Of Funerals and Families; Part One
In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.
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‘‘Victory is neither pointless, fleeting, nor soon forgotten. It is yours.’‘
I have been warned that my Uncle wants me dead. My Aunts want me for; other things.’‘
‘‘What do they want?’‘ E asked. It was the whole 'men as a true asset' problem for her.
‘‘The whole repository of nefariousness;’‘ Pamela started to explain, but then, ‘‘Double Word Score!’‘ Pamela and I exclaimed excitedly then 'high-fived'.
Yes, you spiteful Cosmos, I had found my soul-mate and she was a near-octogenarian with a macabre sense of humor; who also had a telepathic ability to know my mind. E looked totally lost in the exchange.
‘‘Yes; the whole repository of nefariousness was created to be sterile,’‘ Pamela picked up the conversation.
‘‘Which makes the very existence of Cáel here very noteworthy; virtually inexplicable,’‘ she mused.
‘‘What have the labs at Havenstone think of this?’‘ Rachel worried.
‘‘I refused to go back in for any more tests,’‘ I met her gaze.
‘‘But it could be important,’‘ E joined in.
‘‘I will make it easy on you both; I'm a horrible person. I'm the Head of House Ishara and I elect to not put my fate in the hands of the same people who leaked my very existence to the Illuminati during the first set of tests,’‘ I stated. ‘‘Which is why I'm here in Chicago burying my Father, in case any of you missed it.’‘
‘‘Certainly knowing what is going on is more important than the risk of further exposure,’‘ E persisted. She got kudos for sticking to her guns.
‘‘Esmeralda, I work for Katrina Love, Head of Executive Services,’‘ I responded. ‘‘By that I mean I have this nifty little glass table in a corner of her office.
Me stressing over my genetics isn't really important. Katrina is on the case and I haven't been out of college for two months yet. If the difference between Havenstone getting in a fight with the Illuminati and keeping the truce is my blood sample, she'll let me know,’‘ I added. ‘‘As far as Ishara is concerned, Havenstone had an information leak that got a house member killed.’‘
‘‘Do you have other family?’‘ E inquired hesitantly.
‘‘Blood kin? Not in this country and certainly not anyone I could name,’‘ I sighed. ‘‘I case you are wondering, there are a grand total of three members on Ishara's roster.’‘
‘‘Is the rest of your family safe?’‘ E was trying to sound upbeat.
‘‘Safe? Of course they are not safe. They both work for Executive Services, Esmeralda. They were 'Runners' who I inducted into Ishara. They are Amazons of the Host and that means never being safe this side of the cliffs. Friday morning I presented them to our ancestors and they were welcomed as equals; as sisters to those who have the blood of Mycenaeans on their hands,’‘ I turned to look out the window.
‘‘What was it like?’‘ Tiger Lily inquired. ‘‘The induction.’‘
‘‘If you are looking for a vision of a stone hall with thousands of war-like Amazons holding me in judgment, you'll be disappointed,’‘ I recalled. ‘‘I had to create the ceremony from scratch; ash, tears and blood.
‘‘I felt strong enough about that instinct I let Desiree slap me until I cried enough tears. With Desiree's knife, I cut myself, they cut themselves and our blood mixed,’‘ I finished.
‘‘That is not how it is done,’‘ Rachel corrected me.
‘‘No,’‘ I stopped. ‘‘It is not how you do it.
House Ishara has come back from the void that waits for all those who are dead and have no one living to recall them,’‘ I explained. ‘‘We are not the other Houses. We are both Love and Oaths and there is a lack of respect for each of those virtues in this World.’‘
‘‘I never considered Amazons as overly romantic, but we are true to our oaths,’‘ Esmeralda was starting to bask in the openness of the exchange.
‘‘I do not doubt the integrity of anyone in this vehicle, except for me,’‘ I gave her a weary grin. ‘‘The failure of oaths is mine. Ishara was bound by an Oath and has failed in her pledge. You are wrong about the romance and I am sure you have misunderstood my definition. I live for the day when no sons are sent to the cliffs as newborns; Love, Esmeralda. Love.’‘
The hush pressed upon us until Tiger Lily pulled up in front of the Hotel Burnham. Rachel, E, Charlotte (from the second GL) and I went in. I wave the others back as I went to the desk. Rachel and Charlotte had grey duffel bags with 'stuff' inside. E had my minimal kit.
‘‘Cáel Nyilas with Havenstone,’‘ I introduced myself. Yes, I was in 'prison' gear.
‘‘Director Nyilas; welcome to the Burnham,’‘ he recovered quickly. ‘‘Which rooms do you wish to use?’‘ Thank you, Helena, no I'm a damn Director. He twisted the screen so I could see the list. Eleven doubles and a Lakeview Executive Suite with two adjoining Deluxe Suites.
‘‘We'll use those,’‘ I indicated the Executive/Deluxe/Deluxe.
‘‘Very good, Sir,’‘ he nodded. ‘‘Will you be ordering room service? I'm afraid the Atwood restaurant has closed for the evening.’‘
‘‘Sounds like a plan,’‘ I looked at his name tag, ‘‘Steve, or do you prefer Mr. McCabe?’‘
‘‘Steve will do fine, Director;’‘ Steve started.
‘‘I will make it easy on you Steve,’‘ I sighed. ‘‘Call me Cáel. All this Director crap is for the benefit of people I barely know. I am here, in my hometown, to bury my Father; who was murdered yesterday.’‘ Steve paled. ‘‘The FBI gave me these spiffy duds. If any law enforcement shows up asking for me, give me a ring first.’‘
‘‘Nyilas; from Burnham? I read about that,’‘ Steve seemed bemused. ‘‘The day shift Assistant Manager is from Burnham too.’‘ How wonderful, I thought sarcastically. Steven sensed my waning interest. ‘‘Your keycards, Sir; Cáel and my sympathy for your loss.’‘
‘‘Steve, never miss a chance to tell your loved ones how you feel,’‘ I took the cards. ‘‘That is my biggest regret with my Dad. I didn't think about it the last time we talked.’‘
Steve gave a final nod. I rejoined my group and headed for the elevator. The rest was a tired blur. The rest of the group showed up, including Pamela. I called Nicole to tell her the situation then called Timothy despite the late hour to make sure he was okay. Timothy informed me that two 'psycho-chicks' stopped by as a kind of 'meet and greet'.
I hit the small hotel fitness center with Mona, the fourth member of Rachel's team. It helped. What helped more was the constant reminder that I worked with smart people. Mona's mother was dead as well, killed on an undisclosed mission with the SD when she was ten. She could understand my sense of grief and confusion.
We didn't cry and hug. It wasn't something she could do with a man. Give a decade, or two and she might come around. Instead,
‘‘Thank you for Constanza,’‘ Mona said quietly to me as we exited the center.
‘‘I measure a person's life in the lives we save; as well as the ones we take,’‘ I enlightened her.
Before that moment, I didn't really consider killing people to be all that praiseworthy an endeavor. Today I had been in a situation where my life had been in immediate danger. I was glad the other guy ended up dead. Since I was prepared to keep acting stupidly, I was grateful for those who would murder people so that I could remain both noble of purpose and alive.
‘‘She is close to me; she helped me grow up after Mom was gone,’‘ Mona opened up a tiny bit.
‘‘Aren't you a bit angry with me?’‘ I asked.
‘‘Initially, I was very angry. Then I heard your words and I knew you spoke the truth of the matter,’‘ Mona exhaled. ‘‘She should have died. She deserved death for what she said.’‘
‘‘No one;’‘ I started to comfort Mona.
‘‘For a member of a Faith that exults in the harshness of martial conflict, you spend an inordinate amount of energy struggling to keep people alive,’‘ Mona noted. ‘‘I'm glad I helped deal with those Latin Kings now. It was a mission worth doing.’‘
‘‘What?’‘ I stumbled.
‘‘Didn't Buffy tell you?’‘ Mona regarded me. She smirked. ‘‘Yeah, we hunted them down late Sunday night and into early Monday morning. I doubt the few who escaped will ever be back.’‘
‘‘Why haven't I; anybody heard about this?’‘ I worried. Mona looked at me somewhat perplexed.
‘‘Cáel of Ishara, we always take the bodies of murder victims, cut them up, place them in large drums of acid and ship them to Canada,’‘ Mona informed me.
‘‘Ah; thanks for telling me that. Let's both agree to not let Buffy know that I know, okay?’‘ I requested. ‘‘She'll get an inordinate thrill thinking she knows something I don't.’‘
‘‘As you wish, Cáel of Ishara,’‘ Mona nodded gravely.
(Tuesday Morning)
Sexual addiction is somewhat like military service. It requires you to be alert to your surroundings, think on your feet, follow procedures and; most crucial to me; shows you how to remain functional with minimal sleep. In this case, five hours sufficed to clear out my cobwebs and make me incredibly horny.
