Chapter 8
Horatio
One minute Horatio was performing Monotony’s new single, and the next, he was free-falling through what he thought was a trap door.
“What in the fuckity-fucking-fuck?” Iron bars and a cement floor? Since when did the Garden have a basement and a jail? “How did I end up here?”
“Dunno. I’m in here for public intoxication and indecent exposure.”
A figure sat across from him, one knee bent, face hidden behind a porno magazine. The dude had cool boots on—tall, with chains around the ankles—and a sexy British accent.
“Are you a friend of Beau’s?” Horatio asked. “The band must have pulled some elaborate prank.” He let out a frustrated groan. “Not funny. I need to get back on stage.”
“You fell through a portal and landed right there,” the stranger said from behind his magazine. “That’s not a prank. That’s reality, mate.”
Horatio rubbed his ear. “Did you say something about a portal?”
“Yes. Portals are how we travel through dimensions. Like you just did.”
“No, I was performing with my band. A weird light appeared on the stage floor, and then I landed on my ass in this fake jail.”
“This jail’s not fake.” He flipped a page. “Did you escape from the loony bin?”
Horatio huffed. “Dude. I said I was playing at the Garden. In New York City.”
He tossed his magazine aside and lit up with a grin. “New York? The boys and I love New York. Great shopping. I’m Snake, by the way.”
The man staring back at him was sheer, gothic perfection. Penetrating silver eyes. Miles of glossy black hair that spilled around him like a vampire’s cape. His pirate ensemble was a bit of a stretch, but damn he was fine as hell.
“I’m Horatio,” he said, then added, “Horatio Slice,” when he didn’t receive the usual star-struck response.
“Well, Horatio Slice, why didn’t you tell me you were from Earth in the first place?”
He blinked. “This isn’t Earth?”
“I told you this was Merona, remember?” Snake snapped.
“I thought Merona was in New Jersey.”
“Well, this Merona is south of the Milky Way, fairly close to Vinterbourne, and a stone’s throw from Turquin. But don’t go there. The creatures in Turquin will bite your dick off.”
Clearly, he’d been hired for his over-the-top acting skills. Horatio was about to ask how much the band was paying him but got distracted by heavy footsteps. A hulking figure approached, about six foot ten, with broad shoulders and a thick waist.
“Reptilian guard,” Snake muttered. “No surprise.”
Horatio turned. “What, did you just blow in from Comic-Con?”
“Are you talking to me, punk?”
“You’re the only one wearing a mask.”
The guy was a lizard dressed in military khaki. His head, face, and neck were covered in brown scales. Thick ridges replaced eyebrows. Two vertical openings replaced a nose. Hollywood makeup at its finest.
“This ain’t no mask, pretty boy.” The guard stuck his face between the bars. His slit pupils dilated—right in front of Horatio’s eyes. No contact lenses could do that. A surge of fear tore through his body.
“Dude, where did you say we were again?”
“Mer-oh-nah,” Snake said, enunciating every syllable.
“Merona Prison, to be exact.” The guard sniffed. “Wish I could crack you open and slurp down your guts, but Meridian wants you alive.”
“Blimey! What did you do to Meridian?” Snake shrank back.
“Who or what is Meridian?” It was bad enough the lizard guy wanted to eat him, but was some evil corporation out to get him too?
“Have you been living under a rock?” the guard asked. “King Meridian’s in charge of the entire universe!”
“What does he want with me?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” The guard settled his bulk on a plastic chair that bowed under his weight. “Mind your manners.”
Horatio scooted closer to Snake. “This isn’t a joke.”
“Glad to hear you’re finally clued in.” Snake pointed to Horatio’s lap. “They usually confiscate weapons around here. How’d you manage to sneak in yours?”
“This isn’t a weapon. It’s a guitar. I use it to play music.” Horatio stroked the instrument for comfort. “You have that out here, right?”
“Only Earth has music. Never understood the purpose, but I do enjoy hearing it when I’m there. Kind of soothing.”
No music? His mind untethered from reality. “Hey, can I touch you? I need to make sure you’re solid, not an illusion.”
“You’ll want to touch the firmest part of me, then.” Snake unbuttoned his pants.
“Whoa! Weren’t you just arrested for indecent exposure?”
“Oh, right.” Snake extended his hand and Horatio clasped it, surprised when he yanked him closer. “Those eyes of yours are like the sky on a sunny day. Bit spooky.”
“Yours are liquid metal.” He palmed Snake’s impossibly perfect face. “You’re too gorgeous to be real.”
“You’re quite a stud yourself. I’d love to get you out of your britches, but, indecent exposure and all that. Can you show me some music?”
Horatio set his guitar on his knee. “It’ll be quiet without an amplifier, but you’ll get the idea.” He played a riff, stunned when loud music blared.
Snake covered his ears. “You said it would be quiet,” he shouted.
