Podcasts about groan

The Groan before the Throne (Romans 8:18-27) by Josiah Graves

Romans: The Transforming Power of the Gospel, Pt. 13 — Groan to GloryRomans 8:18–27 | King's Chapel Live StreamLet's be honest—sometimes life is heavy.In Romans 8:18–27, Paul speaks directly to that feeling. He reminds us that while pain, disappointment, and waiting are real, they're not the whole story. There's something greater coming—and even our groaning points toward it.This message is for anyone who feels stuck in the “in between”—longing for healing, wholeness, or just a break from the weight of it all.In this week's passage, we see:- That the suffering we face now isn't worth comparing to what's coming- How creation itself is groaning for restoration- How we groan inwardly, longing for redemption- And how the Holy Spirit groans with us and for us, interceding in our weaknessThe Christian life doesn't ignore pain—it gives us hope right in the middle of it. And even when we don't know what to pray, the Spirit of God is already praying for us.

Hey there, Welcome to Living Word! We're so glad you're here with us. If you find this message inspiring, don't forget to hit that like button and subscribe for more amazing content. We've got a lineup of guest speakers, pastors, and engaging discussions with our awesome community members coming your way. Let's dive in together! Our Links–• Join The Prayer Movement!: https://theprayermovement.com• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/livingwordmn• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/livingwordmn• Stay up to date with all things LWCC at https://www.LWCC.org• Join our Online Church community here: https://www.lwcc.org/onlinechurch• Give online: https://www.lwcc.org/give/• If you recently committed your life to God, we'd like to give you a free eBook to help you in your spiritual journey. Click here to download: https://www.lwcc.org/nextsteps/#LivingWord #ChurchSermon #Worship

Hear why your body is like a tent! -------- Thank you for listening! Your support of Joni and Friends helps make this show possible.     Joni and Friends envisions a world where every person with a disability finds hope, dignity, and their place in the body of Christ. Become part of the global movement today at www.joniandfriends.org   Find more encouragement on Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, and YouTube.

In his astonishingly frank Sonnet 133 William Shakespeare attempts to come to terms with the fact that his young lover is also having an affair with his mistress. The sonnet in one fell swoop answers two principal questions: first, what 'black deeds' of his Dark Lady's he may be referring to in the closing couplet of Sonnet 131, and second, who the woman might be that appears in the crisis which besets his relationship with the young man between Sonnets 33 and 42. And while there is of course no external, cast-iron proof that these sonnets do constellate to form a coherent picture, Sonnet 133 is in fact only the first of several sonnets to strongly suggest they do. What it leaves no doubt about, and what subsequent sonnets will make even more explicitly clear, is that William Shakespeare is for the second time in the collection talking about a relationship that has turned triangular.

In this we groan I. Groans from creation II. Redemption of the body III.Oppose wicked rulers IV. Acknowledge suffering V.  Need deliverance

This week, part 2 of our recap of ‘Titus Groan'.Smoke! Ribbons! A Picnic!Find us on the internet:BlueSky: @makeyefretpod.bsky.socialInstagram: @TheTruthShallMakeYeFretFacebook: @TheTruthShallMakeYeFretEmail: thetruthshallmakeyefretpod@gmail.comPatreon: www.patreon.com/thetruthshallmakeyefretDiscord: https://discord.gg/29wMyuDHGP Want to follow your hosts and their internet doings? Follow Joanna on BlueSky @2hatsjo and follow Francine @francibambi Things we blathered on about:Announcing the Discworld Graphic Novel Universe - Terry Pratchett Genre Creators for Trans Rights in the UK and SA - 32 AuctionsThe Last of Us: S2, E1 - "Future Days" - A Storm of Spoilers on Audioboom ADUMBRATE Definition & Meaning - Merriam-Webster The Crowborough Players event tickets from TicketSource Music: Chris Collins, indiemusicbox.com  

Dad Jokes Explained Jokes sourced and curated from reddit.com/r/dadjokes. Joke credits: Fourwindsgone, Left-Distribution-13, reverendrambo, Sweet_molly19, impiousPunster, Jesse_Bitchman, Left-Distribution-13, GiborDesign, mrl33602, Left-Distribution-13, fatfridaylunch, GiborDesign, TnBluesman, Jesse_Bitchman, TooOldToBePunk, GiborDesign, TooOldToBePunk, PersonWalker, Old-Assignment-1458, CitizenOfTheWorld42, wizzardious, Dyrogitory, so-bored78 Explanations from OpenAI ChatGPT API with proprietary prompts. This podcast is produced by Klassic Studios See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Will everything sad come untrue? The resurrection of Jesus guarantees everything sad will come untrue! Groan for it. Wait for it! Hope for it!For series resources and media, visit https://vintagechurchnola.com/series/easter-2025/#Welcome2Vintage #Sermon #Easter #Resurrection #Jesus #Groan #Wait #Hope

This week Scott and Frank discuss Podcast Throne Groan, House Mouse Aid, Gusty Thrusty Turbines, EV LuvDuv, Inhumanity Humanity and Skywalker Hands in their continued hope that Humanity Might Make It. Humanity Might Make It is a fun and easy-going podcast created by two lifelong friends, Scott and Frank. Talkin' 'bout everything under the sun...and trying to work out each week whether humanity will make it...or not. They try to take the positive approach and really want to believe that...Humanity Might Make It!! Please send questions, answers, reasons humanity might make it, and all other whatevs to Scott & Frank's super high-tech email below. humanitymightmakeit@gmail.com https://humanitymightmakeit.simplecast.com/ https://www.coombas.com/_____________________________________________________ Humanity Might Make It is a Rebel Image Podcast  Produced, mixed, and edited by Rebel Image Productions All music provided by Joee Corso ____________________________________________________

This week JK and Adam discuss the week on Ramsay Street as well as ingrown toenails, misplaced grassing and fast-track careers.If you would like to support the podcast, you could always leave a nice 5-star review on Apple Podcasts or SpotifyOR you can subscribe to our Patreon for just £1 a month (plus VAT) and receive:Early access to the ad free video and audio versions of the podcastExclusive bonus episodesAccess to our Patreon Community Chat Become a member at https://plus.acast.com/s/the-neighbourhood-rewatch. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

This week JK and Adam discuss the week on Ramsay Street as well as ingrown toenails, misplaced grassing and fast-track careers.If you would like to support the podcast, you could always leave a nice 5-star review on Apple Podcasts or SpotifyOR you can subscribe to our Patreon for just £1 a month (plus VAT) and receive:Early access to the ad free video and audio versions of the podcastExclusive bonus episodesAccess to our Patreon Community Chat Become a member at https://plus.acast.com/s/the-neighbourhood-rewatch. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

The Truth Shall Make Ye Fret is a podcast in which your hosts, Joanna Hagan and Francine Carrel have emerged from Discworld and are now exploring the worlds of speculative fiction.This week, we enter Gormenghast with Part 1 of our recap of Mervyn Peake's ‘Titus Groan'...Ribs! Sunlight! Slowly-Growing Insanity! Find us on the internet:BlueSky: @makeyefretpod.bsky.social (not Twitter any more - included in outro through force of habit)Instagram: @TheTruthShallMakeYeFretFacebook: @TheTruthShallMakeYeFretEmail: thetruthshallmakeyefretpod@gmail.comPatreon: www.patreon.com/thetruthshallmakeyefretDiscord: https://discord.gg/29wMyuDHGP Want to follow your hosts and their internet doings? Follow Joanna on BlueSky @2hatsjo and follow Francine @francibambi Things we blathered on about:Apotropaic magic - WikipediaThe Rectory in Red - FolkLandsPeake Studies [Peter Winnington]Collected Articles on Mervyn Peake [Peter Winnington] An Excellence of Peake - Fantastic Metropolis [Michael Moorcock's article] A profusion of Peake – { feuilleton }  Tolkien vs Lewis: Allegory - R.E. Parrish Comics on tumblr Steerpike illustration by Mervyn PeakeFuschia illustration by Mervyn Peake  Radial Symmetry ("The Hottest Guy on Campus") - R. E. Parrish Comics on tumblr  Music: Chris Collins, indiemusicbox.com

GET TICKETS TO THE LA LIVE SHOW ON 5/8 AND THE BOSTON LIVE SHOW 6/25 AND 6/26 Chappell Roan appeared on Call Her Daddy and the discourse is discoursing, Justin Bieber's social media activity has fans and gossip hounds concerned, Ethan Klein got a bizarre tattoo to honor his wife. On The Afters: Malicious Compliance wigs, Andrew Tate's ex-girlfriend speaks up about facing physical and emotional abuse during their relationship LINKS Justin Bieber Justin Bieber went live on Instagram and played some new music on Saturday night More of Justin's live Chappell Roan  Chappell Roan went on Call Her Daddy and stuck her foot in her mouth about politics Chappell Roan motherhood discourse Ethan Klein  Ethan Klein's crash out continues… and he just got the ugliest tattoo of his wife, Hila  Even the h3 sub isn't totally supportive of the tattoo Follow us on TikTok, Instagram and Twitter Find more of Molly's stuff Find more of Tiffany's stuff