All of that was despite the layers of upsetting news being placed before me. Executive Services had gone over the feed from the four SD members. Inadvertently, Dad had fought on the 'right' side. The team leader died first. Her back-up put two men in the grave and wounded a third before they tossed a grenade on her.
I looked at Charlotte as she gave me the news. We both had a 'what the' expression on our faces. Grenade? I kept doing my calisthenics. The second two-Amazon group killed three attackers on their side of the building then charged the back door. I wondered if Mom's Garden Dragon was okay. It was like a Garden Gnome, except it was a Dragon. Mom was odd that way.
The attacking group had blown the front door and entered the first floor. The Amazons in the back decided to shoot out the lock instead. While transiting the kitchen moving forward, the second group took fire; from a Zastava M 21. I was confused.
‘‘It is a modern Serbian weapon,’‘ Charlotte filled in the blanks.
‘‘Dad was killed by Serbians?’‘ I muttered.
‘‘No,’‘ Charlotte sighed. ‘‘No he wasn't.’‘ Another look from me as I started my standing push-ups. ‘‘That team member was wounded. The shooter was taken down by both of our teammates. At this point, three other attackers moved from your front room to the dining room, pinning our team down.
That was when your father broke cover and assaulted the attackers. He had this large lamp and cracked it over the right shoulder of the closest man,’‘ Charlotte stated. I knew that light fixture Charlotte was talking about. It was a floor lamp, nearly two meters tall, made of glass and bronze. My physique was from my Father; broad shoulders and powerful arms.
That 'large lamp' weighed over 30 kg and, powered by my father's upper body strength, I was betting the guy who was on the receiving end had have some of his bones snapped.
‘‘The man screamed in Bulgarian, his two companions turned to see what was happening and the Amazons advanced by fire toward your father,’‘ Charlotte continued.
‘‘Your father swung again,’‘ she looked at me, ‘‘connecting with the man's chest. In response, the other two shot him three times. He fell. The second team pressed forward, killing the man your Father wounded and wounding another. The last unhurt Amazon was killed trying to get to your Father while the survivor was concussed by the use of a second grenade.
We don't have the video of what happened in the interim. When the last Amazon began moving again, the two remaining attackers had dragged your father out the front door. She pursued and fired. She wounded the undamaged attacker; and one of her bullets ended your Father's life. She was wounded in this last exchange of fire. The two men helped each other to a vehicle and left.’‘
I kept working out as I made an acceptable collage of my misery.
‘‘Does she know?’‘ I whispered.
‘‘Does she; the Amazon? Her name is Sabina. I don't think she's been informed yet,’‘ Charlotte answered.
‘‘Unless it becomes necessary, don't tell her that her bullet killed my Father,’‘ I sighed. ‘‘The only thing that is important to me; to Ishara; is that she gave her all as did her sisters. My Father was killed by the men who first shot him. Had they escaped with my Father, they weren't taking him to a hospital, so he was as good as dead anyway. That is all that matters.’‘
‘‘Yes Ishara,’‘ Charlotte responded with quiet reverence. Knowing nothing of Security Detail's procedure and tradition, I had tossed out an excuse to spare a valiant woman a terrible piece of news. Charlotte's demeanor suggested to me that it would be a kindness conveyed. A few minutes later, Rachel and Tiger Lily came in from their suite.
Mona had been my guardian while I slept so she slept now. This was our signal to shower and put on some clothes before the group went downstairs for breakfast. Pamela presented herself as I was getting dressed. Esmeralda's arrival signaled our migration to the ground floor Atwood restaurant. As everyone glided into the elevator, I had a nostalgic moment for Odette.
A normal, non-lethal, happy young lady. This all-encompassing seriousness around me was crimping my efforts to find the silver lining in this personal calamity. Ten seconds after exiting the elevator, Nicole angled toward us then we proceeded to breakfast. It took a little jockeying and refereeing by me to get the seating arrangements set.
Nicole was on my left then Pamela. Rachel and E were on my right. Charlotte and Tiger Lily were across from me as orders were taken.
‘‘How are you holding up, Cáel?’‘ Nicole put a hand on my lap. I had no immediate reply.
‘‘Lonely. Sad. Alone. Bereft of anger; it is pointless. I want to scream, rage, tear things up, throw things across the room and hear them shatter; but not really,’‘ I confessed.
Suddenly, a strange essence infused my core.
‘‘No, that's wrong. I am not alone. We have suffered more, lived through worse and never wavered even in the face of death,’‘ I said in a ghostly whisper. That was really the last thing I wanted to say. Its origin was from an enigmatic corner of my mind I was resisting venturing into.
'Taking oneself to the cliffs' made a whole lot more sense suddenly. The Amazon prepared her daughters and granddaughters for her absence. She volunteered to make that trek. In her heart, she called out to her Ancestors to prepare them to accompany her on that final journey. That all sounded like comfortable spiritual mumbo-jumbo, safely quoted by a rational man under duress.
The abyssal rift in that psycho-babble, makeshift patch over my emotional pain was I felt Vranus and Ishara standing at my shoulders. Vranus because his seemingly endless quest was finally resolved and he and his descendants would at last be welcomed into the halls of their kin. With me, he had succeeded and brought his people home. There was still the matter of the rest; the three sons of Arinniti and the elder warrior.
Holy Crap; they were still out there, waiting to be shown the path home. My 'Evenly Holier Crap' moment was feeling the weight of the eyes of Ishara upon me. Not Ishara, the matron goddess of this; my House, but that ancient Amazon who had surrendered her personal name to oblivion to give her followers a sense of unity. No female was solely 'her' daughter; all the women of the house were equal in birth and station.
It was that Ishara who stood at my shoulder and, beyond some perverse desire to look behind me to see how sexy she was, I felt I had her; not approval; her mandate. We had to be held to our oaths and would die to a woman (and man) for them. We were to give the Host a second chance to make things right. There would be no retreat.
It was not in the Amazon psyche to fight the relentless, remorseless and bloody battle; to risk everything on victory with no thought of failure. It was not something guys were accustomed to, but had been the doom of men down through the ages. Whether too romantic, too stubborn, or too bound to our brother's in arms, men had embraced hopeless causes before; mostly perishing without fanfare yet with the exceptional impossible victory to give us hope.
From time immemorial, male kin of the flesh and spirit had piled their corpses one upon the other, refusing the verdict of combat for the sake of brotherhood and every imaginable ideal. It was hardly a trait worth sharing with the sisters. They would understand the pieces; not the result. My lack of political ability would not be disability. I simply had to learn to fight; a lot better than I did at that moment.
The echoes of this message inside my head, the chilled air that filled my lungs and balance restored to my heart was bizarrely unfrightening. It would be an affirmation of the 'first directive' oaths all the houses had sworn. It wasn't my place to raise all the 'Runners', or even a single one. It was my duty to initiate the 'Worthy', no matter their number.
My actions were mine. I would not shame the other houses. I would not consider their prestige at all. It was not my place in the same way it was not their place to tell me what I could and couldn't do. It was a divine 'Go get 'em' and it felt pretty, freaking awesome.
‘‘Cáel, are you okay?’‘ Nicole asked in a worried tone. She squeezed my thigh. I looked down at my hands. I was okay.
‘‘Nicole, I have the blood of Ahhiyawa champions on my hands. I feel it's sticky, sickening ichor and smell the copper-laden, metallic odor,’‘ I smiled. ‘‘I think I'm going to be just fine.’‘
‘‘Who?’‘ Nicole was even more concerned.
‘‘Someone who screwed with me a long, long time ago. They are all dead, but don't worry about the bodies showing up to bother anyone,’‘ I grinned.
All the full-blooded Amazons had been very still. The word 'Ahhiyawa' appeared to scare them even more than my haunting actions. To the Amazons, the Ahhiyawa were the Mycenaeans in the time of the Iliad. The problem seemed to be that I had never heard any member of the Host use that term and I was suddenly curious as to why.
‘‘You seemed to have went away for a few seconds,’‘ Nicole joked lightly. ‘‘You do appear better rested, which is good. What is on the agenda for today?’‘
‘‘Get my Father's body, prepare for his cremation, arrange for the last Roman Catholic Church we attended to send somebody to the service and prepare my parent's plot,’‘ I ran down.
‘‘I imagine the police and feds will want to contact me again,’‘ I piled it on. ‘‘I want to see my home if the forensic guys let me. What do you think will be aimed at me?’‘
‘‘We'll check up on any family attorney you may have had along with probating your father's Will, if he had one,’‘ Nicole assured me.
