displays.
They were harmless, but annoying.
Up until six months ago, I’d never heard of them. A lovely couple, Jamie and Alex, had contacted Sara and I, asking to hold their wedding in my protected backyard. The Church of Hidden Wisdom had been giving them trouble for being of mixed mythologies, and the two women—an attic monster and an elf—requested sanctuary on my property, as well as the expertise Sara and I could offer as professional wedding planners.
Once we’d agreed to do the wedding, vague threats started to show up through notes shoved under our office door or left under my windshield wiper. Fed up, I’d once followed a pair of hooded parishioners back to the nondescript building in San Rafael where they held their services. The inside had looked like any community center that rented out space to self-help groups and tap dancing instructors.
The pastor had been both appalled and apologetic. The Church of Hidden Wisdom did not condone such bigotry.
Shortly after that, the threats stopped. Whatever the pastor had done put an end to it.
There wasn’t really a whole lot those rogue members could have done anyway. After all, the congregation was made up of various Hidden creatures. They could hardly march up Main Street with a bunch of protest signs that said “The Hidden gods hate Mashups” or “Myths with Monsters Are an Abomination.” Even crackpot fanatics have to stay out of sight of humans if they can’t pass for humans themselves.
And as they came up my driveway, chanting and marching, I could say with a hundred-percent certainty that these people could not pass for human.
They tried. But I’d met harpies before. An overcoat buttoned over the telltale bird body didn’t fool me a bit. And right next to the harpy, a small gargoyle woman in a blue pantsuit lumbered along, dropping bits of rock and pebble in her wake, destroying the disguising makeup job she’d applied to her stony face. A satyr hobbled behind, looking uncomfortable in shirt and trousers, but the particular gait of a goat-man is easy to pick out, no matter how he tries to cover himself.
The species of some of the others wasn’t as obvious to make out, but none of them moved quite like a human. In all, there were eight shambling figures, holding hands and chanting nonsense words in a steady stream.
None of the church members seemed at all concerned that a djinn, a reaper and a mothman blocked their progress up the driveway. They stopped, formed a circle a few feet behind the portal, and continued to chant.
Someone could have knocked me over with the wispy breath of a newborn fairy. The absolute ballsiness of these people marching up my driveway without any regard to either Hidden laws or polite society left me gobsmacked. I had no words.
“Hey,” Kam said. “This is private property. You people need a permit to do a séance here. Or whatever you’re doing.” She squinted up at the sky, as if expecting the strange gathering might cause a rainstorm.
Riley placed a hand on the satyr’s shoulder. “Listen, I’m all for freedom to be a douchebag, but you have to do it somewhere else.”
The satyr shook him off, and the entire group chanted louder.
Darius didn’t even try. He grabbed Riley by the elbow and Kam by the back of her sweater and dragged them across the fairy ring to my side.
“I think we need to regroup,” he said. “Unless you’ll allow me to physically remove them, regardless of whether I do them harm?” He gave me a hopeful look.
I shook my head. “You know I won’t agree to that.” I glanced at the strange mix of creatures waving their hands over their heads and working themselves into a fervor. “Not yet, at least.”
Sometimes being the good guy and doing the right thing kind of sucked. It was certainly more time consuming than allowing the mothman to play bouncer. But that way led to violence, and somebody would get hurt. After all, they were only singing.
How the hell they got my home
They were harmless, but annoying.
Up until six months ago, I’d never heard of them. A lovely couple, Jamie and Alex, had contacted Sara and I, asking to hold their wedding in my protected backyard. The Church of Hidden Wisdom had been giving them trouble for being of mixed mythologies, and the two women—an attic monster and an elf—requested sanctuary on my property, as well as the expertise Sara and I could offer as professional wedding planners.
Once we’d agreed to do the wedding, vague threats started to show up through notes shoved under our office door or left under my windshield wiper. Fed up, I’d once followed a pair of hooded parishioners back to the nondescript building in San Rafael where they held their services. The inside had looked like any community center that rented out space to self-help groups and tap dancing instructors.
The pastor had been both appalled and apologetic. The Church of Hidden Wisdom did not condone such bigotry.
Shortly after that, the threats stopped. Whatever the pastor had done put an end to it.
There wasn’t really a whole lot those rogue members could have done anyway. After all, the congregation was made up of various Hidden creatures. They could hardly march up Main Street with a bunch of protest signs that said “The Hidden gods hate Mashups” or “Myths with Monsters Are an Abomination.” Even crackpot fanatics have to stay out of sight of humans if they can’t pass for humans themselves.
And as they came up my driveway, chanting and marching, I could say with a hundred-percent certainty that these people could not pass for human.
They tried. But I’d met harpies before. An overcoat buttoned over the telltale bird body didn’t fool me a bit. And right next to the harpy, a small gargoyle woman in a blue pantsuit lumbered along, dropping bits of rock and pebble in her wake, destroying the disguising makeup job she’d applied to her stony face. A satyr hobbled behind, looking uncomfortable in shirt and trousers, but the particular gait of a goat-man is easy to pick out, no matter how he tries to cover himself.
The species of some of the others wasn’t as obvious to make out, but none of them moved quite like a human. In all, there were eight shambling figures, holding hands and chanting nonsense words in a steady stream.
None of the church members seemed at all concerned that a djinn, a reaper and a mothman blocked their progress up the driveway. They stopped, formed a circle a few feet behind the portal, and continued to chant.
Someone could have knocked me over with the wispy breath of a newborn fairy. The absolute ballsiness of these people marching up my driveway without any regard to either Hidden laws or polite society left me gobsmacked. I had no words.
“Hey,” Kam said. “This is private property. You people need a permit to do a séance here. Or whatever you’re doing.” She squinted up at the sky, as if expecting the strange gathering might cause a rainstorm.
Riley placed a hand on the satyr’s shoulder. “Listen, I’m all for freedom to be a douchebag, but you have to do it somewhere else.”
The satyr shook him off, and the entire group chanted louder.
Darius didn’t even try. He grabbed Riley by the elbow and Kam by the back of her sweater and dragged them across the fairy ring to my side.
“I think we need to regroup,” he said. “Unless you’ll allow me to physically remove them, regardless of whether I do them harm?” He gave me a hopeful look.
I shook my head. “You know I won’t agree to that.” I glanced at the strange mix of creatures waving their hands over their heads and working themselves into a fervor. “Not yet, at least.”
Sometimes being the good guy and doing the right thing kind of sucked. It was certainly more time consuming than allowing the mothman to play bouncer. But that way led to violence, and somebody would get hurt. After all, they were only singing.
How the hell they got my home
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