They were on vacation. They didn't often go on – no, that wasn't true. The band went on vacation quite often. Charles never went on vacation. The CFO claimed that he also got a vacation when Dethklok was gone, but that wasn't true; he just got to work uninterrupted, which wasn't quite the same.
This had originally been another band-only vacation, but something had changed that. They blamed it all on Murderface, but the truth was they had all been hard on the manager for several weeks. They had stormed into his office to badger him once more, but found Charles laid back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned and face pale. Two medical Gears were bent over him, Dr. Deadman supervising their efforts. After several long, tense minutes, the doctor declared Charles out of danger. In his normal flat, apathetic tone, Dr. Deadman explained that the manager was suffering heart palpitations, not having a heart attack.
"What's the fucking difference?" Nathan growled.
"Heart palpitations are just your heart beating too fast or beating in the wrong rhythm. They don't actually hurt you on their own; they just make you think you're having a heart attack."
"What causes them?" Charles asked, buttoning up his shirt.
"Stress. Too much caffeine. Binge drinking."
"Ah, I see."
"No coffee or booze for a week or so and you should be fine."
A muscle twitched under Charles' eye.
"No coffee?" he echoed in horror.
"Fine; drink all the coffee you want. Whatever. Enjoy the sensation that your heart is about to explode," Dr. Deadman snarled. "What the fuck do I know about it? I'm just a doctor."
The medical Gears gathered up their equipment and the trio left Charles' office.
"He ams always so angry," Toki observed.
Nathan didn't comment, just stared down at his manager.
"Huh. You'd better come on vacation with us," he declared.
"Vacation? Nathan, I couldn't possibly—"
"You're always telling us we need to take care of ourselves and listen to doctors and shit! Now it's your turn! If you go on vacation, you could drink coffee!"
"Yeah, dood, if you want to keep drinkin' coffee – or better yet, booze! – then you'd better come on vacation an' de-stress with us!" Pickles declared.
"I think I could give up coffee for a week without issue . . ." Charles protested.
"Good! Then you could shtill drink booze on vacation. If the doctor told you to shtop doing three thingsh and you shtop doing two of them, then you'll get shixty-shix percshent better! That'sh bashic math!"
"I'm not sure it works like that, William."
"You can'ts dies again!" Toki yelled.
"Toki, I'm not – look, I don't think a vacation with you boys would be very restful, honestly. I appreciate the sentiment and I will plan a –"
"We could so make you a nice vacation!" Pickles protested.
"Yeah, if we leave you to do it alone, you'll probably try to work online or something! We're just trying to help you!" Nathan thundered.
"We cares about you!" Skwisgaar blurted.
There was a long, awkward pause.
"Um . . . all right," Charles conceded. "I'll . . . uh . . . go on vacation with you boys."
Two weeks later, the manager was hesitantly willing to admit that the boys had put together a restful vacation. They were in some island off the coast of the Yucatan Peninsula, in a mid-range hotel. Murderface had made the booking; at first the rest of the band declared it too cheap to bother with, but Charles had liked the look of the courtyard, so they decided to stay.
Now he was lying in a lounger next the pool, a drink close at hand, sunglass lenses clipped onto his glasses and tropical sun leaching into his bones. Charles was forced to admit; this was pretty good.
"My God, you are surprisingly hairy," Nathan's voice declared.
Charles twisted his head to look at the lead singer, who was standing over him holding a beer.
"Excuse me?" Charles inquired.
"Charles! Watches dis! Watches me, Charles!" Toki cried.
"I mean, you look like this bookish little geeky type, but under that suit you're part bear."
"Lots of men have hairy chests, Nathan," the manager said, taking a sip of his drink.
"Charles! Watches! Ams you watching?"
"Yeah, but less of them have hairy stomachs. Jesus, you even have a happy trail. Dear God, I can't believe I just said that."
"Charles!"
"I'm watching, Toki!" the manager called.
The rhythm guitarist gave a little wiggle of delight, backed away from the pool edge, ran forward, and did a forward somersault into the water. The resulting splash spattered everyone in a twenty foot radius. Toki surfaced.
"Did joos see?" He asked.
"I saw. It was very cool, Toki!" Charles announced.
Toki grinned and he kept on grinning until a bottle of tanning butter bounced off of his head.
"Watches its! I just whats gots alls de lotins ams perfect!" Skwisgaar yelled. "Don'ts whats needs splashes ons mines perfect skin tan! Fuckings Toki."
Nathan tore his eyes away from his manager and looked over at the Swede, who was fussily reapplying tanning butter to his ankle. The lead guitarist was wearing nothing more than a tiny white speedo and body oil. A group of female retirees were edging closer to him as though they couldn't believe their luck. After a moment, an unpleasant smile crossed Nathan's face.