‘‘As for the authorities, let's see what kind of warrants they are asking for before we move beyond a 'denial' defense.’‘
‘‘Denial, as in me claiming I didn't do anything because, ya know, I didn't do anything,’‘ I gave her a sleepy smile. ‘‘How about we eat first?’‘
We ordered, drank our coffee, tea and juices while remaining largely non-communicative. It wasn't until the food began arriving did I realize I'd 'misplaced' Pamela once more. As I tore into a big slab of ham, I looked over my surroundings for the first time. I gave myself a mental pat on the back when I spotted Pamela then the 'big picture' kicked me in the nuts.
Pamela was dressed as a server, coasting about the room, filling drinks, getting appetizer and performing the tedious little chores that waiters and waitresses had to pull off flawlessly. The other wait-staff noticed Pamela, but since she was making their jobs easier and not taking their gratuities, they ignored her. They probably thought she was some industry expert.
The plates were being cleared away when Pamela returned, back in normal clothing. She dumped a pile of ID's on the table. Nicole picked them up.
‘‘Chicago PD; Organized Crime Taskforce,’‘ Nicole read off then glanced to Pamela. ‘‘ATF, Homeland Security, FBI, FBI, Chicago PD; Homicide, Federal Marshall and Federal Marshall.’‘
‘‘What?’‘ Pamela said between bites of her veggie omelet. ‘‘I took their identification, not their wallets. Do you want me to go back for those too; and their keys?’‘
‘‘No. We have risked Mr. Nyilas' freedom enough for one meal,’‘ Nicole shot back. She took Tiger Lily's empty plate, dumped the ID's on it then covered the pile with her handkerchief.
‘‘Hello,’‘ this officious young lady greeted us. I'd been distracted by Nicole's malfeasance so I missed the hotel's new Assistant Manager's approach. It was turning out to be a great morning for visitations from my past. This ghost was much younger than the last ones. Our eyes met. It was easy to see that I was the man in charge being the only man at the table.
‘‘Director Nyilas, I hope everything is going well for you and your staff this morning,’‘ she smiled. ‘‘I would also like to convey the Hotel Burnham's condolences at the passing of your father. I too was born and raised in Burnham.’‘ I already knew where she'd lived most of her life. Most critically, I very strongly recalled where she'd gone to school; all 12 grades plus K.
‘‘Cameron Sanders,’‘ I stood and extended my hand across the table. ‘‘You look familiar.’‘ Of course she looked familiar. Cameron had publically ground my soul into the grit that ants stepped upon. Her verbal rejection had been a pivotal moment in my life. After that day, I had taken responsibility for my life both anatomically and academically.
Recall how I had said I was once a 'nobody'. Here was living proof. Cameron and I had gone to the same schools from Kindergarten through our senior years. We'd even shared classes and it wasn't like I could be confused with all the other 'Cáels' we'd gone to school with; because there weren't any. The same goes for 'Nyilas'.
I'd been shifting the boner in my pants for three solid years because of Cameron. She had been hot in high school and she was even better looking now; Brooke hot. For a second, my confidence wavered. In that heartbeat, I realized she was just another woman and I was no longer that guy.
‘‘Where you an upperclassman at Thornton Fractional North High School?’‘ she queried.
‘‘Hmm; do you recall Jenny Forrester?’‘ I countered. Cameron knew her African-American rival, no doubt. The tweak in her smile said as much. ‘‘I'm going out on a limb; you look like a DePaul girl.’‘ Cameron's eyes twinkled.
Her eyes flitted down to where her class ring normally held court. She had taken it off for work neutrality.
‘‘How did you guess?’‘ Cameron tilted her hip suggestively. Sex.
‘‘So I'm right?’‘ I reposed. I had 'guessed' right because Cameron crowed about her decision to go to DePaul over all her other offers.
‘‘I have some family business to take care of, Cameron,’‘ I nodded. ‘‘Can we catch up later today and figure out where we've intersected before this morning?’‘ Translation: I'm going to screw you. Not 'I want to', but 'I will'. I could normally figure out a woman in an evening. I had a three year backlog of data on poor Cameron.
My Pivotal Goddess was an 'upfront' girl. Her façade was bravado backed by the fear of not measuring up; not being good enough. My mistake in High School was approaching her, hat in hand. Cameron felt best when someone took the tough choices away from her. If she didn't lead, she couldn't fail by her way of thinking.
Dad had stood by me that night when he came home from work. I was a broken wreck of a teenage boy. Dad hadn't told me to toughen up and he hadn't been sympathetic. All he wanted to know was what I was going to do about it. What was 'I' going to do, as if I could be the master of my own fate. That was my Dad.
The next day I started working out, eating better and taking better care of myself. He was dead; still dead yet my feelings over that had evolved. He was with my ancestors now, waiting for me and my sons and daughters. Looking at it that way, he wasn't really gone at all.
‘‘I'll see what can be done,’‘ Cameron smiled. I was going to eat her up.
‘‘Oh yeah, this plate was mistakenly delivered to my table,’‘ I indicated Pamela's illegal haul. ‘‘Could you see that it gets where it needs to go after we are gone?’‘ Cameron shot me a sultry smile without even giving her task a casual glance. A hideous tip (kudos to Odette) was added to our over-priced bill and the ladies and I retired to our rooms.
It was routine heading to our room. Mona waved us to silence. Then the 'bug hunt' began. Like every Amazon persecution of opposing 'life forms', they didn't play fair. The Amazons had placed electronic surveillance in the room before they left so when unwelcomed guests showed up while we ate and Mona 'slept' we could watch where they placed their goodies in our rooms.
This was not a matter of throwing a fit and tossing the electronic devices down the garbage disposal. Oh no, not in Amazon battle lore. They found out what frequency your device was broadcasting on and backtracked it. According to Tiger Lily you can use a source point and a handheld device to triangulate the receiver.
Then the fun begins. First, keep the original signal going. Put a subroutine of; oh, all kinds of credit card fraud in this case with the video file then call the appropriate law enforcement agency to bust the place. The subroutine would have no point of origin, so the Amazons would be safe. The spying agency would have a headache on their hands.
Credit card fraud would require them to confiscate all the equipment because the threat posed was real, even if the tip was now suspect. This was the Amazon equivalent of fixating the enemy at one point; surveillance; while making their real move on another; the funeral. The average Amazon funeral was a private affair. My Security Detail was modifying plans for an Amazon dignitary's attendance of another Society member's funerary rites.
Halfway through the deception plan, Special Agents Brock and John showed up at our door. With two law firms (Pratt's and Nicole's) dancing on their foreheads, they were being polite today and inviting me down to be questioned. I asked for Detective Lisa and Investigator Horace to be there. One: I didn't dictate who investigated me. Two: they were under Internal Affairs review.
I agreed with 'one'; I would say 'nothing' to any number of highly qualified law enforcement operatives. I might give answers to the two I had mentioned. 'Two' was none of my affair. They could hope for some answers when they chose the review would be over. I was more than happy spending a lifetime not talking to them.
Legalize was tossed around to the point Nicole yawned, pointed out none of them were attorney's with the United States District Court of the Northern District of Illinois; damn, that's some letterhead, and they could make no deals, grant no immunities, on their own. There was no talking to be done except for the ass-reaming the Court of Appeals was going to give both the Federal attorney who applied for the surveillance warrant and the judge who signed it.
Low and behold, phones began ringing. As a patrol unit was making a raid on a room three floors down, a series of shots rang out. A gun battle ensued between the three armed men in the room, the two patrolmen (women actually) and the entire misfortunate event was caught on NBC Channel Five news. Occasionally I forget I work for fundamentally viciously sick fucks.
My 'team' had sent the cops and the news crew to the spot and even supplied the ignorant housekeeper with the room card-key for the cops to break in with; a hotel room is not a private dwelling. Cops break in, do their 'freeze, we are the police' thing, but before the three feds in the room could reply, 'their' computer audio equipment let off a sound of bullets firing and ricochets echoing across the room.
Nature took its course after that. The feds drew and both sides began shooting. No one died, but one ATF guy was going off to surgery. They would have all earned Purple Hearts if they had been in the military and a commendation no matter what; had two law enforcement agencies not shot each other up. The chase was on for the news crew who was desperately trying to get their station to show the footage before the feds grabbed the memory cards.
Despite having had no part in that fiasco, Nicole immediately clued in that the moment our two feds ran off to help their comrades it was our time to leave. Did we go to the vehicles we came in? No. That would have exhibited a lack of paranoia my guardians would have found appalling. Two new car waited a block away.
Had I been better at this game, I would have noticed the lack of functioning traffic cameras around us. Instead, I went begging to the local diocese of the Catholic Church. I plead my case. Mom and Dad were devout, raised me to be a devout Catholic yet when my Mother died, my father had never gotten over the trauma and me, being a young man, hadn't explored my spirituality yet; but I promised I'd get right on it when I returned to New York.
The priest who handled the end of life stuff for the Church was sympathetic. He gave me the name of a local priest near my home I could talk to on my return. He also told me that he'd received a moving letter from a nun in Uganda about a deeply spiritual moment she had shared with me years ago, so he was onboard with giving my Dad a Catholic send-off.