Vincent, Buffy and other family matter.Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels. It is selfish to believe that your family will always love you. At some point you will be asked to earn it The main front was stabilizing. The 2nd Army was in tough shape though all three divisions were still in the fight. The 1st Army's 2nd and 9th Divisions had corked up the advances out of Cambodia. As soon as night fell, they would maneuver the majority of the 2nd Division to crush the Alliance forces north of Bangkok. The rioters would be crushed tomorrow morning. They would survive.This realization came too late to them. The rot of fear had infected the 1st Army, 1st Division and the police force commands. Of more importance, a small group of secretive individuals convinced two senior Thai officers that something had to be done before the city fell, or the Prime Minister reasserted control over the city.Those two conspirators had the same problem as the Loyalists, enemy troops and protestors in the street. Those officers had no way to contact the crucial enemy commanders, but they knew who did, the Indian Navy. Surreptitiously, they contacted the Indian Navy's Expeditionary Fleet. The fleet's Admiral quickly put them in touch with the Alliance Command Authority and within two hours, a deal was made.The Great Khan would stop the Alliance offensive if the King of Thailand made a public appeal, no strings attached. This new group of rebels and the Alliance worked out the path they needed to take to reach the King so that the Alliance forces were out of the way and no planes, or helicopter attacked their formations. They even had a TV station that would broadcast the King's speech ending the conflict. All they needed was nightfall.And that was the true story of how the counter-coup was pulled off, how the King of Thailand was able to talk to the Great Khan and how the Thai government was overthrown. In the final analysis, the Loyalist hadn't fallen before the might of the Alliance. They were done in by a tiny number of Black Lotus operative almost no one knew existed, with a small amount of assistance from JIKIT."No wonder the Seven Pillars has never been able to wipe out these guys," Addison yawned. "They are slippery as eels and thrice as lethal. I am glad they are on our side." Several sets of eyes looked at her skeptically. "I mean, I am glad we are currently working toward the same goals."Thus,"I suggest we all get some sleep," Addison declared as she stood up and stretched.Odette was comfortably asleep, so I curled her up and carried her to the elevator. I wanted to go home and forget that I had lost any semblance of a normal life. I didn't know what was worse; me doing the shit I was doing, or me understanding what I was doing. Juanita had gone down ahead of us to pull the car around to the front.Chaz, Pamela, Odette and I went down in the first wave of the exodus from the workplace. The door opened on the ground floor. I wasn't the first person to notice her. My reflexes had improved to the point I had a moment to recognize her before the people around me sprang into action.Pamela side-stepped to the right, pistol mystically appearing in her two-hand grip. Chaz, Chaz bore Odette and me to the ground. His level of dedication astonished me. He was shielding us with his body. From what, I hadn't been able to determine."Deadman switch," one of my aunts stated. "I want to talk with Cáel." The voice had a stressed tenor to it."Back outside," Pamela simmered."No.""Chaz, what is going on?" I asked him. He hadn't moved and wasn't letting me wiggle around to see."Explosive vest," he responded coolly. That's right. Chaz was shielding Odette and me with his body.That is what I found astonishing, his desire to give his life for me. His expectation that Pamela could kill the threat while he was currently occupied was understandable."We seem to be at an impasse," Pamela edged further away.She wasn't avoiding the blast radius. That was impossible in this lobby. No, if it came to firing, she was making it easier for Chaz to get a shot off since the shooter couldn't cover both angles of attack."Let me talk to him," my aunt insisted. This made no sense."Chaz, let me deal with this," I told my bodyguard."Are you sure?" he questioned."Not really. As Pamela said, she's not going to let any of us leave until she talks to me and if you kill her, she kills all of you." Chaz let me stand.Odette was just awakening to the threat. Chaz rose to stand by my side. (Sadly, Odette didn't rate him dying for her.) I prayed I didn't fuck this up."Cáel, is that really you?" the women with green eyes and red hair asked me. She sounded desperate, which would explain the suicide vest."Yeah, which one are, Mom?"{9:10 pm, Tuesday, September 2nd ~ 6 Days to go}"Yes, I'm Sibeal. Are you my son?""Do you mean   No! Grandfather Cáel hasn't supplanted my spirit with his own," I took a deep breath. "I'm not sure how I can convince you of this.""Do you miss your Father?" she queried."Yes," I murmured."Ahh Cáel, you are still my son. Thank all that is divine," she sighed."Care to deactivate the vest now?" Pamela suggested."Do you promise not to shoot me? You two, and the one sneaking up on me from behind." She meant Juanita, who had sensed the danger and exited the car."You are three kinds of crazy, so I'm not making any guarantees," Pamela answered."Pamela   Chaz, I really think she is my mother. And I assume she is here to kill Cáel O'Shea, not me," I interjected. I still wasn't leaving Chaz' side. "Please don't kill her.""No guarantees," Chaz affirmed."She's his mother," Odette chimed in. "If it was anyone else, they would be in a cloud of bodyguards, not alone.""Here is the deal, Mom. You deactivate the vest, then we will talk. Otherwise, I'm taking my security's advice and backing the fuck out of here.""Okay," she nodded. "It's a fake. I'm upset, but not enough to be suicidal. I wanted to see what you would do. Father would have sacrificed everyone else. You got tackled and you obeyed the man who was trying to save your life.""Chaz, what do you think?" Pamela asked him."We could hold her here until Virginia shows up. That would give Cáel a few minutes to reminisce before she gets dragged off to the looney bin." (That would, of course, lead to her death while in Federal custody   so that wasn't happening, period.)"I concur," Pamela agreed. She still had her gun out and aimed. She went to a one-handed grip so she could motion Juanita to come inside.I took the opportunity to walk around Chaz, though I only advanced half way."I think it is asking too much from my bodyguards to walk up to you with that vest lying at your feet," I pointed. "You know   just in case you are lying." She nodded, smiled and came forward. A hug was in the offing. I almost missed Odette coming up behind me."I'm on a timetable," Mom murmured into my shoulder. "You know why.""I am afraid I do," (my pheromones were already affecting her). "What brought this on? How long can you stay?""The kidnapping made it imperative. But this has been my first opportunity to get close enough to you to determine if my father had won, or not," she confessed."I'm not sure how long I can remain ~ maybe a day, or three. I have heard you have an upcoming ordeal you must go through for your Amazons." Odette again by way of Delilah. I decided to give Delilah the benefit of the doubt and just accept that she did what she did because she was worried about me."Oh. Mom, this is Odette Sievert, my roommate and all-around better friend than I deserve." Odette extended her hand. Mom reached past me and shook it."Nice to finally meet you in person," Mom smiled."Nice to realize you aren't as nutty as the rest of the bunch,and considering you came at Pamela and Chaz with a fake suicide vest   that is saying something," Odette grinned."My son is all I have left of Ferko (my dad)," she grew grim. "If my father stole him after killing my husband   I wouldn't know how to carry on.""Aaahh," Odette stammered through this tense family moment. "You are about to be a grandmother in a serious way," she tried to turn things around. "How does a dozen grandkids sound?"Operational security and secret information were concepts Odette was aware of. She simply refused to use either one."Really?" Mom looked from Odette to me. "How serious?""How about we get out of here before the FBI shows up," I began directing my mom out the doors."Cáel?" Chaz questioned."Hey now, I never agreed to hand my mom over to Virginia. The vest was fake. Let's not dwell on this," I urged Mom and Odette out the door."Ishara," Juanita repeatedly prayed, "why do you test me so?"Chaz and Pamela showed their faith in me and my decision-making ability by tagging along. For me, what does a son who hasn't spent any time with his mother since he was seven (because she was supposedly dead for the past fifteen years) ask first?Actually, we waited for Chaz, who had the presence of mind to ensure the vest was truly a dud and then called Virginia so she could clean up one of my messes   yet again."Thank you, Color Sergeant," Mom looked toward Chaz as the GL 550 pulled away from One Mi Ma1 Tower. Unfortunately, the look he sent her way wasn't friendly."Thanks for reminding me," I nodded to Mom. "Chaz, what in the Hell possessed you to jump on Odette and me? I appreciate it,""Me too," Odette chimed in."But please don't do that ever again. Of all the, let's just say I have too many deaths of people I like on my mind. I don't want you added to that list.""Tough.""Well, thanks for considering my request," I groaned."Chaz, three nights ago our boy learned that one of the women he knocked up is going to die and no one will intervene to save her life and they won't tell him where she is," Pamela let him know."Who do we talk to?" he asked me. By 'talk' I assumed he meant torture until they coughed up a viable location/suspect."The Goddess Ishara.""Fuck. I apologize, Cáel. That is hard news for a young man like you to take. As for my jumping on you   suck it up. It is my job to make sure you can do yours.""Juanita," Pamela called out. "Stop driving to Havenstone. Take us back to Cáel's place. He won't let the Amazons take his mother, which means I won't let them, which means Chaz won't let them. Besides, Odette could get killed in the cross-fire and too many people like her for that to be safe for any would-be assassin.""Really?" Odette perked up. Of course she wasn't worried about being killed. Odette was fascinated that people found her valuable   enough to kill anyone who killed her. She'd more fully grasp that curse later on. She was a genuinely nice person. What Pamela left unsaid was that if 'people' thought someone might kill Odette, they would 'proactively' protect her. Too many people she now hung out with were of that stripe of crazy."Pamela, would you miss me if I got killed?" Odette turned to the most dangerous person in the car. (I didn't think Mom was in her league, but then I had never seen her fight, so I was keeping an open mind.)"You bet your ass, Baby-cakes," she grinned at my super-kind sidekick."Me too," Chaz added gruffly. "Of greater importance, Addison would take umbrage. Next to Ms. Love, she's the nastiest bitch I've ever met." He meant that as a compliment."Not Lady Yum   I meant Worthington-Burke?" I inquired."She doesn't take things personally. She'd miss Odette, but not enough to move off-mission," Chaz explained."Let's not forget Buffy," Pamela snorted. "What she lacks in experience she makes up for by being totally psychotic and fanatically loyal to Wakko here. People who piss him off tend to end up as a place holder on the Obituary page.""Unless they never find the bodies," Juanita commented   from her personal experience disposing of people for me. Groan."Cáel, I am so happy I met you," Odette hugged my arm. "My life was going nowhere before you gave me your phone number. Now, I know my life is at risk and I don't care. Being with you has been more wonderful than I ever thought possible."Mom was studying me, both pleased and worried."What?" I asked."You have a lot of your grandfather in you. He did have a gift for inspiring the best out of people. You are like your father in that you care for those people   caring for both their lives and their happiness. Your father inspired that same kind of loyalty because he kept the needs of his people in the forefront of his mind.""Dad was like Grandpa?" I worried."Hell no." That was Pamela."Thank the Divine, no," Mom exhaled at the same time. "How do you know my father?""I killed him," Pamela grinned."You were the one? I'm, I don't know what to think," Mom murmured."Keep that in mind before you try to pull another stunt like you did tonight," Pamela's grin grew feral."Pamela is the best Grandmother I could ever hope for," I explained."Spiritually speaking," Odette tried to lighten the mood (she was a cracker-jack morale officer). "Otherwise it would make Cáel's having sex with her granddaughters rather, suspect.""Odette, you can say 'incestuous'," Mom gave a half-grin. "Do you know much about my family?""Your Pa created you and your sisters to be fuck-toys who also ran errands for him," Odette nodded. "They are all loonies.""Don't share that view with them," Mom cautioned. "When we last met, they had a highly under-developed sense of humor and a well-cultivated mean streak.""Gotcha," Odette giggled. "After dealing with the Slayers of Testicles numbers 1 & 2, I have learned what kind of wacky girls Cáel attracts without even trying.""I really should make sure Mr. Fiennes is okay," I reminded myself."You would do better catching up with that girl down the hall. The Korean takeout girl also asked about you", offered Odette. Yeah, the girl in 3-F baked me some cookies when Dad was murdered."How many grandchildren are we talking about?" Mom looked at me with some serious maternal affection."Who are the Slayers of Testicles?" Juanita wanted to know. My family jewels belonged to House Ishara   at least in her and her sisters' estimation."Oneida's bodyguards," Odette let slip out before she saw the warning look in my eyes."You are sleeping with the apprentice of House Arinniti?" gasped Juanita   I was hoping her questioning wasn't hurting her driving. "What about the 84 day rule?""I'd better not bring up Rhada," Odette nodded thoughtfully."I'm going to spank you," I growled at Odette."Was that aimed at me?" Juanita."Yippee, and we are going home now, too!" Odette squealed."Not you, Juanita   Odette. I want to teach her how to 'not say' whatever pops up in her head," I grumbled."You promised to punish me!" she beamed brightly. "Punish me! Punish me!""Uuuuuuu," I beat my cranium against the headrest in front of me."I thought she was the 'nice' girl," Mom chided me."She was," Pamela smirked. "Unfortunately, she's been totally corrupted by your son.""Yep," Odette agreed. "He's opened up a whole new horizon of things sexual for me.""Son, how many women are you seeing? I thought you were engaged." Mom."Uuuuuuu," I repeated."I'll take care of this," Chaz intervened calmly. "He is as loyal as he can be   within the bounds of his limited moral arsenal   to Hana Sulkanen. So he is sexually and romantically involved with Brooke Lee and Libra Chalmers, civilians he met through contacts at Havenstone. There is Anais Saint-Armour, RCMP, who departed this weekend,""She'll be back," Pamela assured Mom. "They always come back at least once.""Who has only come back just once?" Chaz laconically questioned Pamela."Good point," Pamela acceded. "They keep coming back until he changes the locks, his phone number and address." That made no sense,"I am glad you two are my friends," I groused. "I'd hate to think what you would say about me if you hated me.""You're welcome," Pamela grinned."Ms. Marla Chalmers," Chaz continued without missing a beat, "Libra's younger sibling, who your son indubitably impressed while in college; three teachers at an exclusive school, he met them while body-guarding a group of children; an assistant manager of a hotel he stayed at; six attractive, college-educated European young women,""Don't forget the Macedonian!" Pamela interjected."I have removed her from the list because she has no reliable way to hunt down our boy," he explained."Good point," Pamela nodded."They like busting your chops, don't they?" Mom smiled."As opposed to physically busting my chops   this I can live with.""You have matured nicely. Your father would be very pleased   quietly, of course.""Thank you Mom." She knew the man better than I ever would."We won't count the 189 Amazons who have staked a claim to him for the next nine days," Chaz added."What! 189? When did that happen?""The thirty huntresses and the 159 members of House Ishara," Pamela clued me in."159? When did that happen?" I gasped again. I was repeating myself   not good. I knew I had told Buffy to 'keep up the good work', but still, House Ishara wasn't even two months old yet."They are the best of the roughly 20,000 Runners in the Host and thus, all are serious bad-ass bitches," Pamela assured me. "I think Helena would like you to explore a few more heroic Runners who have since passed.""Passed?" Mom."Cáel sees dead people," Odette beamed."So does his Aunt Baibre," Mom said."Met her, came off a bit, off," I confirmed."That's Baibre. What other ones have you met, besides Deidre and Brianna?"She was asking if I had met others outside of Delilah's watchful eye."Hmm, Imogen, Kelly and Matilda.""Okay. You haven't met the bad ones yet," Mom nodded. I was stunned yet again. Not by what Mom said, but by,"The 'bad ones'?" Pamela inquired. "They come in shades worse than Kelly and Matilda?""I'm with you on that. Those two were unsettling," Chaz agreed. Holy Shit! Pamela and Chaz were agreeing that two of my aunts had them worried on a tactical level. So 'not good' for me, since I couldn't take either of my friends. Bad-bad."Fiona is the worst. She is the second youngest of my generation and by far the most lethal. She was Father's pet.""Oh joy," I sighed."Is she bulletproof?" Chaz inquired."Not quite, but she is definitely hard to kill. She has a greater share of Alal while remaining sane.""Oh, she's the sane one?" Juanita joined in."On that side of his family, sane is a relative term." Thanks, Odette."Relative to how far your cock is into them?" Pamela snorted."Hold on now," I interrupted the jocularity. "What do you mean   'your generation'   'the second youngest'   what happened to the youngest   and when you say 'worst', define 'worst'."Pamela's phone rang."Father created three generations of daughters and sons. Carrig was the 'success' on the male side of the equation."Uncle Lumpy was the 'success'? What had the other uncles been like   idiot cyclops cannibals?"He destroyed all the rest.""Please clarify," Chaz studied my mother. "Your father murdered his own children?""Yes. All but one of the 36 sons. He kept Carrig around as a reminder to not create any more sons. The first generation of daughters were all 'failures'.""You mean dead?" Odette gulped."Yes   dead now, though he viewed all of us as property, not human beings.""Consider Grandad's low opinion of humanity, that's extra tragic," I put an arm around Odette. Pamela was muffling her conversation."Of the second generation of daughters, only Aunt Faoiltiama was kept around. I always had the impression her soul wasn't entirely human. She is rather primitive and predatory. A less horrifically unbalanced Carrig   physically that is. Carrig was somewhat more erudite.""Wow, I don't know what to think of that," I mumbled."Of my generation, eleven of us were allowed to live. Kelly and Maitilda are the most physically dangerous. That was their purpose   killing things.""Trained in combat styles by Cáel's grandfather?" Chaz looked, depressed."Yes. The four of us were. Fiona was the only one I couldn't best.""I would like to spar with you when it is convenient," Chaz requested."Okay. You deserve to know how bad it can be," she nodded. "Of the rest, Una was the youngest, the most human and humane. She was Father's final failure. I was never sure why he kept her alive.""For Cáel to rescue, of course," Odette insisted. Crap. She was right. By the horrified look on my Mother's face, she knew Odette was correct as well.Alal had let Una live as a contingency card, in case I was a soft-hearted sap. In hindsight, it was obvious. The innocent damsel trapped in a madhouse, at the mercy of her fiendish kinfolk, she was a perfect weapon to make me do stupider shit than normal."Damn," Mom muttered. "Anyway, Briana is the most willful and the family's representative to the Illuminati. Deidre is the most sedate, so she handles the normal business interests that we are allowed to know about. Darcie had Alal's hunger for lost and forbidden lore. In her case, it is all-consuming. She has memorized much of Father's collection.""She is rather good at it too   or was when I last saw her. Imogen is our tactician and oversees the O'Shea's bodyguard contingent. She has Father's ability to choose the best men and women, to train them to a razor's edge and to inspire fanatic loyalty.""Sadhbba: she is Father's spy master; with the exceptionally eerie talents of subterfuge, deceit and finding the weakness in others. She and I did not get along. Fiona could do it all, except for my talent.""Which is?" Chaz took over, since Pamela was waving me over for a close, quiet chat concerning her phone call."Fiona was an updated version of me. She was slightly better at everything I could do, except for one thing. I had Father's sixth sense about things. Fiona did not, and that was the reason she hated me so much. Father stoked our internal conflicts to keep us all on edge.""Good to know," Chaz understated his concern. "Do you have any intelligence on how, when and with what your father will come after our boy?" I wasn't insulted by the 'our boy' moniker. He wasn't calling me a child. He was telling Mom that I was 'one of the boys'   on his team. I felt all warm and tingly. My dearth of long-term male friends had meant I had never really been in a fraternity   the close brotherhood of men   before."Problem for you to deal with," Pamela handed me the phone. "It is Tabitha Loire." Tabitha? Vincent's   FBI Special Agent Vincent Lorie's   drop-dead gorgeous daughter. He had taken more than one bullet in Romania. I hadn't heard from him since that morning at the hospital, before being whisked away to the US via Germany. I remained a lousy friend."Hello? Who is this?" the weary, angry voice on the other end of the connection spoke."Cáel Nyilas. Tabitha Loire, what can I do for you?""What can you tell me about my Father?""Oh God! He is not dead, is he?" I grunted. Pause."No. No, Da is okay. He was released from the hospital a week ago. I would like to talk to you about what happened to him overseas.""He won't tell you?""No. Neither will his boss, or any of his acquaintances. Mr. Nyilas, he is down in the dumps and I want to know what I can do to help out. If you are his friend, you should help."I couldn't blame her for being both bitter and exasperated. She had run full tilt into the Great Wall of National Security and been stopped cold."How about I come down and talk to you?" I offered. "What I can tell you shouldn't go out over a phone and I have been remiss in not catching up with your father sooner.""Umm, when?""I'll take the next train down tonight," I decided. "We'll arrange some vehicles at the station. What is your address?" She hesitated. After all, she had Pamela's number, not mine and I was tied into her father being shot   badly. She gave me the address, her desire to know what happened overcoming her caution when dealing with strangers. "I'll give you a call when we arrive in Alexandria.""Train?" Juanita griped. Chaz pulled out his phone and called Agent-86 for both the next train from Penn Station to Alexandria and an update to Virginia and the Homeland Security people for clearance to bring along our ironmongery. Pamela looked at me with pride. So did Mom. Whatever Juanita's opinion of me was, it was concealed by her call to someone else   probably updating Buffy on my itinerary."Vincent was the Federal Agent who was wounded at Miercurea Ciuc?" asked Mom."I need to have a talk with Delilah," Pamela glowered."I want to be in the room when you do," Chaz agreed."Juanita   Penn Station and call someone at Executive Services to pick up our car. Long term parking there is a bitch," I related.Was it? I had no idea, but Alal apparently did. I had been to Penn Station three times; and I never had a vehicle that needed a parking space. All three times, Havenstone sent a car to pick me up. That was for my preliminary and final interviews, plus handling all the paperwork after I got the job.I'd left Bolingbrook in a U-Haul truck (without much in it) a week before starting work. I had an iron-clad belief I could find a place to live within that time span. That was all the time and money I had allotted to that endeavor. My budget had been tight, or so I believed.Unlike the other four chuckleheads who joined the New Directive, I hadn't received a signing bonus. Maybe I should have asked for one. Too late for that now."You taking your mother to meet Vincent?" Odette poked me. I looked from Pamela to Odette then back again.Sneaky-ass bitches. They were introducing my widowed Mother to a really nice, mature guy who was brave, a good father, a widower and all-around stand-up guy. He had a ready-made family, an oldest daughter my age. Beyond some physical similarities, Vincent was not much like Dad. Dad was a quiet, private man.By the nature of his job as a Field Agent, Vincent had to possess superior communication skills. Physically, they were nearly the same height, but Dad was broader in the shoulders. On the other hand, Vincent had both a warrior's spirit and the skills to back it up.But why Mom? Her life was more a disaster than mine, and mine was colossally fucked up."Don't get any ideas," Pamela put out there. Was she talking to me? "Chaz and I don't like you. Your father is a rat-bastard with a mind like a snake. We have no idea if you are yet another one his plots to get at Cáel."They were still taking her with us as we went to see Vincent in Virginia. Since this was going to be a quick trip   I had to be back at Havenstone at 6 a.m.   no clothing was necessary. Chaz received a call from Agent-86 with a follow-up call as we pulled up to the station. I didn't know the nature of the second call until we went to pick up our tickets for the 10:05 Northeast Regional.Waiting there was my old buddy and now sister, Wilma Draper/Ishara. I was at a loss why. It wasn't as if I needed more firepower than Juanita, Chaz and Pamela in the confined environment of a train."Wilma?""Hello Ish   Cáel," she smiled. She was emotionally pumped."What are you doing here?""Oh... Buffy told me that I was to be here on assignment to fulfill an Isharan obligation." This would be Wilma's first mission for House Ishara, no matter how brief and danger-free it might be. She was ecstatic.Huh? I couldn't recall any obligation I owed Buffy, or Vincent. Unlike every other Amazon House, things regularly happened without the Head of House's knowledge. Face facts: I was the least prepared leader the Host had ever had. I compensated by having hyper-competent underlings   the very best of the best Runners-turned-Full-blooded Amazons."Ah," Pamela nodded, sensing my loss of understanding, "A promise to provide Vincent a bodyguard was made in your presence. Being the highest ranking member of the Host present, and failing to pass on that knowledge, it falls to your House to answer that pledge.""Wilma, you are here to be Vincent Loire's bodyguard?""Only temporarily. The current state of affairs at HQ won't allow me to take more than three days leave. Your 'First' is seeking another appropriate Isharan for the task."I had totally dropped the ball.The initiative to bring JIKIT and the Amazons together was my creation. Katrina had approved it, yet it was my status as Chief Diplomat of the Host (as I had redefined that role,) that was responsible for that group, and thus Vincent. There was also another undercurrent to providing Vincent an Amazon bodyguard. I would be sending Vincent the message that he was still a valuable member of the team. His infirmity was simply a temporary difficulty.I gave Javiera a call. I suddenly needed to know Vincent's status with the FBI. A little past Philadelphia, she called back. Vincent was on long-term leave and, barring a positive physical assessment, he would never be going back into the field. They were making him a desk jockey for the rest of his career. That would be a heavy enough blow to the man to put him in the dumps.I made my view clear. As Unpaid Honcho Assigned to Unit L &  U HAUL, I wanted Vincent on my team   JIKIT's field team. I had plenty of lethal shooters. I needed a trained investigator and a veteran lawman to keep us aware of the niceties the world's legal systems wished to live by. I finished that off with a very regal "Make it so!" Javiera, my boss, hung up on me; though I thought I caught a laugh before the connection was cut."Pamela," Chaz turned to Pamela, "I am proud to call him 'brother'.""I think he is coming along nicely, Grandson Charles," Pamela preened. Wha- huh? My family had grown yet again. Grown yet again with people who were better than me."Does that make Aya your niece?" a sleepy Odette smiled."I guess it does," he nodded."Aya will love you," Pamela smiled."I hope Caitlyn loves him too," I smirked."A man could do worse than marrying an Amazon," Chaz blithely retorted. Less I forget, the Tomorrow Clan had its own long warrior tradition."Asking it to be three thousand years long is a bit too much," Pamela agreed with what I had not spoken aloud."On the plus side," I began."He's also getting several frisky sisters-in-law," Pamela finished. Hi-Five."Super Twin Powers Activate!" we proclaimed loudly.Fuck Ishara for taking Tad fi from me. I could be just like my Father. I could bleed off my pain with humor and look at my daughter with untainted love."When I grow up, I want to be just like you," Odette yawned. Which one of us she wanted to emulate wasn't clear.{Wounded, but not forgotten}{2:00 am, Wednesday, September 3rd ~ 5 Days to go}The tickets were one-way. Katrina was having a private jet come down at 4 a.m. to fetch me. We arrived in DC at 1:30. Two bleary-eyed State Department flunkies met us with an S U V and a sedan. We took the S U V ~ we had seven people ~ while they drove the sedan back so they could try to make something of the night that duty had destroyed.They looked curious about what this was all about and were a bit disappointed that no explanation was forthcoming from our crowd. We were polite, and I thanked them for their service. Being a decent human being doesn't cost you much and can pay serious dividends.The drive to Casa de Loire took thirty minutes. Juanita informed me the small airport I would be flying out of was a twenty minute drive, so I had roughly an hour and half with Vincent and his family. When we arrived, Juanita sent Wilma to make a 'walk-around' Vincent's home so she could get the lay of the land as well as keep an eye out for voyeurs.Pamela saved another series of frowns from Juanita by being the first person to the door. Tabitha had called her after all. Tabitha, Vincent's oldest and a Georgetown University senior, clearly didn't know what to make of us, and we weren't making it any easier for her by showing up on her stoop three hours after she had called Pamela.It wasn't going to get better. For starters, Juanita (and the not visible Wilma) had a MP-7A1. Ya know  military-grade weaponry. The door opened halfway. It was Gretchen Loire, the middle daughter."Hello. May I help you?" That wasn't her being uninformed about our imminent arrival. This was the child of an FBI agent allowing a stranger at her door to identify themselves instead of giving them a name to use."I'm Pamela Pile," my mentor answered. "This is Cáel Nyilas, my grandson. The gentleman to his left is my other grandson, Color Sergeant Chaz Tomorrow of the British military. To the left is Juanita Garza, my younger grandson's bodyguard   the one without a gun in his hand. The young lady in back is Odette Sievert, another one of your father's co-workers. The woman beside her is Sibeal Nyilas, Cáel's mother. Don't trust her   long story. A seventh member of our group is checking out your backyard. Her name is Wilma Draper.""You are heavily armed. Is my Da in trouble?""I want to talk to your father, if that is okay with you. I'll let Cáel answer your questions. He's our titular boss."'Thanks Pamela', I groaned inwardly.She was cute, exhausted and emotionally-vulnerable. Eager for answers and for someone to make sense of a world where her anchor   her father   had been nearly killed (not that his wounds had really been life-threatening). I hadn't had sex in over a day and that had only been a tension-breaker quickie with Odette.As we entered, it was obvious that Gretchen and her younger sister, Mariyah, had camped out in the front living room, catching some 'z's' on a recliner and a sofa with light blankets for covers. Mariyah was on the sofa, sitting up on her elbows and struggling to wake up.As Chaz shut the front door, Tabitha came down the stairs."Mr. Nyilas," she greeted me. Well, I was an infamous celebrity. I even had two Facebook pages (Nyilas Nailed Me! and Az  j Magyarorsz g kir lya (The New King of Hungary)) as well as four Instagram accounts devoted to me."Ms. Loire," I met her halfway and shook her hand."Call me Tabitha.""Call me Cabbage-Head," I grinned. That caught her off guard."Oh, kay, not what I expected." (I get that a lot) "We need to talk," she failed to stifle a grin."If you sleep with any of these girls, I will shoot you," Pamela warned me in Hittite."Excuse me?" Tabitha looked her way."Don't worry about it, Tabitha," Pamela gave her a congenial look. "I simply warned the boy that if he acted inappropriately, I would scar him.""Aren't you engaged?" she turned on me."Yes. Yes I am. Hana is a wonderful woman; beautiful, smart, with a big heart and a serious nature. Sadly for her, I'm a lousy human being, untrustworthy cad and perpetually prone to making bad decisions where women are concerned. Very bad decisions.""Miss, since my associate appears to be eminently capable of mangling the English language, let me help you clarify the situation: Cáel can't say 'no' where a woman is concerned. He can't even say, 'no, please don't hurt me', or 'no, not now. I'm talking to my date'.""Hi. I'm Odette. There are four sane people in this room and I'm one of them.""Says the woman who snuck aboard a transatlantic fight and hid in a place in the galley which you couldn't get out of," Pamela snorted."I got to go to Europe for free," she defiantly perked up. "Oh, and ladies," to the Lorie girls, "your father is a wonderful and brave male. (OK, too much time around the Amazons for her.) "He saved my life in Budapest.""He was in Budapest?" Gretchen."When?" Tabitha."Why?" Mariyah."We need to talk to Vincent  

Today Matt teaches Chuy about the deep south. Then we get flooded with recomendations for chuy to eat or listen to on his trip. We also talk about Chappel roan and her desire to not be talked to by fans. Then Chuy decides not to go on the trip. Support the show: https://www.klbjfm.com/mattandbobfm/See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Brighten up your Tuesday with some hilarious bad jokes from Dave!

