Late in the evening, he came home. He was beginning to smell like the world around him. Of Kate and Troy and Helena. Of the museum and magic and blood of New Orleans and Lizzie that never seemed to wash off. When Robert opened the back door to the kitchen he didn?t have to turn to know the claws and scampering behind him was Troy, eagerly pushing past him to get to his dog bowl. As soon as the dog had reached it he froze and then looked over his black, furry shoulder at Robert.
?Go ahead.? As if on cue the dog started to eat. It sounded like a muted rock tumbler as the kibble worked towards a destiny down the dog?s throat.
This was all surprisingly normal considering what had happened. When a monumental change occurred, there was the sense that everything else should have become warped or different. He was the new Hades of Nola but he still stood in the Museum kitchen at 2 am, making his own coffee. He still walked on two legs and occasionally, still, took a piss. He had not become something otherworldly, something that was the fabric of the universe like God and Mahis and all the other Originals. No, he had tied himself to human magic and no one could really tell him what that would mean.
The kitchen was bathed in the cold, long bulbed phosphorescent light that was installed over the kitchen sink. Three old coffee cups lingered in the belly of the stainless-steel sink and there was the hint, just the hint, of red wine. Robert shrugged out of his black blazer, laying it over the bench-like table before he stepped up to the coffee pot. It was the sort of coffee pot everyone knew. The coffee pot destined for work areas and public facilities. It wasn?t the cheapest model, but it might as well have been. Offices and lower-income homes all over the country had them, which meant everyone was building the same day-to-day memories of the same coffee pot. People only had to say the words ?coffee pot? before the image, frighteningly exact, could be conjured.
There was strength in repetition, though he wasn?t sure what that strength meant. Not exactly. He knew that something as simple as a coffee pot could become universal.
Sometimes the air crackled and Troy would look at him hopefully, wagging his tail. It was the same hope every dog had when they thought their owner would be taking them for a walk or opening the door to let them go play. Let me go play, he would say, but Robert only stared at him blankly. It was likely Robert never played as a child. Troy had gotten into the habit of not asking him anymore.
In the Otherworld Museum kitchen, Robert reached into his pocket to pull out his set of keys. The sound of it caused Troy to quit eating and look at him over his shoulder, giving one wet lick of his lips while he stared with anticipation. Robert?s thumb rolled over the metal cut pieces which somehow caused the hair on the back of Troy?s neck to bristle. No noise had been made but he could tell the dog was on the verge of whining at him. He?d just been out. What did he want?
The image of turning the key and stepping into the procession of Hades worshippers and a writhing Roach returned to him sharply. He gripped the keys. Troy stared on, practically a statue.
?You want to go home??
The dog?s tail wagged.
Robert swallowed, put the key in the air and turned.
?Go ahead.? As if on cue the dog started to eat. It sounded like a muted rock tumbler as the kibble worked towards a destiny down the dog?s throat.
This was all surprisingly normal considering what had happened. When a monumental change occurred, there was the sense that everything else should have become warped or different. He was the new Hades of Nola but he still stood in the Museum kitchen at 2 am, making his own coffee. He still walked on two legs and occasionally, still, took a piss. He had not become something otherworldly, something that was the fabric of the universe like God and Mahis and all the other Originals. No, he had tied himself to human magic and no one could really tell him what that would mean.
The kitchen was bathed in the cold, long bulbed phosphorescent light that was installed over the kitchen sink. Three old coffee cups lingered in the belly of the stainless-steel sink and there was the hint, just the hint, of red wine. Robert shrugged out of his black blazer, laying it over the bench-like table before he stepped up to the coffee pot. It was the sort of coffee pot everyone knew. The coffee pot destined for work areas and public facilities. It wasn?t the cheapest model, but it might as well have been. Offices and lower-income homes all over the country had them, which meant everyone was building the same day-to-day memories of the same coffee pot. People only had to say the words ?coffee pot? before the image, frighteningly exact, could be conjured.
There was strength in repetition, though he wasn?t sure what that strength meant. Not exactly. He knew that something as simple as a coffee pot could become universal.
Sometimes the air crackled and Troy would look at him hopefully, wagging his tail. It was the same hope every dog had when they thought their owner would be taking them for a walk or opening the door to let them go play. Let me go play, he would say, but Robert only stared at him blankly. It was likely Robert never played as a child. Troy had gotten into the habit of not asking him anymore.
In the Otherworld Museum kitchen, Robert reached into his pocket to pull out his set of keys. The sound of it caused Troy to quit eating and look at him over his shoulder, giving one wet lick of his lips while he stared with anticipation. Robert?s thumb rolled over the metal cut pieces which somehow caused the hair on the back of Troy?s neck to bristle. No noise had been made but he could tell the dog was on the verge of whining at him. He?d just been out. What did he want?
The image of turning the key and stepping into the procession of Hades worshippers and a writhing Roach returned to him sharply. He gripped the keys. Troy stared on, practically a statue.
?You want to go home??
The dog?s tail wagged.
Robert swallowed, put the key in the air and turned.