I wasn't sure if that was a sign to never touch a wannabe Nun again, or a reminder that nun's gave incredibly positive feedback on their sexual misadventures. I went with the latter. A few more calls, the choosing of the proper crematorium and I was through with the first part of that ordeal. Next came the funeral notification and invites.
The Union would send some of Dad's closest co-workers and several neighbors said they'd show up as well. Flowers, clothes, wake; well, it couldn't be in my family home. The forensic team was gone and it was free for me to wander through, but the bullet holes and blood might put a damper on the ambience. In the midst of my worries, I got a call.
A polite man named Winchell Sokolowsky offered me the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion for my personal use. If there is any doubt, Chicago is Not the city of good Samaritans, the overly polite, or even the casually kind. Chicagoans pride themselves on being tough. We have plenty of good people who help out, volunteer and try to make life easier for their fellow man.
That does not encompass giving a random stranger use of a multi-million dollar mansion. If I hadn't already been living in fantasy land, I'd have been busy figuring out which one of my few male friends was pulling this prank of on me, but no.
‘‘Can I inquire about the source of this largesse, Mr. Sokolowsky? Take in mind the incredible likelihood of a government agency most foul listening in,’‘ I cautioned him.
‘‘A family friend,’‘ he responded with an amused snort. Yeah, cause my Father's funeral was all chuckles for me. Since crab-women weren't likely to know owners of mansions, this had to be my aunts. Woot.
‘‘Thank you sir. My security people will be over to sweep the place before the city, state, or federal governments can crank out another search warrant. Thank you again.’‘
‘‘That is not unexpected,’‘ Sokolowsky replied. ‘‘Until then.’‘ Rachel looked at me as if I'd done something absurd. She may have been right.
‘‘Did you just accept shelter from an individual we do not know; except that he is certainly part of the Protocols?’‘ she stared at me.
‘‘Come on now,’‘ I chastised her. ‘‘It's for a funerary wake. I'm not taking three hundred of the lads out for a stroll, chasing savages up the Little Big Horn, or an Irishman deciding that Oliver Cromwell is a man of his word.’‘ I leaned in and winked to Rachel. ‘‘Besides Charlie; I got an angle.’‘ Pamela, who just happened to be walking by, gave me another high-five.
Rachel was really learning to hate/dread those moments of synergy between Pamela and I.
‘‘I am not allowed to kill you and I am afraid I can't kill Pamela, but please don't think I don't want to do both,’‘ Rachel ratcheted up her displeasure.
‘‘Torn into itsy-bitsy pieces;’‘ Pamela started.
‘‘And buried alive!’‘ I finished. Another high-five.
‘‘You two are both insane,’‘ Rachel despaired.
‘‘That's the spirit,’‘ Pamela and my comeback to Rachel was in synch once again. To prove I wasn't heartless, I hugged Rachel.
She froze, arms at her side, caught between warring impulses. I maneuvered her arms around until her hands rested on the back of my hips then rested mine on the small of her back.
‘‘Rachel, I cannot go back to a safe, faceless existence,’‘ I whispered as I planted tender kisses on her forehead. ‘‘To do so would be a betrayal of; me; Ishara.’‘
Rachel let go of her emotions and rested her head against my shoulder.
‘‘Why couldn't I be tasked to do something sane; like fight drug cartels, Maoist insurgence, or corporate hit squads in the Amazon?’‘ she sighed. I moved my hands to her ass and gave them a nice fondle making sure to slowly grind her waist against my hips.
Humping her would have been a mistake. That was sexual. I was giving her a bit of physical appreciation and nothing more. Rachel tilted her head up, I brought mine down until we were nose to nose.
‘‘Promise me you will try to stay alive, Cáel,’‘ she sounded almost mournful.
‘‘I will make a deal with you,’‘ I stated. ‘‘If I make it back to New York alive, you will consent to have sex with me.’‘ Rachel was confused, suspicious yet aroused. ‘‘None of this 'one hour' in some dormitory, or nunnery cell. I want everything; a light meal, some quality touching time and a minimum of two rounds of orgasmic sex.’‘
‘‘Ah; not a scratch,’‘ Rachel counter-offered. I nodded, kissed her nose and she felt as if she'd won something. Rachel got ready to take us to our next stop. Pamela slipped past me.
‘‘Like shooting fish in a barrel,’‘ she whispered. I had never used that term out loud before. ‘‘That's what I would say,’‘ she clarified. She was my evil psychic twin grandmother.
It was through a tireless group effort that I made it back to the Hotel Burnham at 4 p.m. Cameron made a show of being busy when I first came back. I was willing to be patient. While she puttered around, I flirted with the desk clerk and one of the baggage attendants; pale skin, blonde hair with freckles and light brown skin, black hair in a Nubian weave.
This was the 'professional' lure. By presenting myself as a 'Man's Man' and garnering female adoration, I was clearly not (yet) that into her. The pressure was on her and Cameron didn't like pressure because pressure equated to the possibility of failure. Her advantages which were obvious to every other observer were not certainties to her.
Contest time.
‘‘Director Cáel Nyilas,’‘ Cameron interrupted my joke to the two ladies, ‘‘I'm finished up for the day.’‘ I gave a quick smile to the women I was about to leave then turned on my personal demon. ‘‘Should I wait in the lounge until you change?’‘
‘‘No,’‘ I waved off her objections. ‘‘You can come up to my suite and then we can go to your domicile for you to change for a night out.’‘ Quick visual clue update: she lived at home with her parents yet dated enough that it wouldn't be awkward. It also showed me that she was uncomfortable about going to my room. She wasn't so enchanted she would do something stupid.
I had the answer to that. I had made it a public declaration. Not only did my hovering troop had the news, so did her front desk. Nothing bad could happen to her if everyone knew where she was; right? On the elevator ride up it was just me, Cameron, Pamela and Esmeralda. The rest travelled on ahead.
She took one rear corner so I took the other. I then let my leather-soled shoes slide down the carpet, lowering my overall height compared to Cameron. At some point, I began back-spinning my feet, pretending to be on the edge of falling on my ass. I smiled at Cameron and her eyes sparkled at the vaudevillian gesture.
Know your prey and I knew way more about Cameron than was healthy for any girl. For instance, she loved Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton; more of a Keaton girl. She giggled then came to my rescue. She was wrapping me up in her arms while mine stayed safely away.
‘‘You are a bit of a joker,’‘ she teased me.
‘‘Your beautiful smile makes all that effort worthwhile,’‘ I truthfully pledged to Cameron. She sighed so contentedly. Behind her back, Pamela was loading a two-barreled hunting device, aiming at some surface-based, above ground structure with an open top and gave it both barrels while avoiding the imaginary back-splash. 'Looks like herring for dinner,' she mouthed with a wicked grin.
Esmeralda was soaking it in. Hadn't I pounced on Rachel a few hours earlier? I was definitely hooking Cameron and reeling her in for some sexual deviant purpose; and Pamela was mocking the whole situation. E turned and faced the doors.
‘‘You seem like a really nice guy,’‘ Cameron murmured. ‘‘I mean that in a good way.’‘
‘‘I can't see you as any way, but truthful and kind,’‘ I met her cherished countenance. ‘‘I imagine even harsh lessons are difficult for you to deliver.’‘ There; she had one last chance to figure out the poor schlub she'd crushed at the start of our senior year was me.
‘‘Being a leader can be very tough,’‘ she moped as she pressed into me.
My mumbled offerings of affection and her savage reprisal had never registered with her. I was going to eat her alive.
‘‘How about I take care of you tonight?’‘ I requested. She hesitated, not out of fear, but confusion. ‘‘Completely relax and I'll make the decisions for this one night. Your mind will be free to enjoy and discard at your pleasure.’‘
On most levels, Cameron was seeing this as a date. She was a 'dating' girl. She didn't give up the goodies until date three, if I was exceptionally good; date four, or five otherwise. I was about to dispose of that with a clever case of role reversal. My two staffers vanished as I entered my lakeside executive suite. A splendid view I thought I'd never be able to afford the last day;
The 28th of December. I had enough money for a flight and a date picking me up at the airport. Bolingbrook had an inordinate amount of students stay the holidays and, by tradition, the graduating class hosted a New Year's Eve party for those students and the staff. I had told Dad about Havenstone and my infinitesimal chances of that kind of job.
That was it. He patted me on the shoulder. There was no pressure to come back to Burnham after graduation if I didn't have a job lined up. It was my home if I needed it. So much was unspoken between us. I could tell he was proud; college; good grades; popular; happy. I shouldn't have taken for granted we'd get a chance to talk later.
Back to the joy at hand.
‘‘So, what's it like working with your Dad?’‘ I dropped into our causal conversation. I was in the bedroom, door open; really? Why do they put doors on those things? The 'Daddy' question could be taken two ways and I trusted Cameron to take it the worse way; and to be pissed.