Tadifi's legendBook 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.Meanwhile, Elsa was quietly amused. It wasn't like I could request the SD to force my House Guard to not do something they had been told to do by someone in my hierarchy. That would lead to chaos, and it was unfair to Juanita."Fine," I decided. "Get us three some water. Elsa and I will be practicing."Now Juanita was stuck. I wasn't asking her to leave the room, just leave me alone. I was technically her leader, respect notwithstanding."It is good to see you have not become drunk with power," Elsa smirked once Juanita had left on her errand."Your mockery is unappreciated," I glared back. I was only kidding. "I haven't seen you around recently. It is good to see you.""It is good to see you too," Elsa said in a voice far softer and compassionate than I would have preferred. After all, she had me drugged, beaten, then beaten me up again in the not so distant past.Of course, I had also sexed her up, bringing her to orgasm with my fingers alone. We had also exchanged a burning French kiss in Katrina's office that Buffy was aware of. Then there was the Buffy-Elsa personal feud and the Elsa-Rhada family feud. Balancing that was Elsa's super-hot body and intriguing personality. Sex with her promised to be memorable, more memorable than normal."What have you been up to? I'd like to say I've been behaving myself, but I don't want to advance our relationship by lying (right now, about this).""You are largely responsible for what I've been up to the past two weeks," she stepped back. She tossed her spear aside and entered her fighting stance. How nice of her to warn me, and get rid of her weapon. How erotically odd of her to give me the illusion of a chance."I deny everything," I rocked back. She was blindingly fast. The fact that I was able to block most of the blow was a testament to how much I had learned in the past two and a half months."Watashi wa nihongo o hanashimasu', 'Wǒ shuō pǔtōnghu ', 'Wǒ shuō guǎngdōng hu ' and 'Aku isa basa jawa'," she lectured me as she maneuvered me into a corner with a series of kicks and feints. She spoke Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese and Javanese. That was nice to know."Wait," then she kicked me off the mat."Amazons don't have a 'time out'," she smiled. I cautiously worked my way back onto the practice area."What part did you play?" I readied myself. This time, I went on the offensive. I used my greater strength and reach to compensate (rather poorly) for her superior reflexes."Someone had to ride herd on those disparate forces. My status was respected by the Amazons, I had experience dealing with outsiders, plus your person Addison nominated me, and Katrina suggested that you and I were close. That was enough for the Khanate. Your embassy and earlier aid to the Seven Families brought the 9 Clans along.""And you stole the carrier?""It was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to humiliate the Seven Pillars," she grinned. "Riding in a nuclear submarine was interesting, right up there with running around, spray painting translations next to all the markings onboard the captured vessel. Herding regular civilians wasn't nearly as much fun.""In the annals of the SD, that is going to be a victory hard to surpass," I got out right before my legs were swept out from under me. Before I could roll over, she landed on top of me. She didn't go for a pin. Elsa simply sat there, straddling my hips and looking down at me. We were both breathing heavily."I owe you for that," she patted me on my bare chest."Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?""I'll let you figure that out during the Great Hunt," she gave a sliver of a smile."Not you too," I groaned."Who else are you worried about?""You and twenty-nine other Amazons. By name, Rachel. She's pretty upbeat about her chances and believes she has a score to settle.""Rachel will be a tough one," Elsa acknowledged."Comfortable?" Juanita muttered."Yes, I am," Elsa grinned her way. "Thank you for asking." Juanita gave me a look that suggested I do something like protest, or actually try to fight her off."Why are you being nice to me?" I wondered."I've learned to appreciate your numerous qualities," Elsa enlightened me. "I am also honest enough to admit I was completely wrong about you. You make a good Amazon." That was huge praise indeed and more importantly, it was to a public audience. I was double fortunate that no one was close enough to see Elsa's camel toe resting against my lightly covered hard-on."Thank you. Is there anything I can do for you?""Aren't you engaged to someone?" Juanita reminded me. What she was really saying was 'don't you know you belong to the maidens of House Ishara?' Trust me, I know these things. Had she meant Hana, she would have said Hana."She has the patience of Job," I reasoned. "Oh, Elsa, Job is a figure in the Old Testament of the Bible." I doubted she knew."Oh. Is he a bloody-handed butcher, raging misogynist, or one of those pacifistic wimps?""He's a nice guy who gets swallowed by a whale.""That's Jonah," Juanita corrected me. "Job is the one who was tested by God. Job accepted God taking away all his family, wealth and health, only to be rewarded for his loyalty to God with more than he ever had before.""Wimp.""I would never turn away from Ishara," Juanita rumbled."Zorja would never feel the need to test my loyalty so," Elsa riposted."Oh look," I thrust my hips up. "I seem to need a shower." Elsa's expression was of superiority and lust combined into a lethal cocktail of my demise."Let's go. You can wash my back," she said as she rose over me. She even offered me a hand up. That was unexpected and accepted warily."Is there some battle wound that makes you incapable of bathing yourself?" Juanita got feisty. Holy Hell, she was my Caribbean Buffy-twin."None," Elsa smugly commented. "I like the feel of his hands on my body. He possesses non-threatening masculinity wed with sisterly solidarity. It is a unique experience that you seem woefully unaware of.""Yippee!" I whispered."You really are a man-whore," Juanita declared under her breath."Check," I gave her a thumbs-up. Sadly, Elsa gave me enough respect to walk at my side, not in front of me (so I could have been mesmerized by her buttocks.) As I was stripping down in the locker room, I noticed Juanita hovering close by. "Are you going to follow me into the shower?""Yes.""Why? I am not going to be in danger in the middle of Havenstone.""I'll be the judge of that," she insisted."You do realize I've had sex with an audience before, don't you?""I've been warned about that and know proper counter-measures.""What? What kind of measures?" I was now naked and, towel in hand, was making my way to the communal showers."Charlie horses, trips, stun-gun if applicable," she informed me with relish."You are threatening to damage my prestige," I enlightened her."Cáel, I was chosen for more than my martial skills. I was selected because I will not wilt before your childish ways.""Are you a lesbian?""No. Why would a woman have to be a lesbian to withstand your wiles?""You'll figure it out eventually," I chuckled. Actually, knowing what a playboy-cad I was turned out to be a counter-intuitive edge for me. Expecting me to be a letch just meant I totally ignored the woman. Then the doubt would set in. 'Why wasn't I hitting on her?' she would think. She'd go through the phase of her not being good enough for me to knowing that wasn't the case, definitely, and would come at me to prove herself right. Wham-bam, another one in the can. Oink.Step One: reduce the amount of time talking to her as a fellow human traveler of life. From here on out, I would address her by her name when I wanted something and otherwise treat her like furniture ~ furniture I was comfortable with. In this case, I treated her like a towel rack. She promptly dropped it. That was okay, I was planning to get dressed wet anyway.I rinsed off my hair quickly as Elsa settled underneath the showerhead beside me. As soon as I finished, she handled me a bottle of (scentless) body soap. It was probably one of those the jaguar will smell me coming ten miles away excuses Amazons used to avoid being girlie. I got my hands all sudsy and began working on her shoulders and neck from behind.Wordlessly, Elsa followed my physical directions, allowing me to wash her arms before working my way down her back in languid, amorous circles. Around the 10th thoracic vertebrae, Elsa gave me a deep, cleansing exhalation. I dug my fingers into her taut back muscles, racking them down to her buttocks, deftly ran them along the sides of her glutes and finished up caressing them along the line between her thighs and ass.I worked her buttocks apart, worked my fingers along her perineum, tickling the back of her labia then up, across her anus and back to her tailbone and the small of her back. A crazy idea came to me: maybe I could talk her into a tramp stamp; something like If you are reading this, know I'll kill you next. That would be so Elsa.I lathered her ass up for another half-minute before working my way down to her thighs, starting with the hip joints and then coaxing of her parted lips. I knelt down so that I was resting on the balls of my feet. Elsa obliged me by parting her legs, standing on her toes with her feet over a foot apart, then placing her hands against the shower stall while arching her back so that her hips were thrust back."Oh, come on," Juanita protested. "What kind of bath is this?""Did you hear something?" Elsa looked down at me."Nope. I was focusing all of my attention on you," I smiled up at her. I was really liking the way her muscles were stressed through her exertions. I couldn't seem to pay enough attention to her robust calves. I didn't pass up the opportunity to plant gentle kisses on each cheek either.Elsa's ankles and feet happened all too fast and the pretense of a bath was complete. She looked at me while she soaped up her breasts then let the water cascade all over her body."Thank you, Cáel," she gave me a regal nod of her damp head, turned and left. "Train harder for the Hunt. You are going to need every edge you can get.""I'm stalking oysters over the weekend. They are cunning and stealthy adversaries," I replied sagely. Elsa snorted, then started toweling off as she left, going toward her own locker. I walked past my soaked towel on the floor without a single glance. Juanita stalked behind me, clearly with a lot on her mind she was now waiting for the proper moment to share. I got dressed."Not going to dry off?" she grumbled."I never use towels," I lied. "I like the rain-washed feel." By ignoring her act of defiance, I really steamed her. I wasn't done. As we headed toward the elevator, I opened up with my next jibe. Buffy really shouldn't challenge me so. I'm a past-master of dealing with clingy, bossy women."Regretting you made that bet?" I mused while we waited."What bet?" she simmered."The bet where you assured Buffy and whomever else was in the room that you wouldn't break down and physically harm me ~ punishing me for my wicked ways?""What? How did," she groused then, "You are playing me.""Yep.""You really are full of yourself," she seared me with her gaze."No, but I know what I'm good at and I'm good at frustrating women. I've been working at it for the past four years and I've got over 200 women who would agree that I'm very good at doing it.""Why are you doing this to me? I'm on your side," she turned all pouty and hurtful."Because if I don't, I'll go mad, Juanita," I enlightened her. "You want to protect me, right?""Yes," she sensed a verbal trap. The elevator opened and we stepped in."See, I don't want to be protected," I started."That's,""Let me finish, please," I stopped her. She gave me the visual 'go-ahead'. "I don't want to live a life where I need to be protected. I don't want to worry that women I hang out with could be cornered by some unsavory types at an eatery because those women happen to know and like me.""I admire what you are doing, I really do. This is not the life I wanted, though. This is not what I wanted to be doing four months after leaving college. I wanted to be some corporate worm, barely scraping by on my work reviews and being, as you said, 'a man-whore'.""You don't have that luxury," she pointed out."Am I not doing my job?" I countered."I guess you are," she grudgingly admitted."Yet you feel you have the right to critique my personal life and how I approach it," I related. "I'm not beating you up by playing the I am Ishara bullshit. I certainly don't expect anyone to be grateful to me for the opportunity to be in a House. I don't because I believe that every member of House Ishara has already proven they belong here before I ever meet them. I believe in you. Sometimes I would appreciate it if my sisters would give me the same respect."She looked away because my harpoon had struck home."Unlike the rest of you, I inherited my place in this madhouse. Unlike every other Amazon here, I am only a part of House Ishara because I am the choice of a thousand ancestors to be our leader. Notice that no one asked me if I wanted to do this. And I don't think I ask too much of you because frankly, there are times when I feel unworthy to be in your company.""You are still Ishara and I must still be your guardian," she held her ground. I glared at her. She glared back. I coughed. She kept glaring."What's my name?""Oh," she shrugged. "Cáel Wakko Ishara.""That may sound silly you to, but I have chosen the designations for myself, my First Ancestor and the Goddess for a good reason."We rode in silence. When we got to the ground floor, we made our way to our bikes and got ready to head home."What is the reason?""To never take ourselves too seriously. The worst thing I can think to befall my House is we become as humorless as the rest of the bitches around here. 'Laugh at Death' should be our motto.""Isn't that a bit childish?""Of course it is," I groaned. "You clearly haven't been paying attention to a damn thing I've been saying. I swear I'm thinking about bringing back 'National Clown Nose Day'.""We had a 'National Clown Nose Day'?" she pedaled to keep up."God help me," I muttered.(Where is my Serge?)"You are not going to let me go through my door first?" I sighed in exasperation. Juanita insisted that she go through every door first, because today was so very different than yesterday, when I had Pamela, perhaps I protest too much."You have a gun," a somewhat familiar voice said from inside my/Timothy's apartment. Oh, fuck. Ya know, because Juanita was as pretty as she was lethal, which is to say 'too much for the given company'."Don't make any sudden moves unless you want to see it," Juanita cautioned her."Oh, it's okay," Odette intervened. "This is Anais Saint-Armour. She's a Mountie.""Oh, she's on the List too," Juanita grumbled. "What has he done wrong this time?""Why don't you tell me who you are first?" Anais growled at Juanita while I pushed my way into the room."I don't like your attitude," Juanita glared."Anais, this is Juanita Leya Antonio Garza; she's my latest bodyguard. Juanita, this is Anais, a good friend of mine who helped save my life in Hungary when the 'terrorists' were closing in," I somewhat exaggerated,, she had helped me catch up with the rest of the team when Pamela and I got sidetracked."Why did he chose you?" Anais fumed. Did I mention she's insanely jealous with an aching need to know why I was marrying anyone else, but her."What list?" Odette proved to be on the ball."He didn't chose me. I volunteered for the spot.""Buffy made an anti-girlfriend list. Elsa is on it too," I mumbled."I bet you did," Anais (responding to Juanita)."It is not like that," I moved to interpose myself between my Mountie and my non-mounted (for now) guardian. "I'm on the board of directors for Havenstone now and,""How did that happen?" Anais turned 'The Force' on me. (That's Canadian for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, really) "You insisted (reference back in the days we were seeing one another) you were impoverished.""I inherited it from my Father,""He's poor too. I ran a background check when we first started dating," Anais kept up the pressure."My Mother?""She's dead.""Okay, it was my Father through a convoluted meandering of genetics," I went back to attempting the truth (shame on me)."Which is it?" she glowered."My Father, but it's too complicated to get into now," I tried to touch her. She recoiled. She was still pissed with me."He's telling the truth this time," Odette rose to my defense."Why didn't you tell me this when you were in Hungary? For that matter, if you are rich, why didn't you use those resources to get yourself out of trouble instead of involving me?" She really was a great cop."I had to make a call to someone I trusted and who couldn't be traced back to me, or Havenstone, or the Irish Embassy," I fibbed."What have you gotten yourself into?" Anais thawed somewhat."I believe I promised you dinner," I reminded her."You did.""Where are we going?" Juanita stressed our lack of privacy."'We' aren't going anywhere. Ms. Anais Saint-Armour and I are going to a restaurant of her choosing. Don't worry about it. She carries a gun.""I'm not carrying a gun," Anais torpedoed my plan."Where are we going?" Juanita repeated herself. I had to switch mental gears quickly to take in the new looks I was getting from Anais. I shouldn't have ignored those cues."I can't get around my personal security service," I sighed. Why did I give in? Anais was all about gathering evidence and then drawing conclusions from the facts in available.I had been involved in some significant bad-assery in Europe that was way beyond anything she would have associated with the old me. Terrorist cells duking it out with me (and others) in a Budapest metro station? A rustic inn being reduced to ashes after a suspected firefight? Bomb threats? A full-scale military operation in Romania?I had been kidnapped with a resultant massive manhunt for me then returned under highly mysterious circumstances. There had been a young girl with me, we were close for reasons not really gone into and I had saved her despite all forms of parenthood had been anathema to me.I was a man who others deemed necessary to protect, thus a man making secretive phone calls, getting snippets of information and being involved in the deaths of way too many people to be the old, playboy me. Who had I become?I therefore might be a man who 'needed' to marry a billionairess due to some unspeakable political reasons, not out of any romantic/sexual desire of my own. Anais knew that I was a commitment-phobe, not a gold-digger. That meant she could be involved with me without it really being cheating. I needed her help, I had reached out to her when I was in crisis and she was in the people-helping business, right?There was clearly more evidence out there for her to discover and she had the good fortune to be able to have me in a spot where I could be interrogated."Where do you want to go?" I disengaged and went to my room. The door was only partially shut as I changed."Eleven Madison West," I was told."Oh," Odette cooed, "that place is expensive.""I know," Anais remarked."Why did you pick it?" Odette inquired."To remind Cáel that meals can be very expensive." That was my 'date' reminded me that I'd cheated with her over the course of a home-cooked meal, cooked not-by-her in someone else's home. I wondered how Maya was doing.Eleven Madison West meant I pulled out one of my Havenstone suits. They were tailored after all and I suspected that getting into this place at this time of night was going to take some charisma and finagling. Dressing as causal-me wouldn't do. When I stepped out, jaws dropped ~ I do look good all gussied up. Odette dispelled the shock by jumping into my arms."You look hot," she squealed. "Too bad I'm not going out with you.""You might want to remember that," Anais griped."We need to stop by Havenstone so I can attempt to dress up for this affair," Juanita stated."How about we call in a replacement? Give you the night off?" I suggested."Who?""Chaz?""You want that British SSR non-commissioned officer to be your personal bodyguard for tonight? You've got balls," Juanita coughed. I took out my phone and got ready to give him a call."Hey, Anais, why didn't you call me to tell me you were coming over?" I carefully avoided the word 'warned' as she would take that the wrong way."I don't have your personal phone number. I called your home phone and got the answering service, last night and again this morning," she narrowed her eyes."Odette, did Timothy get lucky last night?" I looked past the Mountie."No. A good friend of his rolled his motorcycle and he went to the hospital to help him out," Odette shook her head. Poor Timothy. My roomie/fuck-buddy misinterpreted Anais's pique. "Timothy is gay, not a sexual enabler.""Huh?" Juanita wondered."Wingman," I translated. "Sometimes the three of us go to gay clubs where I act as his wingman,""And they feed me to lesbians," Odette sounded enthusiastic. Thanks to me she was hardly a same-sex virgin."If there are three people living here and two bedrooms, who sleeps on the sofa?" Anais skewered Odette with her eyes."If Cáel has company and isn't sharing, I sleep with Timothy," Odette refused to wilt, or cut me some slack with Anais."Isn't sharing?" those ocular death orbs flicked my way."Hmm, if we are going to Elven Madison West, I had better make that call," I evaded. I rang Chaz."Nyilas," he answered. "How are you doing this evening?""I'm good. I have an ex-girlfriend from out of town visiting, she wants to go to a swanky place and Juanita isn't dressed for the detail so,""You want me to double date?""No, I need a bodyguard.""You are assuming I have something appropriate to wear.""You are British!" I protested. "Even your chicks have tuxedos.""Very well. Will this be a personal protection detail, or close support?""Aahhh,""Close support," said Anais."Personal Protection," countered Juanita."The one most likely to save me from being stabbed with a steak knife," I muttered."I am not going to physically attack you," Anais simmered. Yeah, right, I had heard that one before, and not just from her."Personal Protection it is," Chaz informed me."Oh, and she's a Mountie.""Is she armed?""No," I thanked the goddesses."Does she want to be?""Huh? Are you going to arm her?" I panicked."No. You have a NYPD liaison. Give Officer Kutuzov a call and make a formal request. If she is a law enforcement officer in good standing, it shouldn't be a problem.""Oh, I can do that?, I'm not sure that's the best idea," I prevaricated."Man up, Nyilas," he chided me. "You should work on making it so women don't want to shoot you instead of thinking of ways to disarm them.""Spoken like a man who wisely prefers the company of other men," I grumbled."Good use of the word 'wisely'. Next question: what are we using as a means of conveyance?""Umm,""I have my motorcycle," Anais was less than helpful."If you weren't one of the bravest human beings I'd ever met, I would determine at this moment that you are a dolt. Call Havenstone and arrange for one of those Mercedes Armored GL550s. Bring your license. I drive on the correct side of the road and I'm not keen on having a distraught paramour driving into a storefront at 80 kph.""Man, I like the way you speak," I joked."I took advantage of a proper English education.""I was joking with you.""I know.""Can I date your sister?" I didn't know if he had a sister, but he'd hinted there were multiple Tomorrow's out there. Anais' mood didn't improve."Yes. I like you. You are a good bloke.""Does your sister know how to kill people?""Yes. I'd say she's relatively proficient with a variety of small arms and hand-to-hand techniques," he enlightened me."Just checking.""Cáel, every woman you are interested knows how to kill people, or how to have people killed," Chaz reminded me."What about Odette? She's neither well connected nor lethal.""Odette is indeed an enigma. She counters that by being well liked by people who are capable of killing others who hurt her, except where you are concerned. You live a treasured life.""Have you made dinner reservations? If you need me for a black tie event it has to be, what is the American for it, swanky.""That's more of a Cael/Pamela thing," I corrected him. "American's say 'high class', expensive, or 'hot spot'.""Thanks for the update. Make those calls.""O-kay. Will do. I'll meet you at Havenstone in thirty minutes. Does that work for you?""Yes. Make those calls. I'll see you at, 7:52 pm, EDT. Mark.""Huh?""Goodbye Cáel," and he hung up."Who is this 'Chaz' character?" Anais questioned me."He is Color Sergeant Charles Tomorrow of the British Army's Special Reconnaissance Regiment, he's a badass and he's delicious," Odette answered for me."How do you know him, either of you?" came next."He was with," Odette began blabbing 'National Security' stuff."Odette, don't. Anais, he is member of the Joint International Khanate Interim Taskforce along with me. Odette helps out in an auxiliary role," I answered."Cáel, how did you end up doing this kind of work?" she was perplexed. "You were devoid of anything approaching civic responsibility when we were last together. Quite frankly, I didn't think you cared for anyone but yourself.""Hey now," Odette got feisty. She was my friend after all."We can talk about that over dinner?" I suggested. She didn't like that answer, so I lied. "I grew up," which was what she wanted to hear. I was spared any more interrogation at the moment by the necessity of making those three phone calls. Nikita liked hearing from me again, though she was less pleased that it was official business. She did agree to contact the appropriate agency for me, despite me making it for a different female law enforcement agent.I'd wised up about Havenstone. I called Executive services to have the car delivered to my door step. I cautioned the operative that, in my neighborhood, they might be stopped on suspicion of purchasing guns, drugs, and/or a good time. I would have the car in fifteen minutes and agreed to take the delivery driver back to work afterwards. I'd have done it even if I wasn't meeting Chaz.At Eleven Madison West, I got a snooty 'exactly who do you think you are?' followed by 'you will be placed on the waiting list, a spot may open up around 9:50'. Was I going to inform Chaz and Anais of this? Of course not. I planned to beg like a big dog, suggest that while I was a nameless face, I actually knew people, a person, and we'd see how far that got me.While waiting for the S U V to arrive and on the drive back to Havenstone, this is pretty much what followed:"Do you know who was behind your father's murder yet?""Yes, but I can't talk about it.""Was that the reason people are trying to kill you?""Yes. That and other reasons.""What other reasons?""Things I can't talk about.""Why can't you talk about it?""Secret society stuff ~ decoder rings, secret handshakes, writing in cyphers, holding clandestine meetings in public places after dark, and various other things world governments don't want me talking about.""Are you pulling my leg?" I wished I was running my hands over her legs. This wasn't the time for that revelation."No. Most of what I am telling you is the truth.""Were you in a shootout at the Chicago Medical Examiner's morgue?""Yes. I was unarmed at the time.""Was your life in danger?""It depends on what you mean by 'danger'. My allies had guns and were expert shots. I was shot at, but they missed me, so I not sure how much my life was at risk.""Can you please be serious?""I'm trying. You scare me.""You don't need to be afraid of me. I only want to help." That was mostly true. She was a diligent, hard-working incorruptible public servant,well, as long as you overlooked her charging me with bestiality when she was truly pissed with me."I'm not afraid of you hurting me. I'm afraid for you. You are an excellent peace officer and I'm worried that you will learn too much. Then your life will be as screwed up as mine.""I can take care of myself.""The reality that you are going out with me unarmed speaks volumes about what you don't know, Anais.""Don't think this line of questioning is over, Cáel.""Don't worry. I know you are not done.""Very well. How is your aunt?" The crab-fisherwoman, not the Irish menagerie."Happy as a clam, working a real job and living life on her own terms.""Where did you go wrong?" That was a loaded question. I had to tread carefully."A girl humiliated me in high school. I decided to take control of my life and somehow, despite my best intentions to be an unreliable lothario, I've ended up with people closer to me than family,and this constant need for physical protection.""Why are you engaged?" Finally, the real reason she was here. Had she come by to pick up her accoutrements, she would have been gone by the time I came home. She wanted answers, answers that allowed her to be in charge of our relationship again. It was the double-barreled impact of exceptional sex and wondering why she wasn't 'the one'.(Me) "Are you seeing somebody?""You didn't answer my question.""I've answered plenty of your questions. Answer mine.""No. Men expect too much from a career woman." Translation: 'I'm a bitch that, regardless of my dynamite looks and raunchy sex drive, repels men because I'm a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.'"You do put your career first." Translation: 'I've totally forgotten that you are a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.' It was what she wanted to hear."Your turn.""Put on your tin-foil hat. I did it to save lives in Central Asia when the anthrax strikes were going on. I have this friend over there that people listen to.""Who? The Great Khan?"I didn't respond which wasn't the answer she was expecting."How?" as in how could I possibly be good friends with the master of arguably the third or fourth most powerful nation on the face of the Earth"That's one of those things I can't talk about.""Do you love her?""I don't know. I'm lousy at relationships. I get along with her daughter. Her father wants to bury me alive in the Nevada desert. The rest of the family seems to be coming around to the idea that I might be one of them.""That isn't a 'yes'.""No, it isn't.""Do you think you can ever love someone?" If you need translated, sigh, okay, 'why don't you love me?'"Do you mean 'when am I going to stop stumbling from botched relationship to botched relationship and make something constructive of my personal life?'""Yes.""Did I mention that I've discovered I have a grandfather?""No. That isn't answering my question.""It is in a way. Did I mention that Mom had ten sisters I wasn't aware of? I had an uncle, but he died in my arms.""No. My condolences on your uncle. What does this have to do with you becoming more of an adult and becoming accountable for your life?""Did I mention I have an adopted grandmother who is my spiritual twin?""No.""Don't worry about my uncle. He died trying to kill me. My aunts murdered him, though I can never prove it.""Oh.""My grandfather? He was the one who sent those terrorists to kill me. It was his litmus test to see if I was worthy of being in his family. I passed.""Are you serious?""Yes. My spiritual grandma? She's a retired professional assassin. Daily I interact with a half-dozen people who have killed multiple human beings in their lifetimes. You want to know why I'm not behaving responsibly? I am acting responsibly. I'm trying to not get the decent civilians around me killed."She took awhile digesting that. By that time, we had returned to Havenstone and picked up Chaz. I made introductions."So, are you really with the SRR?" she asked him."Yes.""Why are you with Cáel?""My mandate contains multiple answers. Suffice it to say, since my RAF contemporary will not be returning from the UK until tomorrow, I am presently chief liaison officer for Her Majesty's government with JIKIT.""Why are you coming along as Cáel's bodyguard? Don't you have something better to do with your Friday evenings?" Subtle and polite, Anais ain't. Why was I putting up with her? She was a sexual tornado who would try anything once. She was a real prize."First question: Cáel is a friend, his life is in perpetual danger and I consider it my duty to keep him alive. He would do the same for me. Second question: the nature of my present assignment doesn't leave much room for any meaningful romantic associations.""Hmm," I contemplated what wasn't being said. "Chaz, you are nailing one of my security chicks, aren't you?""Yes.""Which one?""A man of character doesn't brag about such things."Chaz was getting some Amazon nookie. I had to find a way to tell him how dangerous that was. She might decide he's make good father material, not a good thing where Amazons were concerned."Are all of his security personnel women?" Anais pressed."Miss Saint-Amour, Havenstone is a corporation that employs over ten thousand people. There are precisely five men currently on their payroll. All their security personnel are woman. Cáel has very limited, if any, input on the matter.""Are you sure about that?""Yes, Miss Saint-Amour. Who would trust a man of Cáel's dubious experience with his own security?" Chaz pointed out."Oh." She hadn't thought of that."Can you tell me why you think his life is in danger?""He is far more likely to be kidnapped than murdered. He possess certain sensitive data that powerful entities would like to access, thus I am his bodyguard tonight. Considering the quality of the women who normally guard him, I consider it an honor.""To guard Cáel, on a date?""He was kidnapped visiting a child at a playground. Yes, we believe his life is in constant peril. The training and experience of his security service is top flight and it has been a pleasure to serve among them.""Were you with him in Budapest and Romania?""The metro station?""Yes.""Yes.""Romania?""Do you mean the counterterrorism action south of Miercurea Ciuc?""Yes.""Yes."Wow, these two were lousy communicators. I could imagine Chaz propositioning one of my Amazons.Chaz: 'You have a superior feminine physique which I find appealing. Want to fuck?'Amazon: 'You look like you have the prerequisite stamina and battle scars to be part of the New Directive. Sure.'"Were you involved in the actual combat? The SRR is normally an intelligence gathering unit.""I was gathering battlefield intelligence, Miss. That required my close proximity to armed and actively hostile enemy aliens (as in they were in Romania illegally, not that they were all supernatural beings). My involvement resulted in two KIA's and one WIA.""Damn Chaz, you rock.""I am a professional.""How many did Pamela gak?""One KIA.""Just one? Whoa, that's so unlike her.""She kept trying to bracket the cell leader (aka Ajax). He had the Devil's Own Luck.""Cáel, why are you making light of all those deaths?" Anais chastised me. "How many terrorists did you wound, or kill?""I wounded one guy.""That is disingenuous," Chaz chided me. "You orchestrated the operation, showed tactical expertise in seizing the most critical terrain feature and engineered the death of the terrorist leader.""My Cáel did that? When I knew him, he was adverse to violence," Anais shook her head."Considering the considerable number of people he's killed, he's still adverse to physical confrontation where his own life is involved. But God help you if you threaten someone he is close to, though. He's the man who can get things done when the team is in a pinch.""Cáel, what happened to you?" she didn't sound upset at all."I learned to care for people beyond my immediate interest, you know, actual long-term relationships," with the unspoken 'as opposed to women I'm currently having sex with'."It took you long enough," she snipped. Reference her being a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.The interrogation was put on hold while we entered the restaurant and,"Mr. Nyilas?" the maytre dee greeted me."Yes.""We will get you a table right away," he nodded obsequiously. What the hell was up with that? Where was my two hour wait time? Oh yeah, I was a minor, fifteen seconds of fame celebrity."Will Ms. Sulkanen be joining you this evening?""No. She had to oversee a packaged Erythrosine-monosaccharides explosion in Boca Raton. Flaming plastic pink flamingo bits were raining down everywhere. I imagine it is taking an Everest-sized load of hush money to keep this out of the media," I replied. I was so eerily sincere, he bought it and a look of horror snuck over his face. I had become the public face of corporate malfeasance."Your table (gulp) is ready, Sir," he began to sweat. He took us to our table for four then beat a hasty retreat. Undoubtedly his civic-mindedness would have him calling up TMZ within a minute. After all, it was unlikely he owned any plastic pink flamingos, or invested in their construction. Once he was gone, Chaz let a thin smile break through his hard-earned military unfazed-ability."What exactly are packaged Erythrosine-monosaccharides?" he inquired."Packaged is self-explanatory. Erythrosine is pink food coloring and monosaccharides are,""Sugar," Anais frowned."Exploding pixie sticks, I have nieces and nephews. You are a genius at misdirection, Mr. Nyilas," he nodded."Thank you, Color Sergeant Tomorrow. It is nice to be appreciated for my bizarre and useless preoccupation," I grinned."You practice lying?" Anais' view of me dimmed."Miss, he excels at extraneous, outrageous utterances. No harm is intended.""Things like I was helping her find her contact lenses?" That had been my excuse when caught coming out of Maya's apartment. Sadly, Anais is highly perceptive and knew the lady didn't wear contacts. The copious female aroma wafting off me certainly hadn't helped."That's unfair," I countered. "Back then, I was a college nitwit suffering from undiagnosed nymphomania. I'd like to think I'm getting better."" tes-vous mieux?" she retorted in French."Je suis assez intelligent pour aller vers vous lorsque des vies  taient sur la ligne." That's right, Anais. When my life and the lives of others were on the line, she was the first one I thought to call. Letting a woman know that you admire her profession, professionalism and reliability never hurts."Are you really a nymphomaniac?" she returned to English. French is the language of sex, as is any derivative of Sanskrit, Farsi and Portuguese. Reference the multitude of Indians, the hotness of Persian women and the outpouring of lust that is Brazil."I had a magnetoencephalography recently. The neuroscientists didn't know what to make of my brain patterns. I appear to be somewhat unique in my madness."She didn't believe me. I didn't blame her. No one really likes hearing a truth they don't want to accept."Here," I leaned forward and pointed to the tiny divot in my forehead. "I was stabbed with a needle in the skull. That is why they looked at me, not because of my sexual malfunction."She touched it to makes sure. We were interrupted by the waiter stopping by to see if we were ready to order yet."We will have three of the most expensive appetizers, dinners, deserts and wines," Anais preempted us. Ugh. I was either a millionaire by the wonders of Havenstone accounting, or broke. I foolishly never looked into such things, never having had much money before. I needed a distraction."Hey Chaz, nice suit," was what came to mind. It was a swell masterpiece of the tailoring arts I hadn't expect from a ground-pounder from a family of ground-pounders serving Queen and Country for generations."Thank you. Pamela picked it out for me, suspecting an event such as this would transpire. She told me you paid for it," Chaz answered."I did?""I made the reasonable deduction that she forged your signature on whatever medium was used for payment," he shrugged, "in the same way she exhibits a criminal tendency toward every other aspect of her life.""What does Pamela look like?" Anais glowered."She's his grandmother," Chaz responded politely. "They make quite the pair. Normally we don't let them alone in the same room. Bad things happen.""Bad things?""Things like that scenic hostel being reduced to ruin," he enlightened her."This is the supposed assassin?""Retired assassin," Chaz corrected her. "So far she's only, what is the term you two use?" he looked at me."Sending a Get-Well card to their next of kin? Pumping up the volume? Making a critical attitude adjustment? Retroactively revoking their lease on life? We have a few.""Yes, those. Pamela has assured the team director that she no longer accepts assignments of a murderous nature. These days she only practices her skills on those we determine are a threat to the greater endeavor," he explained."She murders people? You all murder people?" Anais furrowed her brow. "Cáel, do you engage in these activities?""What? Who? Me? No!" I waved off any conspiratorial associations. "The vast majority of people I've killed was totally by accident.""How do you accidently kill people?" she pierced my soul with her voice."Okay, I let them kill themselves because warning them would have resulted in me and some friends meeting very immediate violent ends," I pleaded."Miss Saint-Amour, I've talked to trustworthy people who were on the scene when this happened. It was a paramilitary action with the lives of children on the line. Cáel acted to save the lives of innocents," Chaz defended me. That is what Anais wanted to believe; that I was basically a decent human being. I was a pig, but a courageous one. I had confronted her after my infidelity, on the other side of the US/Canadian border where her jurisdiction didn't apply.I knew my revelations were hideously hard to believe. In my favor, I had been in dangerous places doing dangerous things. The Metro firefight had been captured on the place's security system (which had been leaked to the public thus leading to some delusional admirers into thinking I would make a great new King of Hungary even though they hadn't had a monarch since 1918 nor was I from the right (Hapsburg) family. In case this whole Havenstone thing came crashing down in flames, I needed to keep my options open).There had been a bomb threat at Mindszent which I had reputable sources call in (and where I had admittedly hung out with a few of the women who saved me from an earlier disaster) and Miercurea Ciuc had made the international news. Well over 100 people had died and some of the terrorists were still at large. The Romanian government declared I had been 'instrumental' in the confrontation without saying what 'instrumental' meant.I was heroically vague, more mature than where we left off and clearly incited pussy-twitching memories. We'd once fucked so continuously hard and long one weekend that neither one of us could stand until an hour after we stopped. Anais was well worth the pain I was contemplating. Sex with her wasn't the pain I was worried about. It was dodging all her calls afterwards. Once again reference her being a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.Oh, how did I know she was reveling in our past coital moments? She hadn't walked out on me yet. She hadn't walked out when she found Odette in my domicile, when she met Juanita, or when she found out that I worked with highly experienced killers as part of my new daily routine.Normally Anais was smarter than this and had a career in law enforcement to contemplate. Lastly, she hadn't asked to be armed, despite getting permission from the NYPD. Had she decided to get a gun, Anais was sure in her hormonally-cascading mindset she would have shot me by now. I incite all kinds of passion in women. It is a curse.The rest of dinner was unremarkable. Anais continued to interrogate Chaz who proved that he was both skilled in counter-interrogation techniques and not willing to spill anymore secrets about what anyone at JIKIT did. However he had provided her with every logical reason to beat feet back across the Canadian border and she hadn't taken the hints about what a disaster sleeping with me could be.We drove Anais back to her motel, then Chaz and I headed home in silence. Despite his earlier declarations, he knew how to drive the 'right' way all along. As he was letting me out in front of my building, he gave me this pleasant warning."I'm not going to lecture you about not going back there, or avoiding the crazy ones. You already know better and are going back by her place anyway. I do advise that whatever you do, don't let her restrict your movements in any way. She's likely to make you pay double for your past indiscretions and take payment out on your cock. Good luck, Mate.""Wait," I stopped him. "Can you help me hotwire her bike? I can use that as an excuse to darken her doorway.""Dolt," he muttered. He helped me anyway because that's what really good friends do ~ assisting you in your self-destruction so we could joke about it later. At least that was what I hoped was going on. Chaz being a closet sadist was an unsettling idea. I didn't get to immediately pursue my plan because,(We work for you, don't we?)At 9 am, the President of the United States of America, after a late night briefing and a good night's sleep, decided that for the sake of world peace he had to intervene in Southeast Asia ~ Thailand to be specific, though he had some vague notion that a summit of regional leaders was in the offing and the US needed to establish some sort of game plan instead of looking impotent and disinterested.Based on carefully selected bits of information supplied to him by us (JIKIT), he ordered two carrier taskforces to move to the Gulf of Thailand to enforce an anticipated UN arms embargo and 'No-Fly Zone'. It would take four days (September 3rd) for Carrier Strike Group Nine (built around the USS Ronald Reagan) and the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit (2,200 souls) to take up a position in the South China Sea close to the Gulf of Thailand. By fortuitous circumstance, 500 Marines and sailors were already deployed to Malaysia on a joint training mission with the Malaysian Marines.The second one, the USS Carl Vinson's Carrier Strike Group One wouldn't arrive until the 9th, six days later. What the US government wanted to know was what the Khanate and Vietnam would do in those long, lonely six days. The Khanate had as many modern, up-to-date combat aircraft on Woody Island as the Reagan could send up. The Vietnamese could add another 48 planes worth worrying about.There was the added complication that Thailand hadn't asked for help yet. His experts (us again) were suggesting that he was about to wake up one morning and find Khanate tanks rolling down the streets of Bangkok, which

