9. The Time Warp
The Time Warp
Luna had seen plenty of weirdness in her travels.
She’d witnessed a coven of Albanian witches summon a thunderstorm with nothing but yodeling.
She’d watched a Sufi mystic levitate three feet off the ground while reciting the “Epic of Gilgamesh.” But nothing truly prepared her for a full Rocky Horror Picture Show shadow cast performing on a street corner in the middle of a blackout.
How do I even begin to explain this? she thought. Shaw had been utterly baffled by her brief mention of a Steve McQueen movie earlier . . . How could she make him understand an iconic cult film about a transvestite from Transsexual, Transylvania?
The tall figure in the center—clearly playing the film’s main character, Doctor Frank-N-Furter—was a masterpiece.
The boots and fishnets were architectural marvels, the corset was a work of divine engineering, and the makeup was applied with the precision of a Renaissance master.
When they moved, it was with predatory grace that was half ballerina, half panther.
“Darlings!” Frank announced to the gathered crowd. “The show, as they say, must go on! Power or no power, rain or shine, apocalypse or tedium!”
A cheer went up from the performers. Luna could identify the full cast now: Columbia in her gold tap shoes, Brad and Janet looking appropriately square, Eddie with his saxophone. Even without the movie screen, the cast had recreated the entire world.
“What exactly are you all supposed to be?” Elias called out, surprising Luna. She’d expected him to hang back, bewildered, but he was genuinely curious.
Frank whirled toward them with a predatory grin. “Well, well, well. What have we here? Fresh meat?”
“FRESH MEAT!” the crowd shouted in unison.
Elias took this more in his stride than Luna expected. “Ah. A participatory theatrical experience, I take it?”
“Precisely!” Frank purred, sashaying over. “You’ve never heard of The Rocky Horror Picture Show?”
“I have,” Luna said quickly, shooting a look at Elias. “It’s this . . . musical. About . . .” She paused, trying to figure out how to explain it without completely shocking the Gatsby prototype beside her. “Well, it’s about aliens and . . . um . . .”
“And sex!” added Janet helpfully.
“LOTS of sex!” agreed Columbia. “Frank-N-Furter has sex with everyone.”
“We-e-e-ll.” Frank’s voice oozed with false modesty. “I do my level best.”
Elias raised an eyebrow. “I see. And the audience participates?”
Frank clapped and laughed delightedly—“Oooh, he’s fun!”—while Luna, on the other hand, had to pick her jaw up off the sidewalk.
“What did you people get up to in the Twenties, anyway?”
“Participation takes place in every possible way,” Frank said.
“Shouting, throwing props, dressing up as characters. It’s all about breaking down barriers, darling.
Be they social conventions, gender stereotypes, sexual inhibitions.
The tedious boundaries between performer and audience, reality and fantasy . . .”
There’s something about the way he talks, she thought. Something that feels less like theater and more like . . .
“How are you kids holding up?” Frank asked, expression intensifying. “Time travel can be so very exhausting, can’t it?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, don’t look so shocked, darling. Did you really think you could portal here, seeking my assistance—for a second time, I might add—and I wouldn’t notice? Really, Luna Melrose. I’m disappointed in you.”
“Myrna,” Luna whispered. “Oh, it’s you, isn’t it?”
“In this aspect, I go by Dr. Frank, if you please.” The god bowed theatrically. “One must commit to the role, after all.”
Luna expected Elias to be completely lost, but when she looked at him, he was nodding. “You’re the god Luna mentioned, yes? And you collect your hosannas through . . . what did you call it? Participatory theater?”
“Whenever someone shouts ‘asshole’ at poor Brad over there, whenever someone throws rice at a wedding scene or dresses up in fishnets and corsets . . .” Frank shrugged elegantly. “It’s all an offering to me.”
“Clever,” he said approvingly. “No churches to maintain, no formal ceremonies to organize. Just—”
“Attention, attention, attention—I love it so. Now then. I can only assume by your presence in 1977 that your little time-travel adventure didn’t go quite as planned?”
“It went horribly,” Luna admitted. “We’re stuck in the wrong year, our magic is all wonky, and we need to get back to our respective time periods.”
“Oh, how delicious! Let me guess. You want to go forward, he wants to go back, and you’re both too stubborn to admit that what you really want is to stay with each other?”
“Absolutely not! That’s not—we don’t—”
“Oh, of course not,” Frank cooed. “You want my help? That’s going to cost you.”
“Such as?” Elias asked.
Luna was surprised to hear no wariness in his voice. Just curiosity. What happened to the uptight jackass I arrived with?
Frank’s grin turned absolutely wicked. “Oh, darling. Given my current . . . incarnation . . . I think something appropriately theatrical is in order.”
Given the vibe of Rocky Horror, Luna had a sinking feeling she knew where this was going. “What did you have in mind?”
“A kiss, naturally.” Frank’s red lips curved into a smile that would have sent the Cheshire cat into a fit of envious weeping. “For me, from each of you. A real kiss, mind you. None of this air-kissing nonsense or pecks on the cheek you reserve for grandmothers.”
“No way,” Luna replied immediately. The words came out sharper than she’d intended. All around, she could hear the shadow cast tittering, feel them watching her with undisguised delight. “That’s . . . that’s completely inappropriate.”