‘‘My Father didn't get me the job here!’‘ Cameron stormed in and insisted with a nice spirited mare stomp of the foot as emphasis. I 'just happened' to be naked, half turned away and a nice, highly suggestive pair of men's underwear in my hands.
‘‘What do you mean?’‘ I was clearly confused. I turned a bit more toward her.
Now she could almost see everything.
‘‘You; you have scars all over your body,’‘ she moaned.
‘‘I am a warrior, Cameron. This is the kind of man I am,’‘ I gave her a fierce, dominating gaze. ‘‘I fight for what I want and I brutally defend that which is mine. Who did you think I was?’‘
Had Cameron been a fighter, that would have been the point she left the room. She was all up-front, bravado and a superior façade over an insecure, parentally driven trophy for their mantel place. My anger faded. It wasn't her fault I couldn't read her signs four years ago. I was still going to fuck her to the afterlife and back, but this time I'd be doing it as an informative journey.
‘‘I don't know anymore,’‘ Cameron tried to rally some sort of coherent rampart.
‘‘Come here,’‘ I beckoned her with one hand (the one without the underwear). Cameron shook her head. ‘‘Cameron, please believe me, there are things my staff would let me get away with; rape is not one of them. I won't touch you anywhere unless you give me permission.’‘
If you are a girl in the room at this point, you are toast. I just made it safe to touch my naked body. Sure, you have clothes on; for now, but not for long. Why? Women desire sex about as much as men do. Unless you are a vapid fashion model with substance abuse issues, men with non-disfiguring scars are an aphrodisiac. Add to that a hard-forged physique and men, sex is there for the taking.
‘‘I; uh;’‘ she kept taking baby-steps forward. ‘‘I; Pam; Pamela is it?’‘
‘‘Yo,’‘ Pamela answered in a bored manner, knife in hand, then, ‘‘Whoa now!’‘ she pointed her knife at my equipment. ‘‘Sheath that, young man. Put it under wraps right now.’‘
‘‘I'm grown man, Pamela,’‘ I griped. I also put on my underwear.
‘‘Pluck the freaking pebble out of my hand, bitch, and then I'll call you an adult,’‘ Pamela sneered. Looking to Cameron, ‘‘Anything else Miss?’‘
‘‘No, thank you; no, wait. What do you do for Mr. Nyilas?’‘ Cameron asked.
‘‘I'm his psychic medium,’‘ was Pamela's sage reply. That supernatural bogusness made Cameron happy. It shouldn't have.
‘‘Yeah, I kill his enemies then interrogate their souls,’‘ Pamela added with a nod. ‘‘It is highly rewarding work.’‘ Cameron's mouth gaped. ‘‘How about I shut the door and give you two kids some privacy.’‘
‘‘What does she really do?’‘ Cameron whispered to me. Part of me wanted to say 'she told you'.
‘‘She's my masseuse,’‘ I lied. I started putting my pants on (forgetting my socks) then fell/sat on the bed. Cameron came to my bedside. I rolled on my back and highly exaggerated the effort it took to pull them up. Cameron began giggling. ‘‘Hey, these are my 'skinny' slacks. I wouldn't laugh at you if our positions were switched.’‘
‘‘Really?’‘ she teased me. I laughed and she laughed along.
‘‘Cameron, think about it. I'm shirtless and definitely bra-less. I'm pretty sure I'd be too distracted by a multitude of your other assets to snicker,’‘ I countered. Cameron blushed and smiled.
Ah, the visual image in Cameron's head was her, with jeans, racy panties and nothing else on while I hovered over her, relishing her attempts to conceal her charms. I shuffled back on the bed and resumed pulling my slacks up. Cameron followed, right into the danger zone.
‘‘Wait;’‘ she put a hand on my abdomen. ‘‘What caused that scar?’‘
So I told her. Okay, I gave her an abridged version of the truth. Fine, I lied like a big dog. I had the amazing habit of stumbling across women in need of saving. I bled for their virtue and honor, racked with intense pain before a violent victory was seized by my masculine hands. I was sure that Pamela and Rachel were hiding just outside the door, retching into waste baskets over the layers upon layers of my tripe.
Around wound twelve, I was sure if I had asked Cameron to wear little lamb ears and a bell around her neck, she would have; had one been handy. To be fair, I wasn't fighting off legions of Green Beret. I was doing one better. I was using thinly-veiled caricatures of her High School enemies and nemeses. I was revealing their wickedness and pummeling them for their evil ways.
There is a precious look a woman has when she miraculously discovers she is going to have the intercourse she's wanted yet somehow not recognized that need for until that moment. Cameron had that look, straddling me, skirt hiked up to her waist and vulva riding my cock (two layers intervening). We were out of wounds.
‘‘The rest are covered up,’‘ I explained in a predatory voice. Yes, Cameron was going to have sex and she had no control of events whatsoever and I hadn't even laid a hand on her yet.
‘‘Where?’‘ she was suddenly baffled.
‘‘Pants,’‘ I kept it short and to the point. Cameron looked over her shoulder
She reluctantly started to dismount so she could get to them so I made my move. I grabbed her hips in mid-dismount and rotated her around to reverse-cowgirl. Cameron began tugging off my pants with my legs raised high. My stomach crunches kicked in and I leveraged my torso up as well. I deftly moved her skirt up and went straight to the ass massage.
Cameron's head shot around, eyes fearful. I had broken my word to not touch her without permission. Yes, I had lied to a girl; Now, I kissed her right on the lips, expertly delivered a delving French kiss and moved one hand to her right breast for an aggressive fondle. Cameron was really getting into it. Her nipples were highly sensitive. Her ass was humping like an over-eager sorority girl pole-dancing on Amateur Night.
On cue, Cameron broke free and flew off the bed.
‘‘What; you; I thought we were going out?’‘ she whined. She was horny as hell and didn't want to be held accountable at it.
‘‘Why are you running away?’‘ I reclined back, solely in my underwear now.
I was using my 'I'm disappointed in you' voice. Yes, I was 'guilting' a girl into having sex. Duh. I would never coerce a woman, or take one not in her right mind; that's using forces beyond her control. Guilt? Guilt has a foundation squarely in a woman's mind, just like humor, romance, common interests (feigned or not) and horniness. Girls can control guilt just like any other psychological trigger. It is called being shameless and I ought to know.
Remember guys, it cuts both ways. Don't think so? You've had a girlfriend three whole months to the point she's staying over a night or two a week. One night, after your (hopefully) second round, you both discover it is that time of the month. 'Babe (or whatever pet name she has saddled you with), can you run to the store and get me some tampons and pads?'
That, by the way, was not a question. She, for hygiene reasons, can't put her clothes on and go out herself. So, you go out to the Quick-Mart at 2 a.m. praying to God that none of your buddies are on a late night beer run and see you with your; stuff. You are not doing this for sex. She's not feeling 100% at the moment. Why are you? Guilt.
She was at your place, making your Baloney Pony happy and this happened. You could send her out to the store. Not only is she not the only woman out there, many women understand guys getting freaked out about menstrual products. No, you feel guilty and risk the ridicule of your peers because it is your fault and you are not a dick-wad.
And why did she ask you to do something that has nothing to do with you? Women are equally aware that guilt works, Baby. Back to our tale;
‘‘I'm not running away,’‘ sounded empty coming out of her mouth. ‘‘You said; touching.’‘
‘‘I think you gave that option up when you crawled on top of me,’‘ I leered. ‘‘I clearly want to be with you, Cameron. You have given every indication you want to be with me, so I ask you again, why are you suddenly running away?’‘ I kept after her.
‘‘I don't want to have sex; right now,’‘ again, she sounded weak.
‘‘Whatever happens, I go back to New York in two days,’‘ I met her shaky gaze. ‘‘You can set a time table if you like. The actuality of my life is relentless. I have things to get back to. If you are going to go, then go. I'll head out alone tonight, get a few drinks, come back early and grab some shut-eye,’‘ I shrugged. I went searching for my pants. See, she wasn't some random fuck. I wasn't leaving to replace her; making her a failure.
I was hemming her in. I had the timeline. I had made my desires clear. There was no negotiation so while she appeared to have choices, she didn't and she knew it. For a girl who had spent so much effort working hard to not disappoint the main masculine figure in her life there was only one thing to do.
‘‘I don't want you to think I ever do anything like this,’‘ she propped up her morals while stutter-stepping back to the bed. ‘‘I feel I have a connection with you.’‘
Ah; the 'I have a connection with you' excuse. It would have been so appropriate if she actually remembered me. I pulled her onto the bed, went through the obligatory trying to push me off then we were back to the kissing and humping.
Cameron turned out to be a 'use me' girl. That does Not mean abuse, it means she gets off being a responder to her partner's sexual directions. Caress her cheek, jaw and throat and she'd cup my chin, or massage my chest. Cameron was smart and a quick-learner. Her problem was a lack of a sense of adventure and an aversion to taking the lead.
With the phantom applause of a hundred other male 'losers' who went to Fractional North High School, I ‘did’ the queen who had been beyond us all only four years ago. The erotic twist to all that was with every sense of triumph and pleasure, Cameron mimicked me. Certainly we were both having a memorable time. I had to touch, lick, knead, and fondle every inch of Cameron's body.
We both explored our nipple fetish, sixty-nined and engaged in some anal play; no penetration. I completed my first sojourn with the removal of the condom and the blowjob that had been the fantasy of countless hours in my home's upstairs bathroom. Cameron didn't just swallow; she savored and looked like she wanted more.
Normally I cuddle beside my partner post-coitus. With Cameron, I lay on top of her at eye level. I put enough weight on her to let her feel pinned without real discomfort.
‘‘I have a confession,’‘ I gave her a sweaty-faced grin.
‘‘What?’‘ she asked then gave me a peck on the lips.
‘‘We went to school together; same grade and everything,’‘ I enlightened her. ‘‘We even talked once.’‘ Cameron didn't know what to make of that. ‘‘I'll put that in perspective though. Do you believe that if you do something you do your best? Do you believe in craftsmanship?’‘
‘‘Cáel, you are scaring me,’‘ Cameron frowned.
‘‘Fifteen seconds and you can go,’‘ I conveyed with as much calm as I could. ‘‘Answer my question.’‘
‘‘Okay; yes, I believe in doing your best. I believe in craftsmanship,’‘ Cameron played along.
‘‘Your words; 'never in a million years'.’‘ I related and waited. First there was the uncertainty and fear of the odd course our relationship had taken. It took a few seconds because so few pieces of the puzzle fit.
‘‘Cáel Nyilas; it was you; start of senior year; I had been,’‘ she muttered. Then came the real fear. ‘‘You must hate me.’‘
‘‘I thought about it,’‘ I said, ‘‘but that isn't really me. See, you helped create me. Truth be told, you were only the catalyst. I did all the work.’‘
‘‘A great many women helped. They were never a replacement for you. I was taught better than that by my first lover,’‘ I continued. ‘‘Still, I would be totally different if you hadn't casually annihilated my self-worth that September day.’‘ Pause. ‘‘Do you like the results?’‘
‘‘You really don't hate me;’‘ Cameron was coming around.
‘‘It was high school. We all screw up in high school. According to a few studies, if you don't make a mess of high school, you are destined for failure,’‘ I related some real information.
‘‘You are getting hard again,’‘ Cameron gasped back to being okay with things between us.
‘‘Perhaps I should have warned you,’‘ I grinned wickedly. ‘‘I'm a sex addict.’‘
‘‘Hey, Sex Addict!’‘ Pamela shouted into the room. ‘‘There are some people out here to see you.’‘
‘‘Good people, or bad people?’‘ I shouted back.
‘‘Worse,’‘ Pamela replied. ‘‘The kind of people that want something from you.’‘ That was vaguely unpromising.
‘‘Cameron, take a shower and we'll talk about dinner when you get out. I think I need to take care of this,’‘ I sighed. Off went Cameron to the shower and on went my robe. In the main room, with a variety of levels of sexual tension, were sixteen women I didn't know. The Hotel Burnham has very nice suites, but they are not ballrooms.
The room was pretty crowded, with not enough chairs and wall space getting sparse. They were all Havenstone women and I was willing to bet the average age was thirty-five; not my normal crowd. At least I knew why they were all there. Pamela suspected. Rachel and her team were clueless.
‘‘Hi, I am known as Cáel Nyilas,’‘ I greeted them. ‘‘A short history lesson and things will make a great deal more sense, so please be patient.’‘ The crowd was not pleased. I was a male and to a woman, the ladies had repudiated the world of men. They were all 'Runners'. It was the presence of Rachel's group that was keeping them civil at this point.
‘‘Twenty-five hundred years ago, as the Second Betrayal was ending, there was a small group of males who had proven themselves to the Amazon Host, taken into houses and their names were written on the Amazon Rolls,’‘ I started off. ‘‘Two of those males and three male children of one of the houses survived the massacre the female Amazons inflicted on their kin.’‘
That bought me a moment. Slaughtering your own babies, even male babies, wasn't something they would shrug off.
‘‘Well, if you know your Amazon politics, you know that the children of an Amazon who dies while in service of the Host becomes a member of the Host; so on and so on.’‘
The implications were sinking in as was the nervousness.
‘‘One of those men was a young warrior named Vranus of House Ishara. I am the sole surviving heir of Vranus. We are also here for the burial of my Father, who was murdered Sunday night. The next bit of Amazon politics. House Ishara was an extinct First House,’‘ I continued.
‘‘Oh shit,’‘ was uttered from half-dozen lips as they moved to the next, obvious step.
‘‘The succession to the Head of House for any House is elevation by your peers, accepted ritual combat and; the oldest surviving member of the House,’‘ I added.
‘‘By the Seven Martial Goddess; don't you have to be female? I mean; We are Amazons!’‘ one of the 'Runners' yelled in disbelief.
‘‘Do you plan to add more males to your House?’‘ one of the senior members growled.
‘‘Two things; it should not bother you one way, or another, and it is not MY House. It is the House of my Ancestor, Ishara. If this is going to be a problem, you are in the wrong room,’‘ I met her hostile glare ember for ember. That one headed for the door.
‘‘Wait,’‘ a fellow 'Runner' grabbed her arm.
‘‘You can't be going along with this Marsha?’‘ the departing Amazon snapped.
‘‘I don't know this one, but I trust Buffy,’‘ Marsha countered.
‘‘Ok ladies, so that we are clear,’‘ Pamela sighed.
‘‘The next one of you to insult the Head of House Ishara, I am going to drag into the other room, kill you and cut you up into giblets for room service to take away,’‘ Pamela sounded positively disinterested.
‘‘I am not afraid of you,’‘ the departing one glared.
‘‘That would be a serious mistake,’‘ Rachel interjected quietly. Deep breath from me.
‘‘Listen, this is a highly improbable incident. I am not asking anyone to embrace the society you have rejected. In fact, I admire you for the strength it took to transition. I also ask you to accept the fact that I DO NOT want to be here, doing this, with any of you,’‘ I made one last effort.
‘‘Quite frankly, you man-haters scare me; being a man and all. You seem to think I have a choice in any of this. I don't. I am the heir of Vranus. I am the last known living descendant of the Amazon who chose the name Ishara for the sake of her house's unity,’‘ I stated. ‘‘I don't want to do this, but I'm not the kind of human being who runs away from my responsibilities.’‘
‘‘Okay; Cáel of Ishara, why are we here?’‘ Marsha said as she kept the other one from leaving.
‘‘Sixty years ago, the Amazon Houses swore an oath to the women who joined their cause. They lied to you. They have not kept up their side of the bargain. They have refused virtually all of you entry into the status as true, full-blooded Amazons,’‘ I explained.
‘‘And now you are going to rectify that; injustice?’‘ the senior one kept mocking me.
‘‘Fine; you and me; one last chance,’‘ I sighed. ‘‘Look around you. Who do you see? The prettiest, the most pliable, the most power-hungry? If you can point out one woman in this room that doesn't deserve to be a Full-Blooded Amazon, leave now.’‘
‘‘You didn't choose any of us,’‘ she responded.
‘‘Exactly!’‘ I shouted. ‘‘I didn't choose any of you to be in House Ishara. Buffy Ishara and Helena Ishara did. Why? Because I don't know any of you, or your sacrifices and worth to Havenstone. I gave that duty to the two; and only two; member of House Ishara who would know who was the most worthy to be in a First House.’‘
‘‘We are here to be inducted,’‘ one of the silent Amazons voiced with a dream-like quality.
‘‘Yes. Barring being rejected by Ishara, you will be inducted at my Father's graveside tomorrow morning,’‘ I stated clearly.
‘‘How many?’‘ Senior questioned.
‘‘This time; twenty,’‘ I answered. ‘‘I have no agenda and no set number of 'Runners' to be inducted into House Ishara. It doesn't work that way. I'll ask the senior members of our House to look for those they consider of being worthy as sisters. Some of you may never find someone suitable. Others may be more fortunate.’‘
‘‘Wait; you aren't going to select members for your own House?’‘ a fourth member gasped.
‘‘I repeat; I know jack and shit about Havenstone right now. I'm not qualified to find toilet paper for the Men's room, much less resurrect an Amazon House. You trusting me is not the issue. Me being able to trust you to keep our House in order until I have a daughter who comes of age is.’‘
‘‘Do you have any children yet?’‘ Marsha inquired.
‘‘No and I always use condoms,’‘ I replied. ‘‘The factor is that I have decided that House Ishara may speak on the Council, but cannot vote. Until my daughter; who will be raised by the lot of you and your sisters; reaches her majority, we are at a bit of a disadvantage because no Ishara; I'm sure no man at all; has ever voted on the Council and I'm not going to change that.’‘
‘‘If you don't vote, what do you do?’‘ the senior one asked.
‘‘I test road-kill density versus traffic patterns,’‘ I replied seriously. Hush.
‘‘Don't make me stab you,’‘ Pamela hissed at me.
‘‘He is an intern for Executive Services at our New York offices,’‘ Rachel intervened.
‘‘He has this bizarre habit of coming up with unique job descriptions for no reason any of us can ascertain,’‘ Rachel added.
‘‘Ladies, I'm twenty-two, straight out of college and have less than a month's experience at Havenstone. What did you think I did?’‘ I lightened the mood.
‘‘Aren't you a director now?’‘ the silent one spoke.
‘‘If a Director gets a paycheck, I've been kept in the dark about that,’‘ I smiled. ‘‘I do get some benefits above and beyond being an intern. I get an hour of firearms training in the morning; at six a.m. I get knife-fighting at three. I get to shower with numerous gorgeous babes who regularly kick my ass; wait; I've been shot with an arrow and repeatedly stabbed too.’‘
Another hush; waiting for the punchline.
‘‘He's not joking about the last part,’‘ Rachel enlightened them. ‘‘Cáel gets physically mangled on a fairly regular basis. Speaking of which, Ishara, several packages arrived for you today. We've gone through them. Most; we have no idea what they are for.’‘
‘‘You did get an armored long jacket and four tomahawks with a harness,’‘ she saved the best for last. My eyes lit up and I took a step toward Rachel's suite. ‘‘Ishara, please behave.’‘ Another hush.
‘‘Can we, if we are accepted by Ishara, talk to you that way?’‘ the normally silent one inquired.
‘‘Sure. Try not to do it too much in public, but in general you may assume you know more about a given subject, or task, than I do,’‘ I nodded.
‘‘Now I understand Buffy's call,’‘ senior stopped trying to leave. ‘‘She made an obtuse statement about having to save a person from herself. As long as you; promise to listen to your senior members of the House, I can do this.’‘
‘‘Great; done deal; can I go play with my axes now?’‘ I looked at Rachel. She tried to look dour and disappointed but I saw that smile she tried to squash. I got another half step to my axes when Pamela yanked me back.
‘‘Cáel; shower; take care of business,’‘ she reminded me.
With all this sex, how was I going to have any fun? Off to the naked girl in the shower.
‘‘What about children?’‘ A different 'Runner' poised.
‘‘Unbutton a button, or two, and smile,’‘ Pamela counseled. ‘‘That should do the trick. Cáel's not complicated.’‘
‘‘I mean; with other men?’‘ she clarified.
‘‘He's not the jealous type either. Knock yourself out,’‘ Pamela filled in for me nicely. The rest of the discussion was muffled by my entry into the shower. Cameron was halfway through her shampoo. Her calf and thigh caressing my thigh told me my intrusion was just fine.
(Late Night Dancing and then Some)
‘‘I'm still not sure about this,’‘ I said to Pamela as we stepped into the club. ‘‘When Rachel figures out I've slipped away, she's going to be furious.’‘
‘‘That's why you have your phone, my young padawan,’‘ Pamela assured me. The Latin rhythms filled the air. The Tango Club was Pamela's idea. My formal dance skills were subpar, to put it kindly.
‘‘Padawan? I wouldn't have thunk it, Bwana,’‘ I grinned. ‘‘So, what was it like when the first talkies came out?’‘
‘‘You know, you are almost funny when you try,’‘ Pamela patted my elbow.
‘‘Really?’‘ I played along.
‘‘No. I was saying that out of pity for you,’‘ Pamela snickered. The cloak room attendant didn't know what to make of us. ‘‘She's my younger sister,’‘ I told the man. ‘‘I age well.’‘ I compiled his confusion by handing him my insanely heavy long coat. The weight damn near caused him to collapse against the wall. ‘‘It is my winter coat,’‘ I stated. ‘‘It is full of barometric pressure.’‘
Pamela handed off her own frock without incident.
‘‘You are a nervous wreck,’‘ Pamela prodded me. ‘‘That is why you are here; to unwind. If you go into tomorrow's gutter crawl as screwed up inside as you are now, you could start a war.’‘
‘‘Gotchya. I'll go find some women to kick my ass. That always works for me,’‘ I agreed.
The first two ladies I danced with did not kick my ass. They did politely help me polish my moves. Their 'I bet you are a quick learner' part had nothing to do with the dance floor. Life is a Big Meanie. I would have been perfectly okay with a few married/divorced dances and made my way home to a fitful night's sleep, but some chick had to run me and my partner down on the dance floor.
Rude? She not only didn't apologize, she didn't even acknowledged us being in the way at all. If she hadn't been dancing with the second hottest woman in the place, I'd have taken them to task then and there. Something about my insipid desire for a midnight three-way curtailed my anger. I mollified my partner, tossed some Spanish barbs their way and finished up.
Normally I'm this stupid and tonight was no exception to the rule. The dark haired, sultry Slavic chick took to her wicker-back chair like some sniper's perch. Her demur/bad girl Japanese companion had stepped away for some drinks. These two were definitely separate, but equal babes so a separated approach was best. My own wine glass about empty, I moved in.
Then those gateways to oblivion she called eyes registered my proximity. My inner marmoset was screaming at me to become one with the vegetation as the bird of prey's stare started skinning me alive. I registered her Japanese companion moving in with two glasses of what passed for Champagne in this place.
I was a meter away when I went 'full reverse thrusters' and began backing my ass out of there.
‘‘What?’‘ the sniper said in a cuttingly degrading voice. ‘‘Two women together and you assume we are lesbians?’‘ Man; that exceeded Amazon nasty.
‘‘Oh no,’‘ I shook my head and held my ground.
‘‘Until you moved I thought you were a poorly dressed mannequin. Then your head swiveled and my Bitch-o-meter went off the charts,’‘ I explained. ‘‘I had just resolved to seek out some human company when you spoke and since I'm not a petulant prima donna like the person sitting before me, I chose to extend to you the common courtesy of a response.’‘
‘‘You are an ass, cloaked in a safe little cocoon you call life,’‘ she stood. ‘‘Does it amuse you to insult people in languages they might not understand?’‘
‘‘Your ability to speak, or not speak, Spanish is not my concern. Comforting my dance partner was, so I slathered on your justly deserved vulgar descriptors.’‘ I smiled.
‘‘What do you do for a living?’‘ she gurred, not purred. That was a prelude to pain of some kind.
‘‘Ugh,’‘ I sighed. ‘‘I do quality control for Jays Potato Chips. I pick out the bad chips.’‘ Remember now, I lie like a bastard with +10 skill modifier where emotional chicks are concerned.
‘‘Are they going to miss you tomorrow when you don't show up for work?’‘ Slavic Bad-Ass stroked my tie.
‘‘Wow, that wasn't good gallows humor, or even a convincing threat,’‘ I scoffed. That pissed her off. Yay me!
‘‘I want to dance,’‘ she twisted my tie, half-choking me.
‘‘Oddly enough, I came here to get my ass kicked, so it looks like we are both going to get what we want,’‘ I rasped. That she found amusing. I seriously run into way Too many psycho-chicks. It is like a gift; but the opposite.
I polished off my wine and as a spontaneous gesture to remind the Japanese Bad-Girl that I hadn't left her out, I tossed it to her. Having a glass in each hand promised to; she caught my glass between the other two glasses without looking. Holy Fuck!
‘‘Try to keep up,’‘ Slavic Babe demanded. ‘‘You will fail. Try anyway.’‘
The music burst forth and the dancing began. To make my footwork that much more difficult, Bird-of-Prey chick kept up a running banter.
‘‘If you weren't circumcised, would you accept the procedure now?’‘ she started. Whoa.
‘‘Fuck no. I have plenty of ladies who would gladly castrate me. No way am I letting some people in masks hover over my privates with a blade,’‘ I replied.
‘‘Have you ever been with a man, or a woman, who truthfully found your performance in bed at least acceptable?’‘ I reposed.
‘‘I don't know, or care,’‘ she mused. ‘‘I kill them all when I'm done.’‘ Weeee;
‘‘Man-o-man, I bet E-Harmony has a backlog for you,’‘ I whistled.
‘‘Wait, do you do E-Harmony, or Cougar.com?’‘ I added to the misery.
‘‘Has anyone ever found you amusing?’‘ she sighed, somewhat bored.
‘‘Before, or after I took my clothes off?’‘ I countered.
‘‘That answers that,’‘ she yawned.