"Yeah, Toki, that was rude! I mean; if you're going to splash Skwisgaar, you should get all of him!" Nathan offered.
"Jas, Toki, you shoulds – whats?"
The lead guitarist could do little more than flail as Nathan cannon-balled into the pool right next to his lounge chair. The resulting splash could have swamped small fishing vessels. Skwisgaar cursed, Toki laughed, and Pickles and Murderface called encouragement from the poolside bar.
And no one was looking at Charles.
The CFO gestured quickly. A small figure in a white linen suit detached itself from the background of the courtyard and knelt by Offdensen's chair.
"Crystal Mountain caved instantly, Japan upped its bid for the next merchandising operation by four million, the repairs to Mordhaus's eighth anti-gravity engine are finished, and Martin, Petty, and Moore are gathering plaintiffs for another paternity class action suit against Skwisgaar. Also, just a thought; maybe you should actually be resting on your vacation," Conway stated.
"Wait until Japan's offer goes up another three million then accept, e-mail Legal and have them start up a Skwisgaar 12B defense case and I don't think I should be taking health advice from an immortal," Charles returned, sipping his drink.
Conway jotted down a few notes on a new Blackberry.
"I was mortal once," the small blond stated with a slight frown. "And I was very healthy."
"Oh really? What happened?"
"I was murdered. Horribly. With extreme prejudice, you might say. But, I was in love with an immortal who refused to let me die. He filled me full of power and when I transmogrified, that love colored my powers and let me take my place in the American Pantheon."
Charles considered this.
"There isn't an 'American Pantheon'. There's a Native Am—"
"Says you," Matthias said without vitriol. "Even the gods Americans have borrowed from somewhere else have their own distinct incarnation stateside."
Charles looked around to make sure there was no one close enough to be listening in.
"So . . . if you're actually Cupid . . . you're just the American Cupid?"
"Yup. Classical Cupid is a different guy. Same with Eros. I'm quite happy to be the new kid on the block; Classic Cupid and Eros were both pretty much saddled with only lust in the way of powers. Thanks to Valentine's Day propaganda and the vagaries of the English language, my own purview is a bit more cosmopolitan."
"Does that happen often? Mortals becoming gods?"
"More often than you'd think," Matthias said with a shrug. "Chuck Norris is getting there."
A rare snort of laughter escaped the CFO.
"Chuck Norris . . ." he murmured.
"Are you free, Mr. Humphries?"
"I'm freeeeeeee!" Matthias trilled.
Nathan, still standing waist deep in the pool, howled with laughter.
"That never gets old!" He declared. "Hey, what are you doing here?"
"We're doing anything but working," Charles murmured, taking another drink.
"We're planning a hot, naked, gay tryst for tonight!" Matthias announced cheerfully. "I was just ordering the baby oil and gerbils."
For a long minute, the only sound was Charles choking on his amaretto sour.
"He was working, wasn't he?" Nathan growled. "He's not supposed to be working! Get the fuck out of here!"
The CFO's personal assistant turned back to his boss with a shrug.
"I tried."
"I do not need a cover story like that! Go . . . go see to those things I told you about!"
Matthias grinned and winked at Charles, then walked across the courtyard and headed into the lobby. Nathan watched him go. The hulking front man was going to chastise his manager once the assistant was out of sight, but something caught his eye.
A woman started following Conway.
She was Native – Incan or Mayan or whatever the local flavor was – but tall. She was dressed in a thin linen dress in the palest blue. Her dark skin showed through the linen, giving the impression that she was veiled more than covered. She looked Nathan's way and for a moment, Explosion could swear he hear the surf. Then she looked away and followed Matthias into the lobby.
" –doesn't joo t'ink sos?"
"What?" Nathan blurted.
"I saids, Charles deserveses a dunking for tryings to works on vacation!" Toki repeated.
A wicked grin crossed Nathan's face.
"Oh. Oh yeah! Those are the new rules! If we catch you working, we dump you in the pool, Charles!"
Offdensen curled up on his lounger.
"Uh . . . . . first offense?" He suggested.
"Get him!"
As chaos erupted in the courtyard, Matthias took a laptop from a nearby Gear and headed for a chair in a nice, breezy spot by the door. The mystery beauty ghosted along behind him until she was within touching distance. Then she reached out with one finger, poked Conway in the back of the head and went: "Pppbbbtth!"
Matthias jerked around, then grinned broadly.
"Oh my God, JB! Hi! What the hell are you doing here?"
"Hi, Matty! Geez, it's been years!"
The pair hugged in the middle of the lobby.
"You look great! Look at your little linen suit! You look like an adorable Panama Jack!"
"And you! Finally gave the cowgirl thing the old heave-ho?"
JB shrugged.