“Oooh,” Columbia cackled. “She’s such a Janet.”
“Slut!” shouted the crowd.
“Inappropriate?” Frank looked genuinely curious. “How so?”
“Because . . .” Luna struggled for words that wouldn’t reveal herself. “Well, look at this crowd! We can’t do . . . that . . . in front of all these . . .” Trailing off, she gestured helplessly at Frank’s fans.
“Darling, in front of a crowd is the best way to do it.”
“But . . . but . . . okay, also? He’s from 1926! You can’t him expect to kiss a, uh . . .”
“A fellow in that outfit?” Elias supplied mildly.
“Yes! Exactly!” Luna turned to him gratefully. “You understand, right? Surely this goes against everything you were raised to—”
“Luna.” Elias’s voice was patient but amused. “Are you under some misapprehension that men kissing other men was invented in the 1970s?”
She stared at him. “I . . . what?”
“Sweetheart, I lived in Chicago during Prohibition. Half the speakeasies in town had men singing in evening gowns.” He studied Frank with obvious appreciation. “Though I must say, most of them weren’t quite this architecturally ambitious.”
Frank preened. “You flatter.”
“And,” Elias continued, turning back to Luna with a look that was definitely mocking, “I’ve kissed my share of men. Sometimes for money, occasionally for information, once or twice just for the hell of it. So if that’s all this deity requires . . .”
The ground shifted beneath her feet. “You’ve . . . what?”
“Oh, Luna. You sweet, sheltered little witch. C’mere, handsome.”
“But . . .” Her protests were dying in her throat. She was running out of reasonable objections.
“However,” Frank continued with obvious delight, “as we all know, good things come in threes. So after you’ve each kissed me, you’ll need to kiss each other.”
“Nope,” Luna said flatly. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” Elias asked, and there was something in his voice that made her look at him sharply.
“Because it’s . . . we don’t . . . I mean . . .” She could feel her cheeks burning. “It would be purely transactional! Just for the spell! It wouldn’t mean anything!”
“Of course it wouldn’t,” Elias agreed easily. Too easily. “So what’s the problem?”
The problem, Luna thought desperately, is that I don’t want to kiss you in front of an audience because then everyone will see that I’m no good at it and also because you’re stupidly attractive and I don’t trust myself not to make an idiot of myself.
Out loud, she said, “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”
Frank clapped their hands together. “Wonderful! Who wants to go first?”
“I’ll go,” Elias said, stepping forward with the kind of confidence that made Luna want to hate him.
He approached Frank with the easy grace of someone who’d done this sort of thing before, cupped the god’s face in his hands, and kissed them thoroughly.
Confidently. Expertly. Keen observers noted Frank levitate several inches above the sidewalk.
The shadow cast cheered. Someone whistled. Luna tried very hard not to notice how good Elias looked doing . . . that.
When they broke apart, Frank looked genuinely pleased. “My my. What a lovely man . . . You know, you could just stay here with us.”
“Appreciate the offer,” Elias replied with a grin. “But I got places to go, people to see, et cetera.”
“All right,” Frank sighed. They turned to Luna expectantly. “Your turn.”
Luna approached as if she were walking to her execution. Frank was taller than her—much taller in those impossible heels—so she had to reach up. The kiss was . . . fine. Pleasant, even. Frank knew what they were doing, at least, and managed to make it feel less awkward than Luna had expected.
When they separated, the crowd cheered again, if a bit less loudly than they had for Elias. Luna couldn’t help but notice the reduction in enthusiasm, which she managed to not take personally until Elias said—
“I think you just lost at kissing, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
“Well, let’s find out.” Frank snickered. “Time for our grand finale!”
Elias looked . . . nervous. Not scared, exactly, but less confident than he’d been a moment ago. “You sure about this?”
No, she thought. I’m not sure about anything right now. “It’s just a spell component,” she said instead. “Like ingredients in a potion.”
“Right,” he said. “Just a spell component.”
But when he leaned down to kiss her, it sure didn’t feel that way.
The kiss began simply enough: lips meeting lips, nothing more complicated.
But Elias’s hand came up to cup the back of her neck, and something electric shot through Luna’s entire nervous system.
Without thinking, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss in a way that had nothing to do with spells and everything to do with the fact that he tasted like hot summers and endless possibilities and she wanted more.
Luna was so distracted by the kiss that she barely even heard Myrna/Frank calling out, “Where shall I send them, my darlings? What do we think is the most romantic time of year?”
The actor playing Brad suggested Valentine’s Day, prompting a fresh round of “Asshole!” from the rest of the crowd. A debate about romantic times of year ensued as the world began to blur at the edges and then disappear.
She assumed it was the kiss making her dizzy, because holy shit, when had kissing become this overwhelming?
As the sounds of the crowd faded away, the smell of hot asphalt and garbage surrendered to something cleaner. When they finally broke apart, gasping, they were no longer standing on a darkened street corner in 1977. And she was freezing.
They stood together in the middle of Oak Haven’s town square, in chilly winter sunlight, surrounded by the familiar shops and cafés of her own time. The strains of “Last Christmas” bubbled away in the distance.