“Yeah, I don’t get it.” Horatio fussed with the volume control knob and resumed strumming. The air turned to static. A strange hum vibrated Horatio’s teeth, followed by the sound of a watermelon getting hit with a baseball bat. “What was that?”
Snake pointed toward the guard with a trembling hand.
Horatio’s mouth dropped open. “Did he... fucking explode?” Bloody chunks dripped down the wall behind the chair, and a pool of red, viscous fluid spread out from under the plastic legs.
“Music doesn’t do that.” Another guard entered.
Startled, Horatio’s fingers slipped and—boom.
A single eyeball rolled across the floor.
“Now we know why we don’t have music out here. What’s your gadget called?”
“A guitar,” Horatio muttered, eyes glued to the disembodied eyeball staring back at him. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”
Snake gestured to the urinal jutting out from the cell’s back wall. Horatio crawled to it and heaved.
“I’ve witnessed some carnage in my day, but this takes the biscuit.” Snake produced a flask, took a swig, and handed it to Horatio. “Bet you could use a belt. Or four.”
Horatio took a mouthful, swished it around, and spit it into the urinal. “I killed two people.” He tipped the flask back for a long drink and passed it back. “They’ll never let me out of here. My life is over.” His throat closed up, and tears spilled down his face.
“Aw, pet, no need.” Snake patted Horatio’s shoulder. “You destroyed two nasty buggers who would’ve happily slaughtered us and turned our still-warm carcasses into dinner if given the chance. You did the universe a favor.”
The smell of blood was overpowering. Shaking, Horatio buried his face in his hands. “I’ll never unsee that shit.”
“Look at me.” Snake’s irises swirled, and Horatio rode a wave of calm that stopped his quaking. “Good lad.” He dabbed Horatio’s cheeks with a sleeve. “How do you feel now?”
“Kind of stoned. Your eyes are fun to look at.” He let the silver orbs swallow him. Every muscle relaxed. His breath steadied.
“Do you suppose your gadget can explode other things, like walls, for instance?”
“Should I try?”
Snake pointed to the back wall of the cell. “Give it a go.”
Horatio set the volume to ten, pointed the neck at the target, and strummed. Without noise or fanfare, the wall disintegrated into bits of mortar and wood.
“Brilliant!” Snake wiped plaster dust from his ruffled shirt. “Now do it again. If you get us outside, and I can take us far away from here.”
Right as Horatio aimed at an exterior wall, sirens wailed. “We are so screwed.”
“Quick, aim at the window!”
The wall burst outward, sending shards of glass and brick to the ground below. Horatio peeked out. “Great. That’s a twenty-foot drop.”
“Not for us.” Horatio’s jaw dropped as Snake did the impossible. Right arm forward, he twisted his wrist in a circular motion. A crackling surge of energy followed as a glowing circle snapped into existence, midair, a foot away from the toes of Horatio’s boots.
“What the hell is that?”
“The same thing you tumbled through earlier. Jump!” Snake shouted.
Horatio stepped back. “No fucking way, dude.”
Six guards burst in, each burlier than the next. “Would you rather be dinner for those blokes? It’s twelve inches away. Go!”
Who was he going to trust: himself, a person with no experience in portal jumping, or the insanely hot, magical alien? Horatio held his breath and leaped. Seconds later, he and his cellmate laughed when their asses hit soft sand.
“Congratulations, mate, you’re officially a space traveler.”
“What a fucked-up night.” Horatio placed the guitar face up on the ground. A cement wave of exhaustion hit, and he collapsed backward. Snake flopped down next to him, propped up on one elbow.
“Never in my lifetime has a person from your world crash-landed into mine.” Horatio withered under Snake’s intense gaze. “What does Meridian want with the likes of you? Do you wield some sort of power?”
“The only power I have is music.” Horatio blew air through pursed lips. “Does he want money? I have stacks of cash.”
“Meridian’s wealth can’t be measured, but rumor has it he’s obsessed with acquiring magical artifacts.” Snake snapped his fingers. “That guitar of yours. I’ll bet that’s what he’s after. That’s your power source right there.”
“This one’s my favorite, but he can have it.” Horatio sat up. Palm trees rustled. Gentle waves slapped shore, sending the scent of saltwater. “Are we in Hawaii?”
“This is Environ, our home base. My ship is around here somewhere.”
“Ship?” Horatio took another look at Snake’s clothes. “You’re really a pirate?”
“A space pirate.”
“Cool.” Horatio leaned back on his hands and gazed up at the stars. “The world I knew has suddenly lost all meaning.”
“You went from guitar player to guitar slayer.”
He was starting to like this dude. “Hell yeah, that’s my new stage name. Horatio Slice: Guitar Slayer of the Universe.”
“It’s a great title for a book. Or a graphic novel. You should think about that.”
“Maybe it would make The New York Times bestseller list.”
New York.
Would he ever see home again?