"It's too damn hot down here for jeans and boots. Plus, I think look kinda good in these sun dresses." The dark-skinned woman executed a little spin. "Hey! Let's go across the street to the café and you can do your online stuff there and we can catch up!"
"Um . . ." Matthias looked around JB back to the courtyard.
Charles pounded past the windows, Nathan hot on his heels. The manager darted for the door to the lobby, but Murderface was suddenly there, blocking his escape. Toki tackled Offdensen from behind and there was a confusing pile of swimsuit-clad men. Then Charles was hoisted bodily into the air by Nathan, Toki, and Skwisgaar and marched towards the pool. All five band members were chanting 'No work! No work! No work!'
Matthias sighed.
"Yeah. I think that would be an awesome idea."
A few minutes later, Matthias was ensconced at a patio table overlooking the ocean with his laptop open in front of him. JB appeared with two tropical drinks and set one in front of the secretary before sitting down at the opposite chair.
"So! How's the whole 'personal assistant' thing going?" she asked.
"One sec," Matthias said, holding up a finger. He finished writing the last e-mail and sent it off, then closed his laptop and took a drink.
"Well, sometimes it sucks and sometimes it's fun, but at least I've got a piece on the board."
"A piece on the board?" JB echoed. "What do you mean by that?"
Matthias gave her a look.
"Sweetie, there's shit going on around Dethklok and when it hits the fan, it's gonna so far South it will hit freakin' Mexico," Matthias announced.
"We're in freakin' Mexico," JB pointed out.
"We're in tourist Mexico," Conway corrected. "I mean Third World, drug-cartel controlled Mexico."
"Mexico's actually a Second-World country," JB said. "It just barely qualifies, but it's not a Third World country."
"Okay; moot point. The fact of the matter is: angels and demons are going to start brawling over this world and if us dirty Pagans want a hand in it, we have to stake our claims now."
"I see. Well, good luck with that," JB said simply. "The fact of the matter is: I can't find Nessie."
"Why should you care if you do?" Matthias inquired.
"She's my mentor. I kinda need to keep track of her," JB offered. "Oh! Let me show you this trick she taught me! It's so cool! Watch! Are you watching?"
"You can't find her because she's a flaky-ass fairy and all fairies are fucking flaky as hell," Matthias growled.
JB froze in place and stared at Matthias for a long time.
"Oh. Uh. Okay. Um, are you and Phooka . . . . having problems?" she finally asked.
"I would love it if Phooka and I were having problems," Matthias said simply. "Because that would mean I would know where the fuck Phooka was. Fucking flaky-ass fairy."
JB stared at the blond with the sort of mortal dread reserved for those who have well and truly put their foot in it. She took a deep draught of her drink, drummed her fingers on the rim of the glass, took another drink, then finally hazarded a look at Matthias.
"Hypothetical question," she offered. "How about if I magically harassed Toki Wartooth until his fairy godfather showed up? How would you feel about that?"
Matthias sighed.
"Okay, A) you're assuming a being who hasn't bothered to keep track of his husband is going to know where the hell his sister is and B) we've just established that fairies are fucking flaky as hell so who's to say he would actually show up if his charge were in trouble?"
"Good point," JB muttered, folding her hands around the stem of her glass.
Matthias drained the glass before him in one long, extended draught.
"How about . . . . um . . . . do you need a friend?"
Matthias stared at JB for a while.
"What do you mean, 'do I need a friend?'"
"Well, we've just established that your husband is a flaky bastard and you're working your ass off trying to have a stake in the coming shenanigans. Do you need a shoulder to cry on? I know I'm just a lowly water spirit and you're a god now, but . . ." JB let the sentence drift and shrugged.
Matthias stared at her for a long moment, then smiled.
"Sure. Everybody needs a friend. So! Learning to be a sea serpent, huh?"
JB looked insanely proud of herself.
"Yup! I are a college girl now! No more being a simple posthuman! I've learned to Enchant with music and cast Glamour and control water and teleport . . . even shapeshift a little!"
"Congratulations! That's awesome! I guess all my old friends are coming up in the world."
"Have you heard from Jack lately?"
"No. Why? Is he immortal now too?"
"I don't know; I just haven't heard from him in forever. I thought you might have heard something."
"No . . . I've been busy," Matthias sighed.
"Hey. You know what you should do?" JB asked. "On the other side of the island are some cliffs. The wind roars in off of the sea and it feels like you could just step off the edge and fly away."
"That sounds nice," Conway allowed.
"What you should do is—"
The rest of the sentence was drowned in the sound of a massive explosion. JB whipped her head back towards the hotel they had just left. Matthias just shook his head lightly.
"They're fine," Matthias stated. "They're always fine."
The dark-haired woman sighed and looked back towards Matthias.
"You and me, honey; we need to have a girls' night out."