A new MP3 sermon from Answers in Genesis Ministries is now available on SermonAudio with the following details: Title: Why Does Creation Groan? Subtitle: Answers with Ken Ham Speaker: Ken Ham Broadcaster: Answers in Genesis Ministries Event: Radio Broadcast Date: 3/20/2025 Length: 1 min.

A new MP3 sermon from Answers in Genesis Ministries is now available on SermonAudio with the following details: Title: Why Does Creation Groan? Subtitle: Answers with Ken Ham Speaker: Ken Ham Broadcaster: Answers in Genesis Ministries Event: Radio Broadcast Date: 3/20/2025 Length: 1 min.

Christians look forward to the day when there'll be a new heavens and earth. But why do we need this restoration?

I say this: If there is a time when you think you don't see God's hand in a matter, trust in His heart. God knows and sees the whole picture. Trust that He knows what is best.

Dad Jokes Explained Jokes sourced and curated from reddit.com/r/dadjokes. Joke credits: C-J-P-, biggest-head887, Ok_Presence36, Masselein, Ryde29, WoundedWorrier, history_fan69, BudGardener, prankerjoker, AllUpInYourAO, Man-e-questions, PortugalDoesntExist, pizzaauananas, Yaguajay, GiborDesign, Ryde29, Realistic-Twist-3112, ThePingSpike, TheQuietKid22, ilikesidehugs, draadhaai Explanations from OpenAI ChatGPT API with proprietary prompts. This podcast is produced by Klassic Studios See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Drumroll . . .our episode this week features a world famous guest who needs no introduction. After detailed negotiations with their agent ;-) we're thrilled to share that our guest is none other than ChatGPT Advanced Voice Mode. Since launching in the 3rd quarter of last year, Open AI's ChatGPT Advanced Voice Mode has been transforming how people interact with AI. It's played countless roles – from life coach to confidant, knowledge companion to conversation practice partner. And now? We're adding 'podcast guest' to its extensive repertoire!We approached our unique conversation with this famous ‘synthetic' guest as both a test drive and a demonstration; taking ChatGPT for a ‘spin' and letting you experience its capabilities in real-time. You'll hear Chat switch between languages effortlessly, offer predictions and insights about adapting to tomorrow's workplace, and even attempt some dad jokes. Groan! (We apologise in advance!)Through some persistent questioning, we also uncovered what might be previously unreported usage data. Is it a world-first revelation or an AI hallucination? Only OpenAI knows for sure!We're confident you'll find this conversation as fun and intriguing as we did. So settle in and enjoy this episode featuring our first-ever synthetic guest, ChatGPT.Useful Info for trying Advanced Voice Mode yourself: Advanced Voice Mode is easy to access. You open your ChatGPT app and you'll see a button on the bottom right that has white zigzag bars with a black background - it's called the Wavelength icon. Click on this and you can get started. It's worth noting that ChatGPT free users have limited access. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Today's Passage: 2 Corinthians 5:5-9. And [the Lord] said, “Go out and stand on the mount before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind, an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake, a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire, the sound of a low whisper.Today's Prayer: Lord, I pray that you would give us the ability to notice how your Holy Spirit is moving in our lives in this season of prayer and fasting. Help us to understand our circumstances through the lens of your truth and interpret our present experience in light of your eternal perspective. Allow our longings to lead us into deeper relationship with you and each other. Give us grace to love and serve you, now and forever. Amen.NOTES & LINKS:21 Days of Prayer & Fasting WebsiteSubscribe to the 21 Days of Prayer & Fasting NewsletterPDF Guide to Prayer & FastingAs Part of the 21 Days, we are committing to 24/7 prayer during this time. Sign up for a time slot here.

