Page 53 of Tidal Creatures

“I’m Judith Kong-Jones, and I’m a linguistics grad student who was hoping to keep avoiding you until I graduated,” says Judy. “Fucked that one up but good, since now I’m in your house. These are Anna and David. They’re … I suppose ‘work acquaintances’ is the best way to explain our relationship.”

“Mm-hmm. And what is it that you all do for work that has you acquainted?” he asks, sounding halfway amused by her attempt to dodge the undodgeable question.

“We’re incarnate moon gods,” she says, immediately, then claps her hands over her mouth, horrified by what just came out. “I didn’t mean to … I’m so sorry, I didn’t…”

“Calm down; you didn’t have a choice,” he says, and takes a sip of his coffee. “Just so we’re all equally exposed: Hi. I’m Roger, and I’m the living manifestation of the linguistic half of a universal concept normally referred to as the Doctrine of Ethos, when people remember that it’s something they can refer to, which isn’t very often outside of philosophy and music theory cl— Oh, thank God, Dodge!” The last appears to be a name, as it’s accompanied by his eyes focusing on the kitchen doorway and him raising his mug in what appears to be a toast. “Get in here and save me from the student body.”

“Which one? The one who looks like she’s about to go for your throat, the tall guy, or the one who looks like a whole lot of missed alarms?”

“All three?”

“Sure, sure.” The woman walks into the room, following the professor’s path to the coffee machine. They have a certain facial similarity, but Judy wouldn’t have pegged her for Professor Middleton’s sister if she’d seen her on the street: her hair, for one thing. It’s a shockingly bright shade of red, cut short and slightly feathered, like she’s been hunting her whole life for the lowest-maintenance style possible, and has finally hit on this as the comfortable middle ground between “something I have to brush” and “something I have to take care of.” Like the professor, there’s a white streak at the front, running from the crown of her head down. It doesn’t look like an affectation.

Unlike his traditionally professorial attire, she’s wearing jeans and a Berkeley T-shirt, with a highlighter tucked behind one ear. She’s also surrounded by a thin rainbow film of broken time. Not dead time—broken time, the kind that flashes in the walls of the everything, intangible and ever-shifting, dying even as it fully appears. Judy blinks, blinks again, and finally scrubs at her eyes, trying to make the afterimages disappear.

They don’t oblige. “Who are you people, and why am I saving my brother from you?” the woman asks.

Her voice is genial and lacks the echoing subliminal commands of Professor Middleton’s. That would be comforting, if not for those rainbows. Judy begins to open her mouth.

“And don’t lie to her,” says Professor Middleton sharply.

Judy tries to shut her mouth again. It refuses to oblige. She glares at the professor, then turns to the woman. “We’re a group of incarnate moon gods currently attending the college where Professor Middleton teaches, and he picked us up and dragged us home as punishment for running into him on campus.”

“Hey!” he protests. “This isn’t a punishment. You’re the one who didn’t want to explain who you people were in public, and wouldn’t go to my office with me.”

“Poor baby. Are you terrifying the lesser incarnates again?” The woman pats him on the cheek. “Wow, sucks to be you. Anyway, which ones are you people? There are like ninety moon gods or something. You’re like rats.”

“Don’t let her fool you,” says the professor, as an aside to Anna. “She knows exactly how many moon gods there are, possible, currently incarnate, and no longer incarnating regularly. That’s what she does. She knows the numbers of things.”

“Oh fuck me the Doctrine has two halves, doesn’t it?” says Judy, horrified.

The woman looks at her, amused. “You picked that up pretty quick, little Lunar. Yes, there are two halves to the Doctrine of Ethos. Most things have two halves, since that’s what ‘half’ means. There should probably have been more, since it’s also a means of describing musical modes, but that gets overly complicated, and then I have a headache, and you don’t want me to have a headache. Hello, I’m Dodger Cheswich, call me ‘Dodger,’ and I’m basically the living concept of mathematics, which makes me fun at parties. You were going to tell me which moon gods you are.”

“Chang’e, ma’am,” says Judy.

Dodger nods, satisfied with this, and looks to David.

“Máni,” he says.

Too late, Judy remembers that Anna’s lie to David is still in effect—he thinks she’s Losna, and she’s about to tell the truth. Anna appears to remember at the same time. She pales slightly, mouth working like she’s chewing on a fresh piece of gum.

She resists the command for a surprisingly long time before she spits out, “Artemis.”

“Two of the big three, in our kitchen? My.” Dodger sips her own coffee. “We should get out the nice dishes, Roger.”

“They’re not staying for dinner.”

“Your strays always wind up staying for dinner, when they don’t drop dead in the garden.”

David, meanwhile, is staring at Anna in outright shock. Before Judy can tell him not to, he steps up, Máni shifting to the forefront as his eyes flash silver and the air around him takes on a sparkling, wintery air. Dodger lifts her eyebrows as she observes this, but doesn’t comment, while Professor Middleton takes a deep, weary drink from his mug, leaning back against the counter.

“You told me you were Losna,” says Máni. “Why would you lie to me?”

“I had my reasons,” she says.

“We don’t lie to each other.”

“I just met you,” she protests. “I don’t owe you honesty.”