Cocktails at Seven, Apocalypse at Eight: The Derby Cavendish Stories Page 15

  The zombies moaned. The glamour calmed. I repeated the motion and said louder, “Be undone!” The zombies moaned louder. The glamour stretched.

  I drew a third circle. “Be undone,” I roared as the zombies cried out, “and never be again!” I seized the huahua with both hands and broke it in two. For an instant, the world seemed to explode in light—green light—as the curse of the huahua shattered and the glamour of the otherworldly sprang back into place.

  Then it was over—and I was holding two pieces of what had assuredly been the world’s ugliest pottery dildo.

  5. Friends Like These

  Our little gay village made national headlines the next day. mob invasion, read one paper. unknown attackers trash gay district, read another. dozens injured, read a third, police have no suspects. I saw Moe from Cockles and Mussels interviewed on a morning news program. “I don’t know what happened,” she said. “One minute, business was booming and everybody was happy. The next minute, it was complete chaos. Everybody was screaming and running, and there was a gang of thugs in these weird masks throwing green smoke bombs and just tearing up the street. It was like the end of the world.”

  How close she was to the truth! Thanks to the freshly restored glamour of the otherworldly, though, the real events of the night were quickly rationalized. By the time police, paramedics, firefighters, and anyone else driving a vehicle with sirens arrived in the village, no one remembered clouds of fairy dust, rampaging zombies, or a werewolf in drag fighting a giant panther in the middle of the street. They remembered a crowd of masked attackers appearing suddenly to terrorize their peaceful St. Patrick’s Day parties. They remembered smoke bombs. They remembered dogs (responsible for the bites suffered by numerous victims), and, weirdly, cats. A few people were certain one of the attackers had carried a really huge snake as well, and maybe there’d been a big guy wearing some kind of helmet with horns on it.

  Most people also recalled coming together in a big gay mob of their own to drive out the attackers, a convenient explanation that led to an exuberant, renewed sense of pride and community—which was a good thing, because the aftereffects of Bethany’s plot were very real and not so easily dismissed. Nearly every business in the village was damaged and many people had been injured, some quite badly.

  I’m proud to say that Miss Mitzy Knish immediately took the lead in helping those affected. Using her not-insubstantial network of contacts—and leaning heavily on those contacts to work their contacts in turn—she brought together musicians and drag artists for a fabulous benefit show that not only put the gay village back on its feet, but funded a new program for at-risk youth at the local community centre. Not inconsequentially, it also got Mitzy’s Big Year bumped up to a more prominent network, but if you ask Mitzy she will absolutely deny any connection. Cynics might say she did it for the fame, but I know Mitzy and she did it without any thought of reward.

  The police promised a swift investigation of the events of that terrible night, of course, but I knew they’d never find those truly responsible and not just because they were chasing shadows of glamour. Bethany was bound inside my shamrock pendant, beyond the reach of any mundane cop. I’d seen enough to guess at her true identity, but naming a thing gives it power, so she would always remain Bethany to me. Sara, Rani, and Cleo seemingly vanished with the restoration of the glamour. They were simply gone when we looked for them, although weeks later I heard rumours of a trio of strange, feral teen girls roaming the city’s ravines.

  Hermione Frisson was still with us, though—in a manner of speaking. The sudden unweaving of her magic circle, the tearing and restoration of the glamour, and the breaking of the mingled fairy and huahua magic of the zombie curse did something to her. Her eyes have turned as green as fairy dust, and most of the time they’re focused into the distance on something that no one else, not even me, can see. She still dances, but she does it in a long-term care facility. Aaron and I drop by to check on her every so often. Hermione seems to have forgotten all about her rivalry with Mitzy. They compare dance routines and talk costumes, although personally I don’t think Hermione’s plans for a burlesque show performed entirely in sweatpants will ever go anywhere.

  And then there was Tarik.

  We were separated in the immediate aftermath of the breaking of the huahua as the rest of us tried to disperse the crowd of confused former zombies, but he found me again before long. “Derby, I need to talk to you,” he said, then paused as if expecting me to cut him off the way I had earlier. I didn’t say anything, though. I think that flustered him. He looked down at his feet, ass ears drooping.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really, really sorry. When Bethany came to me and said she wanted something stolen, I didn’t think anything of it. It was just a job. Then I met you.” He looked up. “It was only fake at first. I fell hard for you, Derby.”

  “I fell hard for you,” I told him back. My heart felt like it might tear itself out of my chest. I still stayed a step away from Tarik, however. “But you took the huahua anyway.”

  “I didn’t realize how I really felt until after I took it. I thought I’d be okay, but as soon as I handed it over to Bethany, I completely fell apart. I felt like such a piece of shit.”

  “You could have told me about it.”

  “I was scared to.” Tarik sniffled. His face twisted and tears welled up in his eyes. He was on the verge of a full-on ugly cry. “I was scared of what you’d think and I was scared of what Bethany would do to me. I knew what she could do by then. I knew what she and Hermione were planning with the huahua.”

  I reached out and took his hands. “You still could have told me.”

  A sob escaped him. “I know. I should have.” He pulled one hand away to wipe his face. “I should have been gone a couple of weeks ago. That was the plan. But I convinced Bethany I should stay to keep an eye on you until the last minute. That’s what gave her the idea to taunt you this afternoon. Then when you told me to go away—” He swallowed another sob. “I couldn’t. I went back to Bethany and told her I wanted to help, but I was really waiting for you to come because I knew you would. I tried to help. . . .”

  “You were there in the end,” I said and made an attempt at a smile. “I couldn’t have taken down Hermione without you.”

  Tarik managed to both cry and laugh at the same time. He took my other hand again. “I love you, Derby.”

  “And I love you,” I said—then let go of him. “But you hurt me, Tarik. You betrayed me. You hurt my friends.” I swept an arm around the ruined village. “You hurt a lot of people.”

  “Derby—”

  I took his head between my hands and kissed him lightly. Once. “I love you, Tarik, but I won’t stay with you.”

  I walked away.

  Matt and Mitzy—human once more, of course, and barefoot without her ruined boots—found me sitting on the steps at Squeal. “We saw that, Derby,” said Matt. “Are you okay?”

  I sighed. Holding back my own tears was hard, but still easier than I’d expected. “I will be,” I said.

  Mitzy hugged me. “You’re the best.”

  “Thank you, Mitzy. Your left boob is broken.”

  She reached inside her shredded dress, pulled out the fake tit, and tossed it away, then went back to hugging me. Matt embraced me from the other side.

  “We love you, Derby Cavendish,” he said.

  My heart swelled and I did my best to hug them both back. With friends like that, I can withstand any fake-ass lover, zombie apocalypse, or undying nemesis. I’m Derby Cavendish—and I know I’m unstoppable.

  Publication History

  “Fruitcake” was first performed at the ChiSeries Very Special Christmas Special Special, 2010.

  “The Sweater” was first performed at the 2nd Annual ChiSeries Very Special Christmas Special Special, 2011.

  “Dreidel” was first performed at the ChiSeries
Toronto Presents: A Very Special Hanukkah Special, 2012.

  “Naughty” was first performed at the ChiSeries Toronto Presents: A Very Special Krampus Special, 2013.

  “Special” was first performed at the ChiSeries Peterborough Presents: Speculating the Queer, 2014.

  “Organ” was first performed at the ChiSeries Toronto Presents: A Very Special Saturnalia Special, 2014.

  “Longest” was first performed at the ChiSeries Toronto Presents: A Very Special Winter Solstice Special, 2015.

  “Green” is original to this collection.

  All stories appear here in print for the first time.

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank the founders of the Chiaroscuro Reading Series, Sandra Kasturi and Helen Marshall, for asking me to read at the very first ChiSeries Very Special Christmas Special Special, and all of the fans at ChiSeries Toronto who have looked forward to a new Derby Cavendish story every year since. Derby has a better voice because the stories were written to be read aloud.

  I’d also like to thank ChiZine Publications co-publishers Brett Savory and Sandra Kasturi (again!) for bringing the Derby Cavendish stories together in a published collection; CZP managing editor Samantha Beiko for her excellent feedback and design; and artist Erik Mohr for a fabulous cover.

  And as always, my special thanks to Ole Calderone for his love and his patience with a writer in the house.

  About the Author

  Don Bassingthwaite is the author of numerous fantasy and dark fantasy novels, including The Dragon Below and Legacy of Dhakaan trilogies. His short stories have appeared in Black Gate magazine, Imaginarium: The Best Canadian Speculative Fiction Writing, and the Lambda Literary Award-winning Bending the Landscape: Fantasy and Science Fiction anthologies. He lives in Toronto with too many books, a well-stocked spice cupboard, and his partner.