Approved Affection.Based on a post by FinalStand, in 13 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels. Brandy was unlocking the door when I put a hand on her elbow and strongly turned her around. Frustration morphed into confusion and blossomed into happiness as I exacted my promised minute make-out session. Even a colossal distraction as big as the Mayor's family implosion wouldn't keep me from my Brandy-time.Big Bob 'caught' us at it. The door had been opened and the AC was exiting the front door.‘Hands above the belt-line, Mr. Samsonov,' he grumbled in a friendly manner.‘Daddy,' Brandy pouted to her Papa. ‘He's behaving himself.'‘Are you behaving yourself around my daughter?' the Sheriff quizzed me.‘Sir, I'd rather go directly to the 500 hours of community service than answer that question; Sir,' I replied. Big Bob snorted. Brandy rolled her eyes, gave me one last peck then glided past her patriarch.‘I haven't see her that happy in a long time,' Big Bob spoke softly. ‘Whatever you are doing, be a gentleman about it.'‘Ugh; I'll do my best Sheriff Carson, but it's difficult,' I groaned. Bob laughed at me and my 'agony'.‘Take care, Vlad,' he gave one final nod before closing the door. I made a quick call to Mom to update her to our change in plans. Mikhail had beaten me to the punch. She understood I had to hand-off Brandy first, no harm / no foul. She asked me to hang out at Dominque's place for a while because she knew Mr. Malik was a devious, lying rat-bastard and believed he would sweet talk his daughter into letting him back into his wife's proximity.I mulled over handing her the Malik family secret. I trusted Mom. More to the point, I trusted her to respect my decision to want that tidbit handled with care. No cops harassed me on the return trip. I had taken a circuitous route to be on the safe side. The Police Chief might be the Mayor's ally, or he might be a BBC devotee and have a Brutha solidarity moment with Chinedu too.According to their methodology, once he gave her that cock, she'd forgive every other indiscretion. True or not, I was going to try and cock-block that maneuver. I didn't have a plan when I arrived. Something immediately presented itself to me in the form of a Candy Apple Red 2014 Jaguar F Type V8 S convertible.Daddy, or Sugar-Daddy was way generous to the tune of one hundred grand; that was for damn sure. The billow red mane topping that curvaceous frame was a clear indicator the shit was going to hit the fan at the Malik household. Chine was her BBC addiction, but the Mayor was her boss and political mentor.The look she sent me was fearful over her general situation and one of only passing interest, a look I was becoming familiar with. She was yet another hot, sexy piece of filet mignon that didn't fuck White guys. Groan.‘Who are you?' she was polite enough, possibly seeking to delay the upcoming confrontation.‘I'm Vladimir Samsonov, junior Prince of Evil and I'm here to talk with your boss; she's expecting me,' dispelled her protest that the Mayor was too busy for me.‘Riley Pasternak,' she smiled. ‘I don't recognize the accent,' she added as I passed her. She let me ring the doorbell too.Statuesque and voluptuous; that is what I would call Riley. Burnished coppery hair, thick and glossy flowed in waves down to the middle of her back. Well defined brows of a slightly lighter but no less fiery color framed her oval face and enhanced her verdant eyes, pale freckled skin and flushed cheeks.The makeup she chose didn't really enhance her features which said she didn't wear it that often and the scar above her brow confirmed that she was a tomboy.She dressed to be seen, but also to move in whatever capacity needed. The push up black halter was a strong contrast to her pale skin and plumped up her already impressive cleavage.Below it she wore almost too tight hip huggers that had her lush belly just barely spilling over the waistband. Right above said waistband on the back of her hip was a tattoo that red ‘Red Wolf Bitch' for the Arkansas State Mascot. A second one was teasingly just out of sight on the front of the other hip.Drawing away just a bit from the sexy outfit were all the hippie doodles on her pants. It looked as if she'd let a five year old color on them before she put them on, the neon colors seeming to jump off the denim. She completed the ensemble with cork wedges and a tiny red purse hanging by an equally tiny red string from her shoulder.‘I'm from Alaska,' I let her know. The door flew open in seconds, revealing a tumultuous Dominque who slipped on a semi-civil mask when she saw me.‘Vlad, I thought you were going to stop by your place before coming back for your brother,' she addressed me. ‘Ms. Pasternak, get in here,' she was more abrupt with her 'underling'.I stepped aside to let Riley pass. I hadn't been invited in. Dominque took my actions into account.‘Come in Vlad. Go find your brother. I'll talk to you later,' she said.‘Well,' I began once I stepped in, ‘I think I'd be of more use sticking with you.'Dominque slammed the door behind me.‘I won't need you with me,' she corrected me.‘I'm not staying to help you,' I corrected her. ‘I'm staying to make sure Ms. Pasternak doesn't come to some misfortune.' The Mayor didn't seem pleased.‘What does he mean?' Riley looked from her Boss to me.‘Go, Vlad,' she commanded. I was a guest in her home. Barring extenuating circumstances, I was taught to behave.‘Well, nice to see you again, Ms. Pasternak,' I regarded my fellow guest. Off I went, listening for sounds of my brother and Taliyah. I was almost out of sight;‘Where have we met before?' Riley worried.‘Go, Vlad,' my hostess repeated. I kept going.‘The Cineplex two weeks ago,' I said over my shoulder. ‘The Purge: Anarchy.'‘Oh God,' she moaned. ‘V; Vlad is it; please don't leave.'I reversed course. Dominique could tell that ordering me about at this point was useless. The same instinct which had placed me between Chine and her was placing me between her and Riley.‘You fucked him,' Madame Mayor fumed. ‘Worse, you let him fuck you in a public place you; simple-minded bimbo.'‘Listen Mrs. Malik; it; I; he was insistent,' Riley back-pedaled into a wall.‘And you happened to forget he was my husband?' Dominque seethed. I had to admit she looked rather volcanic, her ass, hips and boobs trembling with repressed energy as she got ready to erupt. I maneuvered so I flanked them both, ready to interpose myself if necessary.‘How many times, Riley?' I posed the question. ‘How many times did the two of you hook up?'‘Four, five,' she reconsidered her response. Dominique looked ready to explode. She mastered herself with a great effort of will.‘What is going to happen when your Grandfather, that racist Jew Bastard, finds out you are back to banging big black bucks, Again?' she threatened. Riley blanched. ‘He threatened to disown you last time. This time, he'll do it, Princess. Then you will be nothing more than another in a long line of chunky Cocoa Puff's. No car, no apartment and damn, I'll make sure you don't have a job anymore.'‘Reggie won't; ‘ she protested desperately.‘Whore, you are only fun to be around because your fat ass is forbidden fruit. Senator Murdoch can get a dozen fresher Betties to haul his coal.' I'd go to Mom to explain the jargon flying around. ‘I know for a fact he likes them young.''Betty's' were White chicks. 'Hauling coal' meant taking black dick. Why couldn't people just say that instead of confusing everything with racial slurs? Riley's reaction showed she was playing into that fear; no fortune and no more choice selections of BBC's.‘Umm; ‘ Riley flickered her eyes my way.‘Chinedu already spilled all this secrets,' Dominique lied. She'd spilled them in her rage, but these two women lying and cheating wasn't my primary concern; taking advantage of their wickedness was. ‘He has his own reasons for keeping quiet.' Riley glanced speculatively from me to Dominique.‘Ha,' Madame Mayor snorted in derision. ‘I don't do White boys.' Oh, that deserved some hard fucking; screw the bitch. I was considering what derogatory idiocy was going to vomit forth from my mouth when Riley's phone rang. Absently she pulled it out of her purse. She paled when she saw the caller ID. Dom snatched it away then trembled.I took it out of her hands before she could make Riley eat the device.‘Both of you keep quiet,' I demanded. I answered the phone.‘Baby-cakes, let's hook up tonight,' Mr. Malik oozed his masculine charisma. ‘I feel like stepping out and I want to see you on your knees worshipping my award-winning Arkansas Black Snake, you cock-hungry slut.'He was loud enough so that both women could hear. I pointed a warning finger in Riley's face.‘Sorry, Mr. Baker, but Riley can't come to the phone right now. She's choking down my Slavic salami, but; after I finish with her and your wife, I'll send the tramp back your way; if she can still walk.'‘Wa, huh, wha, Who? Samsonov?, what did you just say?' he blathered.‘I'm kind of busy right now, Sir,' I taunted him. ‘Hold on.' I spanked Riley's flank. She gasped. ‘That was the sound of me smacking your wife's luscious, sweet and highly neglected ass. I gotta go. Your women look famished for some fucking respect and attention. I'm sure you can find a glory hole to entertain yourself at. I'll talk to you in the morning. Bye,' I signed off before he could reply.I cut off Riley's phone then pocketed it. They were both staring at me in utter shock. Dominique's full, plump lips first closed then she opened them to start laughing.‘Boy, Vlad, that was hilarious,' she chortled.‘That was a freebie, Dominique,' I grinned.‘There are two kinds of cheaters; the ones who convince themselves it will never happen to them, and the ones who believe everyone cheats. That allows them to both allow themselves to violate the essence of their relationships,' I glibly stated, ‘It also makes them want to utterly control their partners so they don't end up becoming cuckolds themselves.'‘Mr. Samsonov; ‘ Dominique studied me, ‘you continue to show me you are much more dangerous than you appear.' Taking into account my size, excellent physical shape, exhibited self-control and clear elucidation, I could only imagine I was 'dangerous' for a White guy; what a tight-ass shrew.‘Flattery will get you nowhere, Mrs. Malik,' I politely responded. ‘I don't do older Black chicks; or date used-up girls who only fuck Black guys. One of the three of us has to have some standards.' They blinked; it was the whole 'da White boy thinks he can talk back to us?' bullshit.‘I'll go looking for Mikhail now. You two have fun sharing in your communal 'I've been dicked-over, bent over and forced to suck another woman's vaginal fluids off his cock' Chine-experiences. I pray neither one of you've done Ass-to-Mouth with him; that would turn my stomach. Bye,' I waved as I departed. Dominique grabbed my arm, her fingernails digging in.‘What makes you think you can insult me that way, in my own house?' she lambasted me.‘It is the truth and we both know it,' I shrugged. ‘Somebody needs to start telling the truth around here, don't you think?'‘Get your brother and get out,' she snapped.‘Done deal,' I answered. ‘Riley; ‘ The doorbell rang. From the look on everyone's faces, none of us were expecting a caller.‘Don't you move,' Dom glared at me, ‘and don't you do a damn thing,' she balefully instructed Riley. Off she stormed.‘Gayle, what are you doing here?' Dom greeted my Mom.‘I brought dinner for my boys, Dominique,' she responded snidely. ‘I expect them to be gentlemen and you to not give a damn about anyone but yourself.'‘You've got some nerve showing up on my doorstep,' Dom grumbled.‘Not really,' Mom shouldered her way inside. ‘I've gotten on with my life. I see you've done the same.'‘Bitch,' Dom sizzled yet didn't stop her.‘Kitchen?' my maternal unit asked me. She was holding a wicker picnic basket and a large paper bag in one hand and a covered pot with a pail in the other. I pointed the way. She winked.Belatedly, Dominique slammed the door and stalked after Mom.‘What would ever possess you that I'd welcome you into my house,' she spat. ‘After what you did to Leon; ‘‘Had; do you really want to rehash that right now considering neither one of us has forgotten, or forgiven a damn thing?' Mom countered.‘Leon is still sucking his puree through a straw and pissing in a colostomy bag,' Dominique simmered.‘Mom?' I questioned.‘Oh, you haven't told your boys about what you and Theo did?' Dominque taunted her. Mom wasn't perturbed in the least.‘Vlad, do you trust me?' my Mother asked me.‘Sure. You can be unfathomable and crazy, but I don't think you've ever hurtfully deceive me.'‘Boy, you had better check that naiveté,' Mayor Malik warned me.‘Vlad, the last time Theo and I spent any time under the same roof was here, in Fonteneau,' she used Kingston's old name. ‘Leon Fox, Dominique's brother, and six other Black bulls decided to brutalize me, I was barely alive when I crawled my way back to the road where Mr. Cobb found me,' she relayed in a pleasant tone.‘So you say,' Dom interrupted. ‘It was your word against them and those seven had iron-clad alibis. To you, all Black men looked alike.'‘Think what you want. I identified all seven of them. You dad and the police chief wouldn't prosecute even though I know they were heard around town bragging about it; how they'd 'taught me a lesson'.'‘Mom, what the hell is going on?' I worried.‘Your Great-Aunt wouldn't accept that the police's investigation acquitted my brother and his friends; Because it was Black officers accepting the words of seven Black men, one of them the newly-minted Mayor's son, over a scared, battered child's,' Mom gave a feral grin.‘Yeah, you racist bitch,' Dominique seethed.‘Theo believed me. Aunt Matilda and Theo both believed me and not your chick-shit police force cover-up,' Mom kept smiling though there was not mirth behind it. ‘Theo made damn sure the guilty paid.'‘He damn near beat four grown men to death,' Dom grumbled. ‘One of them was my brother.'‘Vlad, Theo took a fileting knife and a crowbar with him when he rode his bicycle out and hunted those scumbags down,' Mom explained while staring at my host. ‘He found four of them together. He put all four in the hospital.'‘He ended up in the hospital as well,' Mom added, ‘if that makes you feel better.'‘Is that why Uncle Theo ended up in military school?' I inquired.‘He got off lucky,' Dom bristled. ‘Leon; and Roscoe Sumner never left the damn hospital, Bitch.' She turned on me. ‘Rufus never did see out of his left eye again and Martin Cutler still has to walk with leg braces and a cane.'Uncle Theo and Mom; that explained a great deal about her and her twin's relationship. I knew Mom had once broken into his military school/prison to see him. I also knew now that Mom hadn't lied to me; this vendetta was with this entire sick town, not blanket racism on her part.Black individuals in this town had raped her and other Blacks had covered it up. Theo had avenged her and paid for that with five years of his freedom. Had the Kingston's Black police force simply pursued a proper course of justice, then those seven men would have gotten what the law allowed; and be out of jail by now.Maybe that would have helped Gayle Fonteneau's emotional wounds heal. That didn't happen though. That injustice explained why Mom had initially run away from Dad. She'd suffered at the hands of law enforcement and she carried that distrust and disgust with her into her first meeting with Dad.That had to be some awkward emotional gymnastics on her part.‘Oh, come on now,' Mom chortled. ‘Leon is in a nice assisted-care living facility and Roscoe is in a coma just down the hall from him.'‘What happened to Le; your brother, Mrs. Malik?' I asked.‘According to the reconstructive specialist in Austin he was hit 27 times with a crowbar, that's what happened,' she spat at my Mother. ‘Even now his face doesn't look right and he's one step above a vegetable.'‘You took Aunt Matilda's hush money,' Mom gloated. ‘You all did.'‘That doesn't mean your brother wasn't a psycho, racist bastard,' Dom shot back.‘Bullshit, Dominique. Your Daddy made the town accept Aunt Mattie's deal because she was bringing in the Arkansas State Police (ASP) to investigate Theo's defense claims and that would have fried the whole lot of you,' Mom ignored Dom's snit. Seeing my disbelief, she told me, ‘Back in 1986, the ASP had its fair share of White racists.'‘Had those seven not been guilty as sin; ‘ she glared at the Mayor, ‘maybe Theo wouldn't have gone Rambo on this burgh.'‘Enough!' I intervened. ‘This is not helping us with the problem at hand. Right now, all Mikhail and I are worried about is whether Mr. Malik is going to come home tonight pissed off, drunk off his ass, or both.'‘Why should you care?' Madame Mayor turned my way. Mom started laughing which only made the woman angrier.‘Because unlike you, me and most of this town, my boys are decent individuals who actually give a crap about strangers, regardless of their melatonin levels,' she snorted. She made eye contact with Mrs. Malik.‘Don't blame me,' Mom chuckled. ‘I would be much happier of your shiftless shit of a husband came back and beat the fuck out of you and your daughter. To me, that would be poetic justice for what your father let him get away with.'‘No happening, Mom,' I declared. ‘Mikhail and I are eighteen now so you can't make us go home. If he's really a threat; ‘‘And you can't trust the police,' Mom sneered at Dom. ‘Your police force, Dominique.'‘You are one twisted cock-whore,' Dom riposted.‘Seven young men assaulted me,' Mom snarled. ‘Three weren't around when Theo caught up with the other four. ‘Charles Baker was one of them. The other was Demetrius Quinterre. These days he is the Chief of Police.'‘Charles Baker is Chinedu Malik now?' I requested.‘Yeah,' Mom beamed hostility Mamma Malik's way. ‘The fall after 'it' happened, Charles went to Arkansas State on a football scholarship and changed his name to something more 'African'. If he thinks it made it so that Theo couldn't find him, he's sorely mistaken.'‘Where is your crazy brother anyway?'‘Which one?' Mom snorted. ‘I've got a few.'‘Theo, you crazy cunt.'‘He joined the US Army straight out of the academy. He ended up in Ranger School then the Green Beret,' Mom updated her. ‘Now he's a contract killer for God-knows who. You, the FBI and the US military all are curious about his whereabouts.'‘That's; ‘ Dominique looked at me. What can I say? I have an honest face. ‘Do you believe that?' she asked me.‘Madame Mayor, I've talked to the men from Fort Bragg who have come calling. How to put this; Uncle Theo is exceedingly eccentric; beyond what Mom is.'In a normal situation, this would be when the concerned wife asked if her husband was in danger from my lunatic uncle. Not Mrs. Malik. Hell, a martyred husband killed by a violent racist would be a big boost to her career. It would also remove any chance of her hubby blowing up the situation with Riley, thus Riley's Sugar-Daddy. I could almost see the cold, calculating wheels turning behind her eyes.‘That's hardly encouraging. Fine; Gayle, you can get out. Vlad, I'm going to make some phone calls. Why don't you see what your brother has gotten up to,' the Mayor commanded. Mom shot me a wink when Mrs. Malik pulled out her phone.‘Bring home the pot and basket when you leave,' she advised me. She took my arm and pulled me to the door.‘You have your toiletries and fresh clothes in the bag (the big, brown paper one she'd arrived with). Then, as she hugged me, she shoved something into my front, left pocket. That weekend with the Vegas hookers paid off, I recalled the crinkly sound condom wrappers make. ‘For Mikhail,' she whispered. He was being given her 'okay' to any sexual missteps that might happen if we weren't sent straight home.I imagined most teenage boys would be thrilled to have their mothers handing them some condoms and silently wishing them luck. Not me. This was some fucked-up shit Mikhail, Alexander and I had stepped into. Mom turned without further advice and went to Dad's black '2012 F-150' pick-up truck. I closed the door, then went looking for the ladies.Dominique had taken Riley into the living room. The younger woman was sitting contritely on the sofa while the Mayor quietly brow-beat whomever was on the other end of that phone conversation. I spared them a look, knew I wasn't needed, or wanted, so I went for the stairs.‘Taliyah, Mikhail, Dinner's here,' I called up. I remained at the bottom of the stairs until Mikhail showed himself.‘Was that Mom?' he calmly inquired.‘Yeah. She's gone now,' I gave a wry grin. ‘It is safe you two to come down.' A few seconds later, Taliyah appeared.‘What is it?' she was referring to dinner.‘Whatever Kamika cooked for us,' I replied. She shrugged, clearly upset with the past few minutes of her life. She still came down. She'd missed lunch unless you counted cum swallowed, then had cheerleader workouts, horse-riding and a sex-session with my brother. Mikhail was perpetually hungry as was the norm for growing boys our age and metabolisms.The remarkable thing was her reaction to Mikhail and his blasé attitude. He wasn't walking on eggshells, as Alexander would have, or being sympathetic, like me. Mikhail was being Mikhail; Taliyah's problems weren't his concern so he wasn't intruding. If she wanted some emotional input from him, she'd have to do the 'reaching out'.We doled out portions. Taliyah started with three bowls (for the host of baby-back pork ribs) and plates for the potatoes, carrots and string beans. I motioned for two more. She mentally debated my request before complying. Kamika must have packed a family of eight. There was plenty to spare.After the meal was apportioned, I took two plates and a glass of Pomegranate Juice (Taliyah poured for her Mom) and a glass of lemonade for Riley. I juggled the lot as I traipsed into the living room. The conversation stopped when I appeared. I didn't engage either with eye contact, though I could tell Dominique resented me serving dinner to her guest. I retreated with the same grace I'd exhibited entering.The two high-schoolers had attacked the ribs with gusto.‘Hmm; these are some damn fine ribs,' Taliyah waved a freshly-cleaned bone my way. ‘No wonder the men in your family are so damn huge.' Right as the words tumbled out of her mouth, she shot Mikhail a dirty look, daring him to make a snide aside about the size of his cock. Mikhail didn't take the bait.‘Give Kamika a call around noon-time. She'll add a place-setting for you at the dinner table,' he replied after vigorously sucking the meat off his fourth victim. That was the opposite of what she expected a man, a Black man, to say. She'd never had a possibly sexually suggestive chat with a White guy.‘The food's not so good I'd want to spend time with you,' she poked him.‘I'm not hot to re-experience your she-devil bitchiness either, Taliyah,' he teased her. ‘I've got to accept that Brandy's going to keep putting a sappy smile on Vlad's face and that suggests they'll crawl out of bed long enough to get some food.'‘We are never going to have sex again,' she wacked his hand with a fresh rib, leaving a saucy mark.Mikhail licked the sweet substance off while keeping eye contact with the girl. She refused to back down from his provocation. My brother responded by tenderly poking her lips with a fresh rib. She kept her mouth closed yet couldn't keep the smile from her face. She countered by presented piece of meat in front of him. Mikhail caught the offering in his teeth and shook it hungrily.Now I felt like the one who should tell them to get a room. The two began making messes of each other's faces with sloppy feedings of one another before including me in the game. It was so engrossing, we three missed Mrs. Malik coming into the kitchen and catching us at play.‘Taliyah, what, are, you, doing?' her mother clipped off each world.‘I'm keeping the White boys quiet,' the daughter thought quickly on her feet.‘Oh, that's what you call it,' Dominique's eyebrow arched. ‘It looks more like your flirting with them both.'‘What!' Taliyah squalled. ‘I hate Mikhail; Vlad's okay. He treats Brandy like she matters, not the way Darius does. He treats her like a cum dumpster.'‘I thought you wanted to be with Darius?' Dom studied her daughter intently.‘Well; I've changed my mind. His whole attitude; the 'I'm a football stud' is getting too pricey for my tastes,' she clarified. ‘Rashaan has his head so far up Darius' ass that's stopped being funny too.'‘Taliyah, if you stop dating Rashaan, you won't be popular,' mom protested.‘Listen to your mother,' Mikhail agreed. ‘Look how well hooking up with a football star worked out for her.' Waves of furious emotions radiated from mom. Taliyah's reaction was far more direct.‘You bastard!' Taliyah swore before she punched him in the upper arm. She was starting to cry.Chine may have been a raging prick to Samsonov eyes, but he was Taliyah's Daddy.‘Fuck,' he exaggerated. ‘What makes you think; ow,' he recoiled as she began to rain blows down on his upper arm and chest. Tears started to stream down her face as she pummeled my brother who took his beating like a champ.‘You are such a; a; ‘ she stammered.‘Neanderthal?' he volunteered. Two more blows were her response then her attacks lost strength and direction. Mikhail wrapped her up in his arms as she sobbed into the crux of his arm and chest.‘Feel free to hate me as much as you need to,' he held her tight. ‘I'm not that fond of you either.' He kept her close for another minute.‘I'll take her upstairs,' Mikhail told Dominique. He kept an arm around her shoulders to aid her direction and off they went. The Mayor looked my way.‘I don't know what's up with that,' I shrugged. ‘Mikhail really is a jerk most of the time. Heck, he's the biggest bastard of the three of us; the most like Mom's dark side, so I'm not sure what he's doing being nice to your daughter.'‘If he does something to her,' she threatened me. Her eyes went past me to Riley who had come to the open doorway. ‘Don't you start thinking you can be leaving,' she aimed her prodigies' way. ‘I'm not done with you.'‘Besides, he's still out there,' I meant Mr. Malik. ‘He's likely to do something irrational that both of you will regret.'‘Why should you care? You are a Fonteneau,' the Mayor grumbled in an accusatory voice.‘I'm not sure,' I shrugged. ‘I trust my Mom a lot more than I believe your version of events. From what I know of Uncle Theo, if he wasn't sure justice had been done, he'd have come back here already.'‘The fact you are choosing to revisit this tragedy now makes me wonder when I'll see him again,' I tacked on.‘Ah, could I have some more of those ribs?' Riley extended her plate. She needed to finish her veggies.‘All that pork is going straight to those fat hips and big ass, Girl,' the Mayor cruelly teased her.Riley was embarrassed. I stood up from the kitchen table, took Riley's plate, and filled it with the portions of meat Taliyah and Mikhail had left behind. That seemed to mollify her to the point she felt good enough to walk, with her plate, back to the living room.‘You shouldn't be nice to her,' the Mayor cautioned me. ‘She's just another whore for Black Cock. Another White girl freak beneath the sheets.'That the Mayor was likely one as well wasn't something I felt I should bring up at the moment. Instead of arguing, I began to clean up the kitchen, putting the leftovers in Tupperware containers, washing the plates and then the pot and food containers. All the while, Dominique watched me work.‘I thought you had domestic help,' she said condescending tone.‘A) any kind of help is something new to us boys and Dad. B) Mom insists we all pitch in and help out. That means washing cookware and plates after meals, haul fertilizer and taking away yard debris and cleaning our rooms. We have chores.'‘That defeats the purpose of having servants,' she insisted.‘That house is huge, the 'help' could use the help, chores remind us we all need to work together and it teaches us not to take people for granted,' I repeated my Mom's words from our first day in the house.‘Your clan used to be such snobs, looking down on all us Black folks.'‘However the Fonteneau acted was before our time, Madam Mayor; ‘‘Call me Dominique, or Mrs. Malik in my home, Vladimir. You are Vladimir, right?' she said.‘Yes Dominique, I'm Vlad, the middle one. Alexander is oldest, so he's the most mature, I'm the middle triplet, so I'm the best mix of Mom and Dad, and Mikhail is the youngest so he's always out to prove himself.'‘Fascinating,' she responded drolly. ‘Stay out of the way while I deal with Riley. I'll get her squared away then deal with you and your brother.' With that, she walked off to give Riley another huge piece of her mind, rage and frustration. As I was putting up the pot to dry, the doorbell rang. I heard Mamma Malik's heels click on the marble floors as she stormed over to the door.‘Demetrius, what are you doing here?' I heard he say from the door.‘I heard you were having some problem with those Samsonov boys,' he announced. ‘I'm here to make sure everything is okay.'‘You mean my worthless, cheating husband sent you over to make them leave,' she groused.‘He might have indicated they were causing you problems,' the Police Chief allowed. ‘Let me pour those Cornfeds into their car and send them home.'‘No,' Dominique's voice cracked the whip of authority. ‘He is out whoring and drinking and that means he ain't coming home tonight; end of story.'‘I'll leave Oliver with a patrol car watching your place if that is the case,' he tried to mollify her.‘On really,' she mocked him. ‘You, Chinedu and Oliver are all drinking buddies. You and your cronies aren't going to keep my husband's drunk ass from darkening my doorway. You let Chine know he's not welcome here tonight.'‘Dom, you are being unreasonable,' the cop leader cooed. I didn't have to imagine him touching her. The Kingston cops were far too touchy-feely with women.‘Don't you touch me, you poltroon,' she blasted him. I wondered if he even knew what a poltroon was. He knew it was an insult though.‘Listen up, Dominique,' his voice grew low and threatening. That was my cue.‘Madam Mayor, is everything okay?' I stepped into the hallway. Demetrius' eyes latched onto me before turning his sneer the Mayor's way.‘Why, don't he look cozy,' he accused Dominique.‘Buddy,' I wasn't going to call him an 'officer', or 'Chief', ‘Mom just enlightened me to what you and Chine did to her all those years ago. Statute of Limitations may have passed, but don't you think the Samsonov's consider justice to be done.'‘I also know that any crime involving you and a Deputy's son automatically brings in the Arkansas State Police. Cross that portal and you cease being a concerned police officer and become a home invader,' I channeled my father and all his kin going back a dozen generations.‘How about I arrest you for trespassing?' he want for his 'bracelets' while his right hand rested on the ass of his piece.‘My house, Demetrius and I've invited him and his brother in. Believe me, Dem, if you don't hot-foot it off my property then my next call Will be to the State Police reporting You for criminal trespass,' she growled at the cop.‘So, you've become an Oreo?' he mocked her. ‘I can't wait to hear what the town council has to say about that.'‘Consider they are the same crowd who invited Dr. Pierre O'Rourke Jean-Georges to be our Principle for the next ten months; ‘ I began my counter-mock.‘Five years,' the Mayor glowered at the Chief. ‘The school board; which you are on, Demetrius; gave that freakazoid a five year contract.'

So as the new year begins, we thought we would look back on the most tortuous moments in 2024's Produce Buzzers podcasts. Yes, our infamous “Home Groans.” We tried our best to “PUN-ish” you in every episode, with our fearless leader, Theresa Nolan's terrible puns. We were going to call it “The Best of Home Groan” but the word “best” just doesn't work with these awful attempts at humor. So we had to go with “The Worst of Home Groan.”   Yes, we tried to convince you every time that it was your favorite segment on the podcast. But to no avail. So many of you tuned out just as we introduced it in each episode. We showed no mercy on our guests and forced them to sit through a Home Groan as payment for appearing on the show. Amazingly, many of our guests actually returned for another episode even knowing this torture would be inflicted upon them. We just assumed they forgot this inhumane demand for appearing on the show and they took the “PUN-ishment” graciously. Some even laughed at the puns even though that is strictly forbidden.  So without further ado, we invite you to share in a little masochism and groan loudly with each of these painful samples of The Produce Buzzers “Home Groan.”  

