fly when speaking to those who came from other realms. I would do well to remember as much, whether talking to a demonic Duchess, a lust goddess, or a gorgon who…
I looked from the emerald suit on the screen to the Duchess. “Medusa died,” I said simply. At the curious looks from the others, I did my best not to sound like an idiot. “In her story, inallof her stories, she gets beheaded.”
“Did she?” the Duchess responded, disinterested. Shegestured for a glass of water from the depressingly sparse refreshment bar, and Priscilla was quick on her feet. She fetched a cup, and the Duchess took a delicate sip before saying, “Who told you that? Did a member of the Hellenic pantheon write her account? Or was it Homer, Ovid, and Hesiod? Are these texts from those who’ve been called Medusa and Medousa, Neptune and Poseidon, and Minerva and Athena, or are you getting your histories from three contradictory male humans between Greco-Roman empires who wrote poetry and fancied themselves important?”
My face fell. I sank backward into the woefully uncomfortable chair.
“I suspect you’re something of a Homer,” she said, more to herself than to me. “A human writing fancifully of gods—some of whom she knows, most of whom she doesn’t.”
“Burn,” Kirby whispered.
“Switch seats with Nia,” I whispered back, wrinkling my nose at them.
They did not. Nia, however, fetched me a paper cup of water before settling back into her metallic folding chair, for which I was grateful.
The Duchess waved a graceful hand. “I’m overdue for a meeting with Alessia. And while I find your involvement in end-times prophecy quite humorous, I want to assure you, Merit, that I’m on your side. All of Hell stands with you—not because you’re you, but because we fight for our own, and you’re one of us.”
It was strange that I should finally find my sense of belonging here amongst demons at the end of the world. But at long last, I was a part of something.
But I felt an odd annoyance, one that was most definitely inappropriate and strangulation-worthy, as I wished the Duchess would stop talking. She was wise, important, stunning, and I would do well to sit at her feet until the end of my days. That said, I really, really wanted to hear Alessia’s speech. Not only had the snatches I’d caught been riveting, but I was woefullyunderprepared for our meeting.
I looked apologetically between the Duchess and the woman on the screen, and she smiled, dipping her chin as if to acknowledge that nothing about my desires had been subtle. Priscilla stood behind the Duchess, horrified. I knew in that moment that I was indescribably blessed to have the divine protection of the Prince, because I was a piece of shit.
But I was a piece of shit who wanted to hear a good speech.
I caught the second half of a statement about women, transgender and non-binary individuals, and members of the LGBTQIA+ community. She was saying something about how, when members of one’s own community excluded rights and protections against certain individuals based on preconceived bars of measuring qualifications, it was an act of violence in and of itself. The audience reception was deafening. The statement was beautiful and important alone, but filtered through the lens of Alessia feeling othered and unworthy because a goddess had turned her into something society deemed monstrous, because of how she looked, because of where she lived, because she’d become a gorgon… It was hard to separate where myth ended and reality began.
Maybe that was the point.
I wondered how many in the audience knew she was more than human.
Did her message mean more for them? For the entities and deities and witches and faithful who knew Medusa’s story of survival and how she still fought for women? Did it matter?
Another knock.
“Will no one let me finish this speech?” I grumbled a little too loudly.
No one looked pleased with me, but it was the Duchess’s sharp look that put me in my place. The same tiny PA with her clipboard and professional headset opened the door. I noted Azrames pressed against the far wall as he made room. We caught eyes for the briefest of moments, and I was glad wedid. He didn’t seem worried. There was no stress or uncertainty on his face. He simply was.
Shri stepped into the greenroom. The overhead lighting caught the shimmer of her highlights. The unflattering fluorescents would have washed anyone else out, but of course, she was not just anyone.
This time, the PA did not close the door behind her. The dark theater lighting of the hall looked like the gaping maw of a cave compared to our harshly lit holding cell.
“Duchess Vapula.” Shri grinned. “Please accept my sincerest gratitude for joining us. Hell and its many courts are always welcome. Alessia will be thrilled, I’m sure. Will you be taking corporeal form or in need of a second name?”
The Duchess shook her head as if too tired to vocalize her response.
“Excellent,” Shri said, folding her hands. “My sweet, pretty, human loves. You look splendid. Every last one of you. Now, if I might borrow Merit, her presence has been requested.”