‘‘What happens if I toss you out that window?’‘ I motioned with my eyes to the closest portal.
‘‘Let's try and find out,’‘ she was clearly at the end of her toying with me, but then, ‘‘Interesting.’‘
‘‘Thanks,’‘ I shrugged.
‘‘Not you,’‘ she snipped.
One of the Gospels of Quentin Tarantino: Put two, or more, lethal chicks in a room and they are going to fight. For my part, things became truly fun. See, I was taller than the Slavic Nightmare so she tried to steer me in the Tango. Nope, not happening. Even when she applied the Vulcan Death Pinkie Hold, I refused to surrender despite my searing agony.
The dance ended and I shook myself free. I'm sure only the surprise of the situation allowed me to make a clean break.
‘‘Who are you?’‘ Slavic Pain Pandora glared at me.
‘‘None of your Goddamn business, Princess,’‘ I sneered.
Was I picking a fight? Hell yeah, I was picking a fight. I certainly hadn't gotten any enjoyment out of that place so I was going for option two; getting my ass kicked. I didn't see Pamela. That was okay. I knew she'd mapped out every stupid move I could make and went for the least complicated. I prefer my pain served up by a short order cook, not a five star restaurant.
I got my coat out and tipped the poor guy a $20 for the back pain he'd be feeling tomorrow. I slipped it on then loosened my tomahawks. Last Place for Mother of the Year and her Japanese tagalong were right behind me. I felt my cosmic connection with my supernatural guardian and; I went straight into the street because I was too pissed to think of anything else.
Pain and Pain's Best Friend had followed me to the curb when Pamela spoke. She was behind them, leaning against the building.
‘‘Let's call it a night, shall we?’‘ she said with an amused lilt. Those two spun around. Apparently I didn't warrant monitoring.
‘‘I don't know you,’‘ the Slavic Menace regarded Pamela, ‘‘and I think I should.’‘
‘‘You don't know me and it is better that way,’‘ Pamela smiled back, ‘‘for both of us.’‘
‘‘I am Selena and my companion is Miyako,’‘ Selena made introductions.
‘‘Don't know and don't care to know,’‘ Pamela stated.
‘‘You are being needlessly rude,’‘ Selena got all threatening-like. They were spreading out.
‘‘You were disrespectful to my friend. Since I have a grand total of one friend, I take it personally when he is mistreated by imperfect strangers,’‘ Pamela menaced right back. It was on now. Selena wasn't going to take the 'imperfect' lying down.
The click of my first two tomahawks being pulled out must have alerted those two to my status update to that of a 'threat'. Miyako flicked something my way. Being highly symbolic and rather ineffective, I had my axes crossed against my chest. My reflexes kicked in, my right handed axe dropped down and something heavy pinged off of it.
‘‘Bitch,’‘ I snapped. ‘‘Did you just throw a railroad spike at me?’‘
‘‘It is a throwing dart, you numbskull,’‘ Pamela lectured as she kicked a high-heeled shoe at Selena. They closed, Selena lashed out with a hand strike, missing and then something I had never conceived of happened. Pamela swung and missed. My bedrock beliefs were imperiled.
Then my Wonder Twin powers kicked in. My bet was Selena was Black Hand and that would make Miyako from one of the Ninja families. Pamela had picked a brawl for me with two members of the Nine Clans Secret Society. Pamela vaulted a nearby car. As Selena closed, my Amazon buddy ripped her dress, turning the strip into some sort of sash-weapon.
Miyako had decided that the abrupt application of force was the quickest way to deal with me and on she came. I didn't know ninjutsu, but I knew the principles. I learned three other things in quick succession. One; Miyako was a top notch jujutsu artist. Two; ninjas can pack an arsenal of little weapons inside a little black dress. Three; no one with super-killer skills appeared to know what to make of a tomahawk, much less two.
Miyako put me in hold after hold. She had use of her hands and feet. I countered that by having a sharp spike on the back of my axes, so I could threaten to slice into her hands, or feet, every time she tried to lock anything in. Then the toys came out. She threw another spike at me; and missed. She put it in a car door. I was about to show her what a thrown tomahawk could do when;
‘‘Kid, those spikes have threads attached to them,’‘ Pamela cried out. She had knocked Selena's silenced 22 away and got knocked around for her troubles. Selena produced two wickedly curved daggers and Pamela showed her why fighting an unknown opponent isn't wise. Recall the sash? Pamela had wrapped up her little Amazon blade in one end.
Selena was discovering firsthand what a whip-blade could do. That scar across the back of Selena's hand was going to require a few Band Aids.
‘‘You mean like a net?’‘ I called back to Pamela.
‘‘Exactly,’‘ Pamela became lost in her own battle.
Miyako was pinning me in too. Does No one know what a tomahawk is anymore? Come on now; it is a tool. It's like a hammer, but with a blade where the head should be. Miyako was doing well until I smashed two of her spikes; out of the car doors and into the ground. She looked perplexed.
I had a quick chance to check out how Selena was doing against Pamela and I didn't like what I saw her leading up to. Why would someone attack using juggled, curved blades? Answer: They have pins in their hair they are going for. That seemed unfair. Pamela had her long, white hair worn ling, with the bangs tied back. I had a second so I threw a tomahawk at/to Pamela to even things up.
Or so I thought. In mid-tumble, Miyako cartwheeled over and plucked my weapon in flight out of the air with her ankles. Hell's Belles; who teaches that kind of shit? I whipped out my first back-up tomahawk, threw them both straight up with a good deal of force; then applauded.
Miyako acknowledged my honorable gesture by hurling my tomahawk back at me; with her feet. I couldn't let her Crouching Tiger defeat my Hidden Dragon, so I caught the axe centimeters from my face. For a split second, I wondered whose hand had save me. The slight pain of the haft having slapped my palm informed me that it was; me.
Me and my hand were going to have a stern talking to about it creating martial arts moves on its own without consulting the brain; after we let it fondle a breast, or five, for saving said cranium. Now I had one tomahawk in hand and two plummeting back at me. I hurled my overly adventurous axe in a high arch beyond Miyako's reach (hopefully) so that Pamela could retrieve it.
My Japanese; no, I was going to use the 'proper' and respectful Nipponese for a while, Playmate Bunny was back on me as my tomahawks fell into my grasps. My next thought was 'where was she hiding those thin black sticks?' Motherfucker, they weren't immediately lethal, but damn they stung.
Flailing around with my axes was a losing game. I didn't have a significant reach advantage and her weapons were lighter and faster. My answer was to punch her. Swinging my axes had done no good so I was using a boxing jab with the length of my axe handle going just a bit farther than she anticipated. I punched the steel axe head into her throat.
It was turnabout time. Now my axes were attacking in a series of figure-eight passes. She couldn't dodge them all. Miyako had to use her combined sticks and they weren't enough. I cut into her calf and she stumbled back. I took two quick steps back which confused my opponent. I compounded that by kneeling and placing my axes on the ground.
‘‘Tend your wound,’‘ I relayed to her while catching my breath. Miyako was obviously waiting for a sniper to take her out, or something.
‘‘Nimrod,’‘ Pamela shouted. ‘‘This is not a damn exhibition. She'll kill you.’‘ Miyako was thinking along the same lines.
‘‘Not likely since she'd came a long way to see me,’‘ I chuckled.
‘‘What do you mean?’‘ Miyako studied me.
‘‘Protocols,’‘ I took one last, deep breath. ‘‘You are from the Nine Clans, I'm with Havenstone, and you are in Chicago for my Father's funeral. Am I right?’‘
‘‘No,’‘ Selena ground out. She'd taken a step back from her unfinished fight with Pamela. ‘‘We are here on our own business.’‘
‘‘Whatever,’‘ I shrugged. I picked up my axes, fixed them in my harness then approached Miyako. She regarded me quizzically.
‘‘I have some bang-up medical supplies at my hotel. You are invited to tag along if you like. I owe you as I was the one to cut you, knowing this was an illegal brawl,’‘ I informed her.
‘‘Because you knew who we were without us knowing who you were,’‘ she nodded. ‘‘Why did we fight then?’‘
‘‘Tomorrow is going to be a horrible day for me and my mentor, the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, knew I needed a good fight to clear my mind and find my center,’‘ I explained.
‘‘Come Anakin, time to go back home,’‘ Pamela beckoned me over with the tomahawk I had tossed her. ‘‘I'm sure our snipers are tired of not shooting these two.’‘
‘‘So you didn't sneak me out?’‘ I nudged Pamela.
‘‘Of course not,’‘ Pamela chuckled. ‘‘Rachel would have killed me. Probably in an elevator drop, or something involving copious amounts of plastic.’‘
‘‘Why do I ever trust any of you people?’‘ I snorted happily.
‘‘I haven't a clue,’‘ Pamela nudged me back.
To be continued in Part 21
By FinalStand for Literotica.