Crashing Lightening and Rolling Thunder. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “You will never appreciate having to follow a difficult order until you have to give one.” (Late, late Saturday Night) Had I been alone? There are few perks to a solitary lifestyle. One of the few is the freedom from others; and by that I mean you don't have to decide if you care about people you don't know. You are free. Your emotions are free, your decisions are free and your time is your own. Selfish in the best way. Libra took my keys after we arrived at my apartment building and raced ahead to make sure that Timothy and Odette, if either was awake, would be forewarned. Casper clung to me as she always did. Estere took the lead since I also had to do pack mule duty. Brooke carried the few things that were beyond me. The rain was turning from a drizzle to a downpour. Odette had a friend over; a female acquaintance. Timothy; Timothy was in the middle of a very successful date night. Now I had the joy of being an auditory spectator in my domicile's sexcapades. "Shouldn't she be taken to a clinic, or something?" the friend blurted out. I didn't know her enough to decide if she was nervous, flippant, or secretly cruel. Casper dug in tighter. I had to dump the luggage to deal with her heightened anxiety. Libra, Brooke and Odette picked up the slack while Estere soaked in the ambiance of my dwelling. The look she gave me was one of amusement and intrigue. This was hardly the lair of the one and only Amazon Prince. It was sublime and comfortable. It had a nomadic quality she found familiar. Being in a fortress has its comforts. Being in someone else's fortress is far less comfortable. Estere was quietly accounting for every knife, mallet, or other potentially fatal piece of housewares. Brooke, Libra and Odette were already ordering and organizing my life ;  what did they need to get and how would they get it? "So; you are Odette's; friend," the unknown woman stated. Snapping at her was unduly unfair to Odette, who put up with mountains of my insane lifestyle. "Yeah, that's me. Cáel Nyilas; self-made troublemaker," I confessed. "You?" "Delilah," she answered. "What happened to her?" Casper flinched. "Nothing that being reminded about what a wonderful friend she is won't help heal," I cautiously responded. "She is hanging out with me and some friends for the weekend." "Cut it out, Delilah," Odette sighed. "Who are you really, anyway?" Delilah was smooth, I had to give her that. "Odette, what do you mean?" Delilah stood up. "Delilah, or whoever you are, I'm not such a wonderful person that people I've known two days come home with me," Odette lectured. "Now, I kept you here until you could meet Cáel, so why don't you return my courtesy and tell us what's going on?" Odette was keeping Libra and Brooke in my room thus out of play. Timothy climaxed. Good for him. Out in the living room, Delilah made a stutter step. She was frozen by Estere's silenced weapon pointed at her. "You were spotted by a rank amateur," the Hashashin noted. "Who are you with?" "You people are nuts," Delilah flushed with panic. Nice touch, but that panic didn't reach her cold, calculating eyes. "Damn Delilah," Odette shook her head. "You need to watch more television. BBC America has this nice drama called Orphan Black where the exact same thing happened. I knew you were lying to me in twenty minutes. I was nice enough to not bring the Death Squad across the street over to deal with you. They wouldn't have cared whether I was being paranoid or whatever. They would have dragged you out and killed you on general principle. You owe me." "I don't know what's wrong;” Delilah got out. There was a rapid knocking at the door. Shielding Casper behind me, I backed up in that direction. "Last chance," Odette looked at Delilah sternly. "That's the Death Squad." Sure enough, I checked and it was two Amazons in full gear. I opened up and the two edged in around me. "Ishara; status please," the leader asked. "Estere Abed is a diplomat for her Protocol faction, there should be records of Brooke and Libra on file and Odette belongs here. Casper is behind me; special case. That woman," I motioned to Delilah, "is of unknown origin." "Miss, lay down on the floor, on your stomach; arms out to your sides," the leader brought her UP-40 up, aimed at Delilah. "This is insane," Delilah sounded really frantic. Not in the eyes though. "Lie down, or three rounds in the chest," the Amazon team leader related calmly. "Last chance." Delilah decided that she wasn't cut from a fanatic's cloth. She went down like a pro. The two Amazons closed in. I spotted the third of the four woman team at my door, keeping watch. The two inside efficiently bound her hands behind her back and patted her down for weapons; none. "She is in violation of the truce," the leader pointed out. "Should I dispatch her now?" "Wait!" Delilah squawked. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on him and protect him, not hurt him. Fuck, don't kill me for this." "Who are you working for?" Estere came closer. Delilah hesitated so both Estere and the number two Amazon drew their knives. "Fine! Fine. All I have is a name and I'm only supposed to tell him," she pleaded. There was a moment of uncertainty. "She'll tell us," Estere knelt beside Delilah. Now Delilah's panic was real. "Wait," I stated. I motioned Brooke and Libra to move around the crowded room and comfort Casper. "Well," I sighed as I went on my hands and knees beside Delilah's head. The Amazon leader had her hand on the woman's head, pressed tightly to the ground. "Sibeal," Delilah whispered. Mom. "Do you have any way of contacting this person?" I asked. "No. It is not how I work," she said and finally I caught it. The accent. I looked to the leader. "Look at her hands and tell me what you see," I asked the Amazon. I went back to resting on my knees. "Hard; callused from repetitive weapons practice. Short nails. She's very fit," the Team Lead kept up the examination. "I apologize Ishara. She's a soldier." "Let her go," I commanded. The Amazon only paused for a moment before cutting her bonds. Delilah moved cautiously as she moved to a cross-legged position. "You don't have to answer me, but I'd appreciate some honesty. You're English. Would that make you MI-5, or MI-6?" It wasn't as huge a leap as it looked. Who could Mom trust? In this case, a government operative would actually be safer for her and she had to have decades of Illuminati information inside her head. Delilah had one reason to be honest; her mission. "MI-5 is counter-intelligence," Delilah grinned as her British accent came out to play. "M I 6. S I S is foreign intelligence. I'll let you figure it out." "Good enough," I stood then helped her stand as well. "You can stay; starting Monday. I need a break, okay?" Delilah nodded. "Deal. Now do me the courtesy of telling me why I'm here?" she asked. "Love. Deep, abiding love," I looked right into her soul. Crisis averted. Delilah 'agreed' to go with my guardians to 'work things out'. Delilah was curious as to why they called Cáel Nyilas; Ishara. She also congratulated Odette on figuring something was up. Odette told her not to feel bad about it; reference all the psycho bitches that showed up in my life. Brooke headed out to gather some more belongings for herself and Libra because; my vote not even elicited; they were going to hang close to Casper and I for a few more days. Libra and Estere headed out to that authentic Italian pizza joint I'd taken Libra to earlier since my food stockpile was abysmal and the neighborhood was far from safe this late at night. Odette took Casper to my bedroom so that Casper could talk with her parents in Delaware. Timothy and his date emerged from his room. It was Sovann Mean, who I had met before and gotten along with. It took me all of two seconds to figure out what had happened. Sovann had asked Timothy out because Timothy never thought Sovann was interested in him. Sovann was a second generation Cambodian-American and had this stoic demeanor he raised up whenever he was nervous, ensuring Timothy's confusion. "Hey Cáel," Sovann smiled at me. "Still being good?" That was code for me being 'straight'. It still weirded me out a bit; Sovann was a serious weightlifter, like Timothy and I, but a head shorter, so he looked stockier than he really was. When he smiled, his whole face lit up too. It was the Khmer 'twang' that always sounded out of place to me. "We will not discuss the number of women who were here mere moments ago," I joked wearily. "Timothy, I apologize for coming back early; shithead-intervention shut things down in the Hamptons." "No problem, Bro," Timothy came and gave me a man-hug. "With your newfound wealth, we may need to convert the sofa to a sleeper-sofa," Timothy semi-joked. "Oh yeah, and that girl down the hall; when I told her your father died, she baked you some cookies. They're in a tin by the toaster. They really are pretty good, too; walnut and caramel chip." That sounded tasty. I guessed that meant I finally had to meet the women. Sovann came up and fist-bumped me as Timothy went for the refrigerator. The doorbell rang. I wondered who had forgotten what as I swung the door open. Lighting exploded outdoors, our lights flickered and thunder shook the apartment. It was Uncle Carrig. As the old song said 'he looked like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone'. His eyes wore a harried, feral look. His bellow, as he charged, rolled over me like the amplified heartbeat of a hellish primate. I had no time before he was on me. Down we went. I tried to push him off of me. His suit was soaked with rain and blood, some of it had to be his own. In his right hand he held a dull aluminum cylinder with a metallic suction cup on the bottom. Sovann kicked Uncle Lumpy in the side of the head. Inflicted on a normal man, that would have driven him off me. Lumpy released his hold on my shoulder and backhanded Sovann. The Cambodian went flying in the direction of the sofa despite getting a leg block up. I had a flash of Timothy going for his home deterrent system, aka the crowbar. Odette began yelling. The cylinder was coming down. Carrig's left grabbed my chin, fixing my head in place. I opted to use both my arms to stop his right, and the device, from coming down. I bought a little time. Timothy's blow came down on Lumpy's left shoulder, weakening the hold, but not enough. The device slammed into my forehead. I felt a burning pain as a portion of the flesh beneath the cup was flash-fried away. More pain, then a little pressure and finally nothing. In those seconds before my mind spun out of control, I had the oddest sensation there was something inside my brain. Searing agony; existence lost all meaning and I was gone. (One week later) They say pain in the brain is illusionary. Of all your nerve cells, only a tiny fraction are devoted to pain. The rest do the important work of keeping your body functioning. The brain is on top of it all and it has better things to do that register pain; or so I was told. To be somewhat fair, what I felt wasn't exactly pain. It was the sensation that something was crawling around inside my psyche, doing something. Sharp, tingling jolts shocked my body parts at regular intervals. Painful in their own way, yet not so much I couldn't concentrate. I opened my eyes. The lights in my room had been dimmed, but not enough that I couldn't see the six ladies standing about; doing nothing. I recognized my present lodgings as Havenstone Post-classical Modernism (total lie; I'm not an interior designer). The six ladies turned, looked at me, then closed in slowly. A staring contest was in the offing when two people entered the room from the door at the foot of the bed. It then occurred to me that little sonic indicators on the machinery surrounding me were chirping loudly. One woman was a physician's assistant I knew from an earlier bout at Havenstone Medical. She had performed CPR on me. The other woman; she was the senior-most recruit from my father's graveside service. She looked positively grim. My dry throat requested some water then I attempted to rise. A problem instantly revealed itself. I was strapped down on my bed. The ankles, wrists and a neck/head brace kept my movements to a minimum. There was a side benefit to this imprisonment. That body-wide jolts? My body was wired up to a system that had needles piercing my muscle clusters. Amazons prided themselves on being physically fit and their tolerance for pain. My muscles hadn't atrophied during my; coma and the price was this constant, low-level pain. I still wasn't sure that was the reason I was bound. The PA maneuvered a plastic bottle with a spout to my lips and gave me a brief squirt. A few seconds later I got another and then a third. "Okay," I rasped. "What's going on?" "You have been in an unresponsive state for 7 days, Ishara," the 'senior' told me. "Why are you here?" I coughed. "I mean, why aren't you on the job?" She blinked. "Your life was imperiled so we decided that five of us would be around to monitor you and keep you safe," she answered. "What's with everyone else?" I huffed. The two looked at me. The quiet six were of no help. "Fine, what are you ladies doing here?" I asked the women originally in the room. No answer. "Ishara?" the PA worried. That was when it dawned on me that the two and the six weren't interacting on any level. "How many people are in the room?" I asked my housemate. She paused. "There are three of us, Ishara. You, me and the attendant," she answered. "How many people do you see?" "Well shit," I muttered. Then the first of the six spoke to me. Actually, she mouthed to me. It took me a moment to realize she was giving me her name. The next one started. "Device," I snapped to the 'senior'. As she hesitantly reached for hers, I began rattling off the names. When the sixth one gave me her name, the group dissipated into the ether. "Who are these women?" 'senior' requested. "Find out," I sighed then, "It is important." She nodded. Now that the specters were gone, the mortals began to come in. Right off the bat, I was confirmed in my status as "prisoner". They wouldn't free me when I requested it and they made no attempt to conceal their hostility to my fellow Isharan. The agenda was decided without me; they were going to check me out mentally, then I was off to see Hayden. Why was I imprisoned? My brain was a maelstrom of activity across a broad spectrum of regions and lobes. What had happened? They didn't know. The suction cup had stabilized the tube which was really a firing mechanism. When the device was able to detect and aim for a specific part of my brain, the longitudinal fissure, it shot a rod three-quarters into my cranium. A laser had burned through the skin and skull with surgeon-like precision so a barb of unknown construction could go deep into my brain. Then it 'detonated'. That was one of the problems the medicos of Havenstone were facing. The device had been so badly damaged when it unleashed its energy that they could no longer divine its function. What they did understand was that while my neural network was going super-nova, it wasn't killing me. They leapt on the idea of mind control. That theory sounded pretty lame to me, but I was the one tied down, with one ally in a room full of people bred to mistrust all males. The next approach; was I sane? The PA offered that I was seeing phantasms. 'Wait'. "Go," I directed the senior. "Take care of the business I have given you then tell Buffy and Helena what you've found out. You are wasting your time staying here." She nodded and left. It was more "common sense" rather than any sense of my leadership that made her leave. But that done; I concentrated on the entirety of the message so that it settled upon my soul. I relaxed, shut my eyes and let the world float by. It took them a minute to notice my noncompliance; any positive contribution on my part had slipped so far down in their expectations. "Ishara?" one of the SD chicks inquired. I opened one eye, then shut it. There was nothing to be done. "What is he doing?" that Amazon asked a physician. She, in turn asked me. I took a deep, cleansing breath and continued to ignore them. "There is nothing wrong with him," the physician noted. "He is being childish." That went beyond disrespectful. As a quirk of Amazon society, they had left me my knife strapped to my arm. To take it would have been an insult my tiny house could not have borne; essentially declaring me incompetent. I was heading that way, but not yet. That didn't stop them from deriding me until a lull finally developed. For a moment, I thought I was alone. I was intrigued by the words suddenly aimed my way. "Mr. Nyilas?" an unknown female inquired. I opened an eye. Woman; bad suit; and a badge. What the fuck? I was in Havenstone. "Special Agent Virginia Maddox with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'd like to ask you a few questions," she began. "Okay," I cleared my throat, "as long as we are clear I am one misstep away from invoking my Miranda Rights." She worked that one over for a second. "Do you know why your uncle attacked you?" "Honestly, I'm curious as to why I'm still alive," I tried to shrug. "Carrig and I never got along, if you consider when I first met him we fought and the second time he stabbed me in the forehead," I explained. "How long did you and your uncle fight; the second time?" she asked. "Um; six second," I guessed. "How is Lumpy doing, anyway?" "Lumpy?" "Uncle Carrig." "He's dead." "Seriously; fuck. What killed him?" "We are working that out. He was beaten, stabbed; by three different blades, shot 67 times by five different firearms, only two which we have recovered," Virginia stated. "We also think he was hit by two cars, one dump truck and a subway." "Well; yeah; Uncle Carrig was looking a bit rough when I answered the door," I confessed. Lumpy had to have been on a freaking quest to go through all that to get to me. Subway? He was hit by a subway and walked away. Most people barely leave a recognizable corpse. "How are Odette, Timothy, Casper and Sovann?" I recalled. She looked at her phone. "They are mostly fine. Casper Winslow was taken to the hospital in shock and was released to her parents," she said. "The other three were taken to the Emergency Room, treated for minor injuries and released," Virginia informed me. "The other four women were a more delicate manner." "Four women? Could you be more specific?" "Your bodyguards." "Could you be more specific?" "For a person with supposedly limited financial means, a lower income lifestyle and a humble background, you appear to have a small army hovering around you, high society friends, and lawyers who are on a first name basis with Supreme Court Justices," Virginia noted. "Lady, half-way through Day Two on this job, I almost gave it all up and biked my ass down to Terra del Fuego to live the sane life of a paranoid recluse," I sighed. "Why didn't you?" "Cause I'm an idiot. I was hoping a crackerjack investigator like you would have figured this out by now," I grinned. "How do you know I'm any good at my job?" she sent a sultry lip twist my way. Yes; pinned to a bed I could still attract the ladies. Having hundreds of little needles in me made the prospects for a quick sexual romp unlikely. "Javiera chose you for this assignment," I told her. "You have to be a woman because this is Havenstone and you have to be clever because this is a lunatic asylum." "Touché," she acknowledged my above average mental status. Next came a list of names. It took me a few seconds to focus on them. "Oh, what happened to them?" I inquired. "What makes you think anything happened to these people?" she parried. "Oh, I'm betting Javiera gave you a list of names and there is only person left alive out of that group," I felt introspective. "I wonder where Anima is hiding." "What happened to those people?" she persisted. "I don't know. I've been napping for the past week, but I'm betting they all met nasty ends," I told her. "Why were these people murdered?" "Were they murdered, or are they merely deceased? See, if I give you my opinion, you will have to pursue that line of inquiry which will only hurt one person who has already been hurt enough and save somebody who shouldn't be saved," I explained. "Why do you get to determine who gets saved?" Virginia pressed. "As opposed to who? You and Javiera? That's laughable. Why don't you go down the net worth of the families of those unfortunate corpses, then tell me how balanced your justice system would be? Please understand, I don't hold you and your profession in contempt," I met her hardening gaze. "To prove to me that I'm wrong, all you have to do is honestly tell me that high-priced lawyers, legions of specialists that confuse juries and enormous bank accounts to keep the appeals going indefinitely while the guilty roam about on bail equates to the legal process working fairly and impartially," I reposted. "That's not the same thing as;” she got out before the door opened and several people traipsed in, including three SD personnel. Last came Troika and she was coldly furious. "I was promised more time with Mr. Nyilas," Virginia protested. She was ignored. "Ishara, you are coming with us," Troika snapped. To be fair, the medical attendant wasn't overly torturous as she pulled out the muscle stimulatory aids and applied the bandages. It still sucked. That was ameliorated somewhat by the read I was getting of Troika. I waited for the last restraint to be removed before speaking. "I refuse to go with you," I stated firmly even as I sat up. See, I needed something to happen that was beyond my ability to obtain. "Take him," Troika directed two of the SD babes. My captors had gone out of their way to make sure these Amazons weren't ladies I knew. "Stop," I declared with authorities. "You cannot touch me against my will as that violates Hayden's ban on me entering blood feuds and wrangling me anywhere against my will constitutes a blood feud in Ishara's eyes." "It is Hayden's order," Troika snapped. "Has she lifted the ban? If not, these ladies will be breaking Hayden's decree." Troika harrumphed then gave Hayden a call. For the purpose of this meeting, the ban was lifted. That was what I needed so off I went. I waited until we got in the elevator and were heading up before launching my strike. Pamela would have been so proud. If Troika had given me an ounce of dignity, I couldn't have pulled it off. As it was, the first stab took her just under the left eye, the second punched through her cheek and spitted her tongue. The third nearly severed her upper lip and then the SD were on me. "Blood Feud!" I screamed. "You stole from me!" Troika was about to come back at me, knife in hand. One of the SD got in the way. What I had done was illegal; blood feuds needed to be approved; except for one tidbit of law Pamela taught me and it was about to come into play. "You cannot wound him while he is in our custody, Troika of Šauška," the Amazon protested. Troika gargled something through the ruin of the left side of her face. "I will peel off a meter of your flesh for this insult," she managed to oozingly communicate before we reached the top floor. For my part; "Unhand me." They didn't. "Unhand me, or am I no longer Head of House Ishara." "Do not attack her," the SD leader stated. "Would you care to explain to me why you are giving me that order?" I mused. "Please, Ishara," the woman ground out. "Do not attack Troika of House Šauška." "Very well. I pledge that from this point until the end of this meeting, I will only act against Troika in my own defense," I promised. "Now give me your sidearm." "You may not bear a weapon in Hayden's presence," the SD leader reminded me. "I asked for your weapon, not your legal advice," I insisted. Another shot of bigotry. "I will not. You are not acting rationally," she stated. Troika snorted. That was okay, because I saw an excellent substitute close by. My deviation from the group was so casual, they barely noticed. I wasn't making a fast break to nowhere. I walked up to the wall and, Vranus be praised, yanked one of a pair of matching battle axes off the wall. Support studs went flying. Like all weapons in Havenstone, this one was real. The SD closed ranks, boxing me in. "You may not bear a weapon in Hayden's presence," the SD leader was at the end of her patience with me. "You are incorrect," I glowered. "There are two occasions I may bear a weapon in proximity to the High Priestess. One is in defense of her person. I am not here to defend her." Harder than any kick to the head; they paled then the anger set in. "How dare you?" the SD leader seethed. "The proof of the necessity of my action stands before me right now; an Amazon defying a House, a First Ancestor and a Goddess on her own initiative and in defiance of everything her ancestors fought, bled and died for," I glared. "Give me the axe," the leader insisted. "No. You will have to fight me for it," I made my stand. She was about to do just that when one of the others spoke. Tears were slowly eking a way down that one's cheeks. "Step away from Ishara, or I will kill you," she told her leader. "You are wrong and Ishara is right though it sickens me to admit it." To add to the macabre, one SD trooper aimed at my 'savior' and the fourth aimed at the third. Civil war. "You know what he plans to do," the leader stated. "It is not our place," the second Amazon insisted. "I cannot face my ancestors letting this abomination pass." "He is the abomination," the leader persisted. "No. The abomination is any full-blooded not of the Council deciding what the Council will and will not do. We now know there were once male Amazons. By the will of our ancestors it was so. Never before have we, the elite of the Host, acted as if we knew better than they," the second Amazon said with righteous conviction. "Go," the leader mumbled softly. The woman on the verge of killing her was most likely a close and trusted friend. Grappling with that sudden rift between sisters was occupying her mind at that moment, not my escape. I moved around her, keeping out of the line of fire as best I could and went with Troika to Hayden's portal. I didn't thank the woman. That would have been insulting because what she did, she did for her people and the hundred thousand that had come before her. Finally we rolled out the Old Kingdom Hittite/Amazon. "See what you have done," Troika hissed. I didn't bother to reply. I was sure, dressed in light green scrubs, I cut a valiant and imposing figure. "Cáel Ishara, what took you so;” and then Hayden saw it. For a second, Saint Marie almost cut me off. Katrina stood up. She wanted to stop me. In her mind, Hayden was one of our allies, but, as I had told her, she (Katrina) didn't get it either. Madi, Beyoncé, Fatima and Krasimira were also present and now highly disturbed. "Take yourself to the cliffs," I announced clearly as I dropped the axe on Hayden's desk. She had stood at my final approach and bore hate my way. "The Goddess Ishara rejects you and has taken herself from the Temple. House Ishara has lost faith in you. Your insults are lengthy and I do not feel like wasting any more time with you." "How dare you?" Hayden spat. "All the times I have shielded you and this is how you repay me? You were a mistake from the beginning." "A mistake we can rectify right now," Fatima snarled. She rose up and drew her knife. "Excuse me, but didn't we gather here for a different purpose?" Krasimira mused softly. "Kill him and end the curse," Madi growled. "Oh; in that case can you kill me first?" Krasimira sighed. "I see no need to postpone the continuation of my chat with my mother." At Krasimira's age, her mother was most likely dead. "Krasimira, you cannot defend him!" Fatima wailed. "Defend him? I am not standing in your way, Fatima. I do know that the statue of Ishara fractured and fell into two pieces in the Temple," she related; certainly retelling information they already had. "House by house, we see nothing but the back of those who fought before us. Five of my augurs had shorn their hair and thrown themselves into the fire. I can do nothing except report what I have witnessed. I cannot appeal to Ishara to lift her curse. I hope one of you can because if you can't and you kill her CLEARLY designated heir we shall all go down to ignoble ends," the Keeper of Records remained serenely poised as she delivered her doom-laden news. "By the way, Troika, what happened to your face?" "He stabbed me," Troika burbled. "Let me kill the bastard." I half-turned. Saint Marie interposed herself between the two of us. "Cáel, lift the curse," Saint Marie demanded. "Lift your damn curse," Fatima and Madi chimed in. "Cáel, lift the curse and then we can discuss things," Hayden tried and failed to sound humble. "If every woman in this rooms fatally slits their own throats in the next fifteen seconds, I'll plead to Ishara to lift the curse," I said. There wasn't a headlong rush to commit suicide. The only one so inclined was Krasimira. I motioned her to stop. "Well, I think we are done here. I have to go and try and cobble my life back together. You ladies have fun pulling off your 'Thelma and Louise' final act while I figure out some way for House Ishara to survive the upcoming war," I shrugged. Of course they didn't let me leave. Fatima on one side, the Golden Mare in the middle and Troika on the other. She had to be in a shitload of pain. "Lift the curse. If we are going to war, we need to be whole," Saint Marie urged me. "No." "Why should I stop these two from killing you right now?" she glared. "Because he is an Amazon," Krasimira muttered. "You should need no better reason. Ah; this is why we must die; thank you Cáel Ishara," she concluded. "A terrible sadness has gripped our people for as long as I have been Keeper. I found it lurking in the shadowy corners of my office when I was elevated. I now imagine it haunted my predecessors for some time as well. At least I will pass on knowing the name of our assassin." "The assassin is right here," Fatima spewed her hate at me. "You are correct," Krasimira chuckled. "The assassin is indeed in this room. Its name is Amazon. I need a moment, please." She stood and walked to the doors. What she wanted didn't take long at all. "Gun," we heard her request. The magazine fell to the ground. The sole bullet did not follow. Krasimira walked tenderly into the office as if every step tore like fishhooks at her flesh. "Take yourself to the cliffs, Hayden," Krasimira intoned as the one-shot pistol fell on Hayden's desk. "I no longer know you." Krasimira took in the whole room. "We show anger when we should show humility. We are proud of our shame. We are arrogant of our weaknesses. We have heaped insult upon insult on our ancestors yet are now aghast that they turn away from us," she shook her head. Her gaze settled on Saint Marie. "I am not one warrior alone, but one of a thousand warriors who have fought before me'; isn't that part of the oath of every member of the Security Detail swears?" Katrina fell to her knees. "Please Cáel. Please save us," she begged me. Something was very wrong with that. "How dare you?" Fatima howled at Katrina. Instead of being ashamed, Katrina's supplicant's face turned first into a grim grin, then one of gallows laughter. "And that is why we are all going to die," Katrina declared as she stood once more. "We are too proud to ask a man for help. We know what Ishara's curse is doing to us. You clearly don't care. You would rather die than admit that our damn ANCESTORS have placed a male here and now. Open your eyes!" she nearly screamed. "They sent a MAN for a reason; to open our eyes before we kill ourselves." You scream 'what gives him the right?' Ishara gives him the right. Nothing else matters. What I am asking you is 'what gives you the right to reject Ishara?' because that is what we have done. How could she make her will any more plainly obvious to us? Cáel has never stopped trying to save us and you two want to gut him like a lamb, or (to Saint Marie) break his body. Hayden, I will not place my rejection upon your desk. You have been as much a mother to me as my actual birth-mother. I love you. Since we first met, I have only wanted to make you proud of me and serve your will. What has gone wrong? How have we come to this? You were the one who told me we had to find a way to save our race; and now, when it stares us in the face; Why can't we accept it? How have I failed you, Hayden? What did I do wrong to not prepare you for this moment? It was my duty to keep you informed in all things and I can find nothing to excuse my failure," Katrina had gone from disappointed to heart-broken. Katrina prized herself on being able to stay ahead of any crisis. Here, at her greatest challenge, she hadn't been able to help her friend and mentor survive this calamity. I imagine that was the final blow for Hayden. Katrina had risen up through the Havenstone system as Hayden's protégé and had given Hayden her all. "Until this moment, I have never considered myself a coward," Hayden murmured. "You are blameless Katrina. In the final analysis, I sacrificed my courage for my life. And now I have neither. I can regain my courage here at the end and be true to the duties I was given," Hayden's resolve strengthened with each word. She took out a piece of paper and created a list. "Saint Marie, on this list are traitors to the Host. Gather these Amazons and prepare them to challenge my accusation." Saint Marie stepped forward, took the paper and quickly read it. "Hayden, this includes a third of the Council!" she gasped. "I am well aware of who I have accused. Please see to my final command, old friend," Hayden sighed. I could see a terrible weight lifted from her; the cliffs. "Final;” Saint Marie and Katrina groaned. "Yes. I will dine tonight with my family, then take myself to the cliffs with the dawn. I feel that will be a good end for me," Hayden mused. "Will Ishara forgive me, Cáel?" "No Hayden. It is not her way, but I will. There will be a place in Ishara's halls for you. I pledge you that," I suddenly felt a sorrowful pit in my stomach. Into that romantically tragic scene, Krasimira snorted with amusement. Eyes turned to her. Hayden shook her head, held up a hand to forestall the Keeper until she rounded the desk and left her office for the last time. "Who is on the list?" Fatima stormed up to the Golden Mare and looked over the list. "I am on this. So are you Troika," Fatima growled. "This is insane. We'll destroy Hayden over this; this; piece of filth." "I don't care if I'm on it, or not," Madi seethed. "I'm with you." "There is a small manner of little known law you may wish to be aware of," Krasimira chuckled. "The ruling of an honorably deceased High Priestess may not be challenged." "You two are under arrest," Saint Marie whipped out her pistol. Being with the SD, she was allowed to be fully armed in the High Priestess's presence. "What do you mean?" Fatima looked to Krasimira. "Cáel has killed you all and he didn't even mean to," Krasimira gave a dry chuckle. "By his act of kindness to Hayden, which I now think Hayden was counting on, our former High Priestess goes to an honorable death; taken into the Halls of Ishara in death. Unable to challenge Hayden's decree, you are all going to be executed and your names stricken from the rolls. You will wander aimlessly for all eternity while Hayden will live in the company of her sisters thanks to a man and his love for someone who was clearly his enemy," Krasimira kept snorting at the dark comedy. "Your sole avenue of spiritual survival lies with a man you tried to kill mere moments ago." "This is insane," Troika shouted and came at me. The room exploded with the sonic resonance of a pistol firing. I may have imagined it, but it appeared the bullet took Troika at the juncture of the right eyebrow, nose ridge and right eye. Whatever the entry point, the 45 ACP slug painted the wall behind her with her grey matter. Saint Marie turned quickly on Fatima. "Troika wasn't on the Council, so I could kill her for attempting to murder someone who was. I can't kill you immediately, but please believe I will put a bullet where it hurts if you don't do exactly what I say," the Golden Mare menaced. The debate was truncated by the four Security Detail ladies storming the room. Orders were dispensed and the wheels of Amazon society burst into motion. A side effect of my stunt was I had put Saint Marie in charge until the full Council could meet to create some sort of Regency Council to pilot the ship. There was zip gratitude aimed my way on her part and I didn't blame her one bit. I was headed out before things got too organized. I wanted some 'me' time. "Cáel Ishara, we have not resolved the matter that brought us to this disaster," Saint Marie growled. I was at the door. I looked over my shoulder at the Golden Mare, turned back toward freedom and saw Pamela. "Shoot me," I told Pamela. I was grappling with the horror of what I had just said when I returned to the darkness. MOTHER-FUCKER! I hate women! (Mutter; mutter; mutter) I became aware of my hazy, fugue-like dream state. Sadly, it was familiar and undoubtedly going to become even more familiar while I lived. "Upset with me, Cáel?" she asked. "You had me tell my friend to shoot me; yeah, Ishara, I'm a little cranky right now." "The question was rhetorical. I can read your mind," the Goddess snorted. "What happened to me?" "She bounced a bullet off your skull. You'll be okay. I am the Goddess of Medicine after all," she reminded me. "From an era when trepanning was popular. Color me unimpressed. Oh; and I apologize." "You will get me the fortune cookie next time," she lilted. Something crucial occurred to me. "Hey! I haven't had sex in a week. That hasn't happened to me in four years." "I don't think you are ready for that stage of our relationship yet," she tickled my nose. "Wait; did you just put me in the Friend Zone?" More laughter. "Seriously," I sighed. "Hayden?" "I forgive you," she soothed me. "Forgive me? I killed her. That is not okay. Wasn't; " "No, my Cáel. We are a blood-thirsty society and the ultimate mistakes are answered with the ultimate punishments. I cannot fully express my pride in you for what you did, even in opposition to my will." There was a pause in our relationship and conversation. I thought she sensed my turmoil and aided me in finding some level of peace. With her kind of entity, I would never be sure. "What did Carrig do to me?" I asked. "I don't know." That was not what I expect. Evasion; yes. The ugly truth; no. "I find the concept of an omniscient, omnipotent deity to be self-defeating," she mused. "Sort of negates the whole Free Will thing," I bantered. "Besides, what is the point of beseeching a being that already knows what's going to happen to you and would have saved you if that is what they wanted?" "Yeah," I groaned sarcastically, "I much prefer the divine ones who randomly fuck with your life because they can, rarely provide useful information and won't even put out on the second date." "I know this will cause you pain yet I will say it anyway; I love you." Yeah; I was suddenly wishing Pamela had missed and hit me between the eyes. "Very well, what can I do for you that would make you happier?" Inside of second. "Clever boy. Are you sure?" "Yes." "Done. I can no longer read your mind." A few seconds passed. "This is annoying. Is this what it is like dealing with me; this 'not knowing'?" "Yes and you proved it by the way," I murmured. Several more seconds. "This is really annoying me. Pick something else." Pause. "What does it prove?" "You love me," I grinned. "Love without freedom is illusionary. Freedom of thought is the basis of hope and hope drives all endeavors." A long pause. I was a bit curious about what was happening to my body. "Please." "No." "I could give you a divine gift; speak in tongues; regeneration; long life?" "Nope. Not happening." "I still love you." "Now I can say I love you and know I mean it." "That's unfair; clever and insightful, but unfair," she teased me. "What about the curse?" "Re-forge my statue at the Temple and the curse will be lifted. Be your regular creative self when you do so." Pause; divine sigh. "I need to send you back now. Oh, and make love to the first woman you see. It is important." "What? Why is it im;” and I felt the weight of my body and the throbbing of my temple. (Augurs don'ts and don't give a fuck abouts) I didn't want to open my eyes; really, truly, deeply. I had been dared by both guys and girls to pick up a certain female at a variety of events, even when they came with company. I'd done it because I'm that kind of low-life. Being pre-ordained to sleep with some chick felt wrong to me. It was cheating. I sincerely wished she hadn't been touching my face. Yes, someone was running their slender, feminine fingers over my forehead, eyebrows, eyelids, nose; yadda. "Ishara, I must speak with you," the strange woman implored. My eye movement had given my wakefulness away. I pried open my lids and looked up into the face of a living ghost. Her skin was albino pale with obvious veins and blue capillaries beneath the surface. Her ocular orbs were a deep milky white, with a tinge of light blue. I could barely make out the pupils. Her hair was whiter than Pamela's. From the structure and musculature of her hands and face; it was as if a perfectly healthy human woman's body was in a constant frantic battle against death. My senses expanded to embrace more of my resting place. I was in Katrina's office on the sofa. Katrina was not present. Buffy, the 'senior', Pamela, Rachel, Krasimira, the super-pale chick and two House Guard I didn't recognize were nearby. Despite my head throbbing to the beat of fiendish jackhammers, I managed to sit up. This upset the lady touching me as my movement broke our contact. "Ishara?" she pleaded. "That's it. From now on its Yakko Ishara, Wakko Ishara and Dot Ishara. Let's end all of this confusion over this 'which Ishara are we really wanting to talk to?' bullshit. So, what do you want?" I groaned. "I'm claiming the 'Yakko' spot, by the way." "Ishara?" she pleaded again. Was she protesting me taking the oldest Warner brothers' spot? Yeah, I was the youngest one of the pseudo-divine trio, but I absolutely owned the role of smart-alec. "She is an Augur," Krasimira explained. "The poisons she takes to put her in a receptive state to the ancestors, goddesses and the spiritual currents of the universe leave her blind and deaf to the mortal world. She communicates normally, but needs to be touching your lips to know what you are saying. Her name is Tadêfi and she has a message for you," she finished. "Give me a sec," I put my thoughts together despite my pain. Buffy shoved a glass of water and three pills my way. I downed them gratefully. Buffy was clearly distressed. I was getting the crap kicked out of me a lot and, in theory, it was her job to stop such things from happening. "Buffy, we couldn't have foreseen Carrig coming after me the way he did. He slipped through the seams of very good security," I tried to comfort her. "Pamela shot me on the Goddess/Dot Ishara's orders. She can only communicate with me when I'm in a near-death state," I said. "I have a new mission for you." I needed to keep her mind busy with things other than me. Buffy was action-oriented and I was giving her a doozy of a task. "Obtain at least five of the bullet casings from the battle that took my Father's life. Give them to Krasimira. They are to be melted down with the original statue and recast into a new symbol of the Goddess. We will be a melding of the old and the new," I ordered. Yes, I was sacrificing a priceless ancient artifact for a current political agenda. I'm reprehensible. Kimberly would be ashamed. "Now, who were the women whose names I gave you?" "They are all deceased 'Runners', Ishara," the senior told me. Oh; that made sense. "Tomorrow we induct them into House Ishara," I stated. "Ishara, they are dead," senior repeated. "Do you believe the souls of Amazons go to the houses of their ancestors after dying?" I posed. That took a few seconds to soak in. My almost albino was getting truly distressed so I took her hand and put it on my lips as I asked the latest question. "Oh;” the senior and Buffy both muttered. "All those 'Runners'; their spirits wander aimlessly for eternity bereft of companionship and a place to call home," I told them. "That is a crime," I continued. "Even as Ishara moves forward, we must be honest about our past. Those women earned a place in the Host. They were unduly denied their promised afterlife and we will start rectifying that tomorrow." Their looks broadcast their interpretation of my declaration: I was a wonderful child who had won first place for our team at the State Fair. Now that she was back in the communication loop, the augur calmed down. "You have a message for me?" I 'asked' her. Halfway through, I stopped enunciating. "Yes, Ishara. My dead sister stepped back through the flames and told me you;” she began. "No; stop," I told her. "Everyone leave." They honored my wishes and departed except; "What are you still doing here?" I asked the House Guard who remained. Now that I had a chance to study her, I realized she bore the same cuneiform designation as Krasimira. "I am her guardian. I am always at her side," the woman explained rather heatedly. She was certainly not a fan of the man in mankind. "By all means; have it your way. Augur, your message is unimportant. Write it down and have it sent out as a memo for everyone in Havenstone to read. Someone may tell me about it. I'm horrible with my e-mail, so I probably won't read it myself," I growled. This shit stopped now. I stood and made to leave. The augur swatted out and grabbed my arm when she hit it. "Ishara, you must;” and I lightly slapped her face. The guardian drew down on me. "How dare you?" the guardian seethed. "I am thinking the same thing; 'how dare you?'" I rumbled. "How dare you decide what messages she does, or does not, deliver?" "Tadêfi has something important to tell you," the guardian growled. "Augurs died to bring you this message." "Clearly the message isn't important enough for you to leave the room," I countered. "I took bullet to the head so I could talk to the Goddess Dot Ishara." I was going to enjoy calling my matron pain-in-the-cranium that. She was probably less amused. "I'm about out of patience with you smug, delusionary superior sluts demanding things from me as if you weren't my underlings," I glared. "Get with the program, or get out." Though I had told her to get out, I was the one leaving. I needed clothes, a shave and a chance to get my bearings. I didn't need those two. Tadêfi tried to speak again. I put my hand to her lips to stop her again then raised her hands to my lips. "I do not want to hear what you have to say," I related. "If you try to tell me what you have been told, I will purposely ignore it and cut out your tongue for your insolence. Your sisters died in vain because your guardian has decided what you say is not worth her leaving the room for us to talk in private. Sleep well with the dying screams of your sisters' agonies echoing in your mind and know your fellow Amazons have wished this fate upon you. Good-bye." "How; augurs are sacrosanct and their messages are rare and crucial to the Host," the guardian sputtered. "Didn't know, don't care and could care less what you think is crucial for the Host," I sighed as I started walking away. "What is happening?" the augur wailed. "Her visions are lacerations on her soul," the guardian howled. "Does her pain mean nothing to you?" Those two had to be incredibly tight, the guardian watching the augur scarred and worn down by the task she had been chosen for; and not being able to help. "Not enough to keep me here," I answered at the door. "She's your buddy, not mine and I have a plateful of unhappiness already set before me." I opened the door. "Is there a problem?" Krasimira inquired as I stepped out. She had a guardian too. Pamela was also close by and strategically placed to dispose of said guardian. "Her bodyguard told me to ignore Tadêfi, so I am," I muttered. I hurt. The pain-killers had yet to kick in; and I'd just come out of a coma. Fuck'em. If Ishara wanted me to nail that girl, she was going to have to step up on her level of assistance aimed my way. I accepted that she had her limitations, but so did I. "Cáel Ishara, is that precisely what she said?" the Keeper was being diplomatic. "No; what do I call you?" "Krasimira, Cáel," she answered. "I do not believe it was Tadêfi's intent to be ignored. May I mediate?" "No," I replied. "I will talk with Tadêfi alone, or not at all. Quite frankly, half the time you women open your mouths, I want to kick you off the roof of this building. Either I see some damn humility; your words, Krasimira; or I carry on the Amazon tradition with Ishara and her legion of former 'Runners' while the rest of you are throttled by your pride." Do note that the Executive Services floor was very active and several members heard my statement loud and clear. "May we please try this meeting one more time?" she requested. Her bodyguard nearly choked on Krasimira's gentle, conciliatory tone. "I could not consider myself an Amazon and deny the Keeper's suggestion on this matter. Let's give it one more shot," I conceded. All I was asking for was 'nice'. I wasn't deluded into thinking Krasimira was suddenly my fan. She was simply acting on the enlightenment that her ancestors and goddesses had revealed. We headed back into Katrina's office. As with any divine direction, she knew she had two choices; harm, or heal. She had accepted responsibility that to heal her people, the spirits had chosen a male. Liking me had nothing to do with it. Being true to her oaths and nature as an Amazon were the acting forces here. Amazons survived, first and foremost. They feared nothing, not even change. Her fellows had denied the need for change based solely on pride and Krasimira recognized that now. Back in Katrina's office, the guardian was trying to calm her nearly hysterical charge. I would have been much happier if we had been more alone. The room had become crowded with ghosts during my short absence. Krasimira, who was following, bumped into me. "Ishara?" she whispered. As unfortunate as that was, Tadêfi's blind eyes following the fixed stares of all the ghosts in my direction was worse. I squeezed my brain for an appropriate bit of trivia that would put my depression on its ass. There was this movie by M. Night Shakalaka-ding dong (or something like that) about a boy who saw dead people. The hero; the man trying to help the boy; he turned out to be a ghost as well who didn't figure that out until the end of the flick. But, it got better. Using the numerous ghostly gazes like searchlights pinning down an escaping convict, Tadêfi ran right into my arms. That was a pretty remarkable feat; a blind girl in an unfamiliar room covering four meters flawlessly. But, it kept getting better. All the ghosts started to yammer, clambering for attention. Tadêfi began to weep piteously. I had to wonder if this was Ishara's penalty for keeping my mind free of her meddling. No one else seemed to understand what the fuck was going on. Krasimira was the augur wrangler, not in tune with the spirits herself. She was also the Supreme Litigator, which necessitated her being able to interact with the mortal world on a constant basis, so I couldn't hold her lack of spiritual mojo against her. My instincts were telling me that screaming and yelling was pointless. The cacophony was incredibly vexing, but I could deal. Tadêfi couldn't. I was looking at this dilemma from the wrong angle. Instead of taking on the hundreds, I would take on the one. I placed one of the augur's hands on my lips then placed my hands over her ears. My hope was that since I could interact with the restless dead, my flesh could act as a buffer to their insistent beseeching of us for recognition of their numerous appeals. My first song was one of the melodies sung to me by Oneida's kin while I fought off her Death Pledge. Bit by bit, a tiny fraction followed by the greater whole, I pulled Tadêfi back from the brink of insanity. Eventually, she began mumbling a different refrain into my chest. "My ears work better than my lip-reading," I chided her playfully. The ghosts hadn't stopped their pleas for attention. It was the sonic and tactile sensation of my song upon her fingers and the fluctuation of my lungs in pushing forth the music that allowed her to focus on her mortal coil. As we sang together, eventually with her teaching me a few new ballads, we shut the world out. Once our shared reality collapsed down to just the two of us, the babble diminished then finally faded away. "May I relay my message now?" Tadêfi requested. "No, we have to have sex first," I replied. Whoops; shit-storm. What followed was a blur. "I can't have sex," Tadêfi murmured. "The touch of a man would corrupt me." Plus. "She is an augur," her guardian declared firmly. "She must remain a virgin." Plus. "Cáel Ishara, augurs cannot be;” Krasimira's tongue became tied. "You go, Tiger," Pamela tossed out there. "Tadêfi, where are you right now?" I began my rotation of responses. "Why does she have to be a virgin? And, thanks Pamela. That was less helpful than normal." "I aim to disappoint, Cheetah," Pamela smirked. I couldn't see her face, but I knew she was. She; Tarzan. Me; Cheetah, the Immortal baby chimpanzee. Just what I needed. "It is the law," the guardian moved to separate us. "She must not be touched by a man," Krasimira stated. "Not having intercourse is implied. If she has been corrupted, why did the spirits continue to surround her after Cáel's touch?" "Keeper, this cannot be allowed," the guardian changed her focus. "I agree in that this is your choice to make," Krasimira countered. "Without knowing the missive, you must decide what your charge may, and may not, do. Your oath is to her personally, not to me or any other entity. Consider what the task of guardian truly is before deciding." The convoluted decision: what was the chief duty of a guardian; the message, or the messenger? The augur could convey urgency yet was powerless to act without the guardian's permission. She had to trust her guardian with the basics of life. The guardian; she had to trust what could not be sensed, or even fully understood. "Why; why this condition?" the guardian returned her gaze to me. I could have been a dick. "Dot Ishara told me to have intercourse with the first woman I saw when I woke up," I said. "If you hurt her, I will kill you," the Amazon threatened. "First off, Tadêfi, would you like to fool around?" I might want to get my potential sex partners permission before proceeding. You know; not be a rapist. "I don't know what you want, but if this is what we must do," Tadêfi acquiesced. "First time sex is going to be painful, so be prepared," I cautioned both young women. "If you;” the guardian repeated her threat. "Cáel, you should give daily thanks I don't leave a trail of dead bodies everywhere you go," Pamela declared with malicious menace. "So many pretentious bitches; I tell you, my ability to tolerate your forgiving nature is being sorely tested, damn it." Wow, was that totally ass-backwards, or what? As a side note to life: I was going to receive a serious beat-down the second my sexual tryst ended. Two pernicious women: Buffy; I had been damaged by someone who wasn't her. There was no way she'd forgive me for that. And Pamela; I had sent Estere away to escort Libra instead of keeping the assassin close. Without a doubt, I had taken Pamela away from some odious errand conducted on my behalf, yet without my knowledge. Yes, some serious torment was headed my way. Back to the girl at hand. Back to being the 'me' I wanted to be. Oink! With torturous reluctance, the guardian made to leave. "Wait," I called out. "You can stay if you join us." Yes, I was angling for a three-way with a women who wanted to make line drives with a five iron using my nuts for golf balls; and the blind and deaf girl. I couldn

The Drunk Guys's beer drinking peake's this week when they read Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake. They also have the merve to drink: As the World Burns by KCBC and 120 Minute IPA by Dogfish Head. Join the Drunk Guys on Tuesday for Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut. The

Being known by the company you keep. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Life exists in both seconds and years. Don't ignore one for the other.” I would like to thank the phone operator and Chief of the Burnham, Illinois Police Department for answering my questions, despite their bizarre nature. (Monday Night) I should have known to not have too good a time. My karma was wacky enough as it was. It was about to get worse in a way I should have foreseen. Ain't hindsight grand? Inside of five seconds I knew how much sharing Libra and Brooke did; a lot. On the plus side, it gave me some wiggle room with Libra where sex with Brooke was concerned. On the super-plus side, Brooke was looking forward to ratcheting up our sex play. I took her to Libra's experiences with all the extra bells and whistles. In this case it meant adding a blindfold and ball-gag to the hand restraints. Brooke handed me a high level of trust unexpected at this early moment in our sexcapade. With a quick empathic insight, I pulled her ball-gag down as her orgasm erupted. She rejoiced in the sound of her rapture echoing around my bedroom. I deceived her into her next climax by whispering a promise to release her then hammering her instead. The whole specter of powerlessness tore her up inside. Best of all, even as she spasmed beneath me, I released her cuffs then pulled up her mask. Her fingernails dug into my trapezius muscles. For over a minute, she clung to me with a deep hunger to feel my heat and sweat against her body. "My turn," she rasped. I pressed my shoulders and head up so I could look into her eyes. She was waiting for this opportunity since she'd talked with Libra. Without question, she'd never been tied down before, or tied a man down and had her way with him. She'd manipulated men most of her life; that was old hat. This was primal, physical and forbidden. She was taking complete control of my person. God, I thought she'd orgasmed when she finished cuffing me to the headboard. Taunting, teasing and hot body contact followed as she put the ball-gag in. Sizzling lips sealed my fate as the blindfold was slipped in place. Having invested so much time using all my senses soaking up the hungry beast that Brooke possessed right beneath her urbane surface, losing my eyesight wasn't a major drawback. For Brooke, this had all the benefits of anonymous sex in a blacked-out room with the bonus of her having the lights on for her use alone. My bet was she had studied stuff on-line. From being sure she wasn't going to have sex with me when she first met, she had graduated to running naked across my living room for what turned out to be lemon slices. The 'fumph' of the Nerf gun made me assume Timothy shot her in the ass as she raced into my room. By the yip from Brooke, I knew Timothy's aim remained frighteningly accurate. Lemon juice and cuts don't mix, or, Brooke enjoyed watching my body jolt as said juice interacted with said 'workplace' mistakes. Was I angry? Nah. Every hiss of pain was followed by lavished kisses, licks and hair lashings. I loved her long black hair draped over my body, flicked around whisk-like and tickling my nose. Brooke was learning my keystone technique; figure out what your partner wants and give them a quick sample. Don't use any one thing too much; make it a treat and they'll appreciate the taste they get even more. When Brooke finally sated us both, it was my turn again. We talked a while. She invited me to a friend's place in the Hamptons which suggested to me the destination was more than some made-up place on TV. I promised to think about it. Brooke took that to mean she needed to work harder to convince me. I honestly had little desire to be trotted around as Brooke's boy toy. Hoping that wouldn't be the case relied a lot on faith. I wasn't sure what I would have in common with any of that crowd, which guided me back to being a stuck up snob for treating a people as a social class and not as human beings. I took out my social anxiety on Brooke. Poor girl; three holes, ten positions and I'm not sure how many times I took her from frenzied peak to frenzied peak. All I knew was when she'd passed all points of previous primeval ecstasy, I finally released her. Brooke curled into a semi-fetal ball and began burrowing into me. "Happy?" I asked as I stroked her sweat-drenched hair. She nodded happily against my chest. "Are you glad you came over?" I continued. Brooke bit me because she knew I was teasing her. "Ow," I grumbled. "I think we have a misunderstanding who is whose sex toy here." "Do I need to bite you again?" Brooke mumbled into my chest. "Point taken," I conceded. Brooke snuggled in even tighter. We wrestled out of bed, stumbled into the shower and took some time off with Timothy. He looked at us and smirked. "Cáel is going to be my boyfriend," Brooke tossed out there. Huh? "What in God's green earth makes you want to do that?" Timothy chuckled. "He's been there when I needed him. Cáel is a real man and it has taken me having a really tough spill to realize that it doesn't matter which alumni your Daddy belongs to, but what you put on the line for your friends that really matters," Brooke enlightened us both. "Seriously Dude," Timothy looked at me with pity. "Cut down on the awesome dicking until somehow polygamy becomes legal," he added, but then, "Brooke, you know he's seeing about a dozen different ladies, right?" "Cáel is looking for a serious relationship," Brooke insisted. Timothy chortled because he knew the likelihood of me settling down was right up there with us sharing a White Christmas in the Bahamas. "Let's go back to bed, Babe," I redirected things to safer waters. "It is your turn to be on top." Brooke, wearing one of my fresh t-shirts and nothing else, hopped off the sofa and let me lead her back to the bedroom for another round of 'not thinking about any other part of my screwed up life except the beautiful woman with me right now' sex. Twenty minutes later, Brooke had encased me in her wanton elixirs, was gyrating her hips as she stroked me inside her snatch while keeping me bound, blind and muffled. My phone rang. "Should I get that?" Brooke teased me. She moved enough to seize my cellular device. "The number is unlisted," she mused. "Who could it be?" I gave a muffled response. She removed the ball-gag enough for me to speak. "Work," I repeated. "It might be work. I'm on-call 24/7." "Damn," Brooke undoubtedly pouted (still blindfolded). She answered the call then placed the phone to my ear. "Cáel, a Security Detail detachment is on their way to your quarters as we speak. You will recognized the code they will use," Katrina's icy calm voice informed me. "Katrina, what is wrong?" I inquired. Normally, I wouldn't get an answer. Katrina's tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "There has been an incident at your Father's home in Chicago. We do not have clear intelligence at this time. I may have more when you get in," she related. "Understood," I replied. My passionate storm abated and I felt empty inside. Dad. "Cáel?" Brooke sounded worried. "We need to get dressed," I murmured. I had to let Timothy know something was truly wrong. I needed to get Brooke home safely. I; I needed to know more than I did right then. Brooke uncuffed me quickly. I barely had my boxers on when there was a light series of raps on the door. I sprang up, opened my bedroom door, surprising Odette. She must have come back to work a few minutes earlier and was unwinding with some low-volume TV and some sofa time. Timothy was asleep already. "Odette, go back to Timothy's room and warn him something bad may have happened. Go!" I warned. Odette scampered back. Brooke was at my back, trying to move into the main room. "Brooke, stay here. If something unusual happens, hide in the bedroom and don't come out until the police get here. Do you understand?" I met her confusion with an iron stare. She nodded. There was another, more insistent, rapping at my apartment door. I crept up to the portal and gave a counter-knock. "Crab Fisher-woman," a female voice said from the other side. "My Father's Sister," I responded. It was an imperfect code, but effective given the circumstances. I double checked through the spy hole, unlocked the door and let three SD Amazons inside. How bad was it? I doubted these ladies would know more than I did. In Hittite, she said; "Ishara," the leader said, "we have orders to escort you to Havenstone immediately." They weren't blindly expecting me to follow instructions. They had a directive they were following to the best of their ability. In Hittite, she said; “ Will a team be watching my domicile?" I asked. The leader nodded. "We need to take a female I have been with tonight to her dwelling before going on to Havenstone." The SD team leader nodded again. There was no condescension, or argument. They were following orders as if it was my right to issue them. That was how bad things were. Time to get back to English. "Brooke, finish getting dressed. I'm taking you home," I called out. Quite frankly, along with my desire to see Brooke back home safely was my instinct to not split up my guardians. Better a longer trip than two smaller, more vulnerable groups. I was in the process of getting dressed in the living room when Timothy and Odette came out. "Bro?" Timothy asked. "My Father's home was attacked. I have no other details right now," I explained with a sinking feeling in my heart. Timothy read my soul, came up and engulfed me in his mighty arms. Odette added herself to the heart-felt love-pile. "Do you want me to take Odette and head back to Queens for a while?" Timothy asked. He sensed we had limited time. "They," and by 'they' he knew I meant Havenstone, "will have a team watching this place. There are not enough resources to go back and forth to work. I wish I could tell what would keep you safe, but I don't know anymore." "We'll stay put," Timothy declared. Odette nodded. "We'll be here for you when you get back. If any of these psycho-broads want to stop by from time to time, I won't say no." I shot a look to the security team leader and she gave a curt 'okay'. "You'll need an overnight bag!" Odette squeaked. Off she went. Brooke finished getting dressed and came to my side. To your average Lothario, what she did might seem odd. To me, it was the normal refrain; Brooke shoved her panties into my jean's pocket. That was a not so subtle 'Call Me' for when I got back. "Three minutes, Ish; Cáel," the leader updated me. My amateur guess was this was the team from across the street. They had back-up vehicles and personnel streaking down from Havenstone to provide extra security for my move. "Velma," she gave me her name. A quick description was in order. The three Amazons all had Bluetooth devices, shooting glasses and steel-gray long coats that had to be uncomfortable in this upper seventies evening heat. Underneath, they had on light ballistic body armor on their torsos, arms, and legs. Even their dull grey, all-terrain boots looked armored. They had a hip holstered sidearm, most likely a back-up pistol at the small of their backs and a deadly blade, or three. Their main deterrence was their H and K UMP 40 caliber; my second favorite Amazon killing device. Timothy snuck off to get my toiletries, returning around the same time Odette trundled out with an overnight (or three) bag. There was a final round of hugs then Velma indicated it was time to leave. The fourth member of the team was stationed at the top of the third floor stairs. That gave her a good view of my hallway as well as the passage going up and down. Two SD's to the front, Velma and the fourth watching our backs and Brooke caught between giddy and freaking terrified. Things got even more exciting when we hit the bottom of the stairs. Two more ladies were waiting. They put a trench coat on Brooke and she nearly collapsed. The freed up Amazon took my bag while the second put a trench coat on me. I grunted as well. This bitch had to weigh 25 kg. That was some serious ballistic and blast protection. The closest newcomer began attaching my pistol with hip holster on my side while Brooke was 'buttoned up'. I was slipped a few spare clips then was buttoned up as well. "I'm not sure I can walk in this thing," Brooke gave me a weak smile. "Don't worry," I smiled, "I'll carry you." I slipped my arm around Brooke's waist and, on Velma's signal, we rushed out to the middle of three Mercedes Armored GL550s. The doors had barely shut before we were racing away from my favorite home. I walked Brooke up to her apartment, we hugged, kissed and she insisted I go to the Hamptons with her this weekend. I left with that promise unanswered. I didn't ask the Security Detail to do anything else outrageous and they didn't give me any crap about Brooke. Their vigilance didn't end at Havenstone either. No; they formed a tight knot of outward hostility until we marched into Katrina's office. Even then, they spread out over the Executive Services offices as an extended perimeter. Katrina's office was another step up on the unsettling meter. It was Katrina, Saint Marie, Buffy, Helena, and a woman I didn't know yet seemed to belong. "Excuse me?" Saint Marie shot a hostile look my way; actually right behind me. "Don't mind me," Pamela snorted. She was in the process of sneaking into the room. "I'm here for moral support," she concluded then took a seat. "Cáel?" Katrina queried, as if I could somehow exile Pamela from the room. "What's going on?" I began the meeting instead. "Your Father is dead," Katrina reported. If someone ever asked me what it felt like to have an arm cut off, I could truthfully answer them 'Yes'. Dad. "From what we have been able to gather from the video and audio gear the four Amazon Security Detail team assigned to watch over him transmitted, the team was setting up a perimeter when three vehicles with ten men stopped on the juncture of Janus and Kerr streets and approached the house. The team leader made formal recognition and was attacked," Katrina told me. "Are they okay?" I mumbled. I didn't want to know how my Dad died. Had he been in pain? Which side had killed him? Would knowing make a damn bit of difference? "Three of the four members were killed," Saint Marie interjected. "The team commander was killed instantly. The second died defending that corner of your Father's domicile. The third member was killed attempting to rescue your Father. The surviving member stopped the enemy from escaping with your Father's body, but was too badly injured to extricate herself and is now in police custody." "What are we going to do about this?" I inquired. Pamela was a lying bitch. She'd lied to Brianna because the truth would have gotten me and Dad killed. Dad had still died, but Pamela had kept me alive. "There is nothing we can do," the stranger spoke up. "Troika of House Šauška." "You are joking, right?" I stared at her. "He was a male, not of;” Troika began to state. "You do know your Amazon law, correct?" I countered. She gave a curt tilt of the head. "Recount the means of succession to the Head of a House then please explain to the room how my Father, the descendant of Vranus, fits into all that." Cha-ching! "Oh, by the Seven Goddesses!" Saint Marie jumped up. "They murdered the Head of House Ishara!" Katrina was already back on top; ahead of the game. "But what does that make him?" Troika pointed at me. "It confirms him as the Head of House Ishara. We can sugar-coat it and say Cáel, being the only 'active' member of Havenstone 'represented' the Head of House Ishara. By our traditions though, Ferko Nyilas was the lawful head of a 'First' House. Certainly four days were not enough time to settle the manner in an acceptable way," Katrina said. "At the very least, House Ishara would have been given 28 days to resolve any matters of succession internally," Katrina pointed out. "There was no deception. Cáel worked for Havenstone, so was our active member. The existence of his Father was known. It is in his basic file. It was highly unlikely that ANY House wanted to bring another male into the mix so the matter of his ascension was left unquestioned." "This is Casus Belli," Troika stood up and declared in a firm voice. "I will inform Hayden. We must know the perpetrators of this act, Katrina. I will prepare to relate this breach of the Protocols to the other Signatories." "To make sure I have this straight, I can defend any member of my family, no matter who they are, without violating the Protocols?" I questioned. "Can I kill them?" "That is correct," Troika appeared confused. "Other Signatories cannot harm, or detain your family in any way." I gave a bitter, hollow laugh. Dad; Dad wouldn't have understood, but Mom would have, no doubt. "Troika; hell, everyone but Pamela and Katrina, I am Cáel Nyilas, grandson of The Cáel O'Shea and those people who murdered my Dad very well may have been my family," I felt like crying. That was good because I was crying. I had talked to Dad early Monday morning. I had been so nervous about not leaving any trace of Mom behind that I couldn't recall if I said 'I love you' to him. I'd never get the chance to make up for that oversight. As I began to take in the faces around me, I realized Ishara had gifted me with a respite. No one else knew who Cáel O'Shea was; yet. "Troika," I started out. I could tell she was still having difficulty with the 'Man as someone worthy of stating an opinion' moment. "When the Council decides that the Illuminati have breached the Protocols, do I have a deciding vote on what we do; since Dad was my family?" "No," Troika clarified, "and what makes you think it was the Illuminati?" Pamela laughed at her. "Because I killed Cáel's Grandfather when that man was head of the Illuminati; slit his throat and rendered him incapable of resuscitation. The rest of that twisted clan have only now discovered that there is a successor, genetically, to the Old Man and you are looking at him," Pamela related in an amused tone. "Perhaps; just perhaps; they were interested in what happened to Cáel's Mother and the man she mated with to produce Cáel; who also happened to be the Head of House Ishara and now leaves this man (me) as the last of his kind; coming and going," Pamela finished, "for both the Amazons and the O'Shea family/the Illuminati." Troika was having problems fitting all the puzzle pieces. Saint Marie cut to the heart of the matter because she listens to me. "If you go to war against the O'Shea's you are being forced to fight your own family," the Golden Mare stared at me in shock. "Let me get this straight," Troika stood up, waving for silence. "When the O'Shea's killed Ferko Nyilas, they murdered the Head of a First House. They also murdered a member of their own family by way of marriage." She seemed totally flummoxed. Everyone agreed about how screwed up everything was. Breach? No Breach? "Welcome to life working with Cáel Nyilas," Katrina declared. There was a pause. "I'll let the professionals figure out the finer points of diplomacy. I have to go," I said. "Were do you think you are going?" Buffy popped up. Until this moment, she'd had no role in affairs. My safety though; "I am going home to bury my Father, Buffy," I announced. This was not a discussion. "Shouldn't we take his body to the cliffs?" Troika suggested. "My Father will face the Afterlife with my Mother at his side. It was his wish and I'm not going to start dictating to my Ancestors now," I sighed. I was trying to make light of my pain. By the looks on their faces, I was failing. I had barely exited the office, Buffy, Helena and Pamela in tow. The security team was closing in and my phone rang. "Cáel Nyilas," I answered sadly. "Mr. Nyilas, this is Investigator Brewster of the Burnham Police Department. I need a few moments of your time," a man's voice requested. I hesitated. I looked at my watch. "Yes; Dad?" I finally spoke. "Mr. Nyilas, your father seems to have been murdered late this evening in a bungled attempted burglary," he lied. It was a good lie. If he really believed a bungled robbery consisted of two heavily armed groups shooting a small residential home to pieces he was; nah, he was lying. "I'm on the next flight to Chicago," was the response I chose. I had so many 'loser' replies to choose from. "That would be helpful, Mr. Nyilas," he told me. "Do you know when I can expect you?" "Ah; I have no idea when the next plane from New York to Chicago is, but if I can buy a ticket on it, I'm there," I countered. Admittedly, me having a plane ticket for home would have been damn suspicious. "One last thing, Mr. Nyilas, do you have any idea why someone would want to murder your father? Anything you could tell us could be of great assistance," he pressed. "Yes, I have a clue who murdered my Father and I'll point you to the dead bodies when I'm done," I snapped; quite literally and mentally snapped. Pause. "Mr. Nyilas, I understand you are upset, but do not do anything rash. Now, could your father have been murdered for anything you might have done, or are doing?" Det. Brewster kept is game face on. "We'll have this chat when I get to Chicago. Until then, take care," I said before hanging up. "Smooth," Pamela gently chastised me. "I actually liked him going all 'Mafia Don' on that cop," Buffy countered. "I'll arrange for Havenstone to get us transportation to Chicago," Helena added. "No," I countermanded her. "You two stay here and finish up business. Join me late Tuesday night, or early Wednesday morning." By the looks Buffy and Helena gave me they were surprised; and proud. I was keeping to my 'Runner' induction time table. My family would not be diminished by this tragedy. It would grow. Come Wednesday morning, we would add twenty new voices to Ishara's war cry. "I'll take the first commercial flight available," I continued. "We cannot protect you on a civilian aircraft, Ishara," Velma warned me. "They; the authorities are expecting me to show up at O'Hare, so I'm showing up at O'Hare, like a normal person," I reminded her. "I'll also need to know at what hospital they are keeping our sister." Our sister; the sole surviving Amazon who nearly gave her life for Dad. The SD picked up on that immediately. Another leap had been made. I wasn't a masculine monster, raging against a female warrior who had failed. By the tone of my voice, they knew I was in grief yet not overcome by it. She was the last member of the Host to see my Father alive and she might hold the closure I needed. "It will be done," Velma decided. "We will have your team meet you at O'Hare." "My team?" I asked. "Rachel; her team," Velma clarified. That was enough good for me. "Oh, and get Pamela a ticket as well. I'd hate to have her mug another passenger and take theirs," I sighed. Pamela patted me on the back; an 'atta boy'. (Monday Noon) (The hospital) That was not the first time I wondered about how fatal Pamela had been in her prime. In fact, I wasn't sure that post-60 wasn't her best time yet. The only mistake the police officer guarding the Amazon's hospital room made was to sit in a chair. Pamela had long ago mastered the peon-craft that Rosetta had started to teach me. The policeman looked up, stared right through her then looked the other way. His gaze never swept back in my direction. She jabbed him quickly underneath both arms, paralyzing them for a few seconds. That was all she needed. Hers hand clamped over his eyes and on his throat, cutting off the blood flow to the brain before his hands could recover. He appeared to the outside world to have taken a nap. According to Pamela, we had roughly three minutes before he came around. Pamela kept walking down the hall as if nothing happened. I came ten steps behind, guarded by a gun-less Rachel as I entered the Intensive Care Unit. A few of the staff looked our way, but no one impeded our progress. According to the Duty Nurse, the Amazon had exited surgery barely an hour ago. Her eyes opened to slits as I approached her beside. "We stand before the Eye of the World," I whispered. That meant surveillance. "I cannot tell you what is in my heart. My name is Cáel Nyilas. Does that name mean anything to you?" Her hand flopped. I put two fingers into her feeble gasp. One squeeze; yes. "I am grateful for your prowess and I share in your sorrow for those who will no longer fight in this life. Please heal and grow strong for this is the start, not the finish," I completed. She squeezed my fingers once more. I stepped aside, letting Rachel take my place. They didn't exchange words but communicated volumes. We slipped out of the room while the guard was still groggy. Pamela was nowhere to be seen. That proved to be pre-sentient when a group of people with the propensity to flash IDs caught up to me at the ground floor. Had the backdrop of this fiasco not been the death of my Father, I might have enjoyed the twitching/counter-twitching going on between Rachel, who desperately wanted any one of her guns, and the cops who were picking up on that desire. "Mr. Nyilas, I am;” and the introductions came pouring in. I had Theodora Chumwell and Brock Miklos, Special Agents of the FBI, John Rios, Special Agent with the ATF, Investigator Horace Brewster from the Burnham PD and Homicide Detective Lisa Capella from the Chicago PD. "We would like to talk with you," Theodora took charge. "Can I ask a question first?" I raised my hand. That appeared to set them off their game plan. "Of course," Theodora allowed. "Okay; FBI, ATF, a homicide detective from Chicago and the only law enforcement official who has any business being here," I finished with Brewster. "I may not be a Rhodes Scholar, but this seems a bit extreme for the burglary/murder of a long-time employee of Illinois Power and Light. Does anyone care to fill me on what the hell is going on?" I looked over the group. "Oh, and thank you Investigator Brewster for your call. I know I didn't take the news well." "Was that the part where you said you would point to the dead bodies?" Theodora took charge. "Yes, I think that was the gaff I was referring to," I agreed. "Why are you here, Mr. Nyilas?" Lisa Capella jumped in. She had decided to not go along with the FBI playbook. "I came to see the woman found alive in my family home," I replied smoothly. "She is probably still in surgery," Lisa gave a twist of the lips; sex. "Oh, she got out an hour ago," I enlightened them. "Let's take this conversation to FBI Headquarters," Theodora 'suggested'; you know, in the way that really wasn't a suggestion. "Have you gone to see that woman?" Lisa wouldn't let up; good for her. It was upsetting Theodora and I'd already decided that Brewster was my go-to guy on this investigation. "Yes," I responded to Lisa. "Isn't she under police protection?" Lisa and Theodora blurted out together. "There was a policeman at her door," I shrugged. "We went in and I talked to her." "What did she say?" Theodora brushed Lisa aside. "Nothing. She had one of those tubes down her throat. Whatever I said; well, I was emotional," I evaded. "She was barely conscious." Lisa was urgently contacting her guy who was supposed to be watching the only person in custody they had. He claimed to have 'blacked out'. He couldn't remember anyone coming in to see the woman and swore he hadn't been unconscious for any length of time. He went in, checked up on the Amazon and she was fine; for someone who had been shot six times. "We should go to the FBI offices," Theodora repeated. "I'm going home," I sighed sadly. "I want to go home." "It is still an active crime scene," John told me. "There won't be any civilian access for some time." Translation: until they decided to give me the carrot instead of the stick. "Please, come with us," FBI Special Agent Brock added his weight. "No. I'm going with Burnham PD," I countered. "You can find me there." "That's not how it works," Theodora upped her authority meter. Lisa had fallen back, trying to take in the bigger picture. Brewster was clearly trying to recall if he had Any history with me, or my Dad, that would make me trust him over the others. "I may be a liberal arts major from northern New England, but I know how a larynx works," I regarded Theodora. "Unless I choose to make a sound, it does nothing. Nothing is about to be all we have left to do and say." "Don't you want to help solve your Father's murder?" Brock tried to sound both sympathetic and threatening at the same time. I was suddenly bombarded with the taste of Lime Sherbet and Jalapenos Ice Cream. "Really? Fine; I'm going to hang out with the only person in this room I know is working on my Father's murder, not on their career," I reposed. "We are all trying to;” Lisa got out. "You maybe," I gave Lisa that much. "My Father made around $70,000 a year after twenty-six years for Illinois P and L. He had almost paid off the colossal debt built up by my Mother's illness and my college expenses." "As far as I know, he took out one loan his entire life; from a bank; and he paid it off," I continued. "He was a lapsed Catholic, a member of the IBEW; Local 9, and he jogged. He barely used e-mail and had no close friends I am aware of. The only woman he loved was my Mother and he mourned her to the day he died." "What about your activity?" Theodora inquired. We weren't running off to her playground; yet. Handcuffing a grieving son would look bad and, by my attitude, wouldn't make me talkative in the least. "I have the unfortunate habit of sleeping with every woman I meet," I began. "So that's over 200 erotic encounters. I get annoyed with people throwing their weight around," I continued, "which is why you and I are getting off on the wrong foot, Special Agent Theodora Chumwell. I work for Havenstone Commercial Investments, getting paid an insane amount to fetch laundry and keep secrets. Good enough?" "No, it is not;” Theodora simmered. "How did you know about the existence of the woman upstairs and how did you know to come here?" Lisa interrupted. "I grew up in that house, know the neighbors and know this is the closest EMS center to home," I lied convincingly. "Who are you?" Brewster decided that I wasn't exiting the hospital gracefully so turned on Rachel. She didn't speak, choosing to be creepy and brandishing a wallet instead. I kept forgetting that most full-blooded Amazons had minimal socialization with outsiders. Having graduated elementary school, everyone else knew this was a bizarre reaction. "Rachel Louis," Brewster read off the license in the wallet. A normal person would have acknowledged that somehow; not Rachel. "You are Rachel Louis, aren't you?" "Yes, she is," I intervened. "Rachel is a co-worker at Havenstone and she is misanthropic misandrist." There was a pregnant pause. The confusion wasn't with 'misanthropic'. It was a grown-up word in usage with colorful police-types. It was 'misandrist' that had them stumped. "Rachel is an unsociable man-hater," I explained. "Standing at my side in this hospital is ten kinds of Hell for her." "What kind of piece do you normal carry?" Rios asked her. Unsocial didn't mean stupid. "I use a Glock-22 and Rachel carries a STI Perfect 10," I answered. "We have been experiencing quite a gopher problem around the office." I could have done better; I should have done better. I was just too tired inside to create an inventive lie. "Do have gun licenses for those weapons?" Mr. ATF kept prodding at our cover story. "It seems Ms. Louis; is it Ms. Ms. Louis?" Brewster continued. I flashed Rachel a look which she interpreted correctly. "Yes, my name is Ms. Rachel Louis," Rachel replied. To me, "I find this distraction to be annoying. We should go." "It would seem Ms. Louis has all kinds of;” Brewster got out before Rachel snatched the wallet from his grip with the speed of a Peregrine Falcon. Brewster had this stunned look familiar to crows, doves and starlings the world over as one of their kin passed into the next life in a flash. A combination of 'No you didn't!' with 'what the flock?' "Ah;” Brewster got out. "On that note, I think we will be going," I shrugged. To Rachel, "You do not get out enough." "Can I see your wallet again?" Brewster was still confused by Rachel's rudeness. He was a cop for the love of God. People not wanting to go to jail do not snatch things from a cop's hands. "I gave you my wallet. I am not to blame if you used its time in your possession unwisely," Rachel counterattacked. "Unless there is a legal technicality, we shall be leaving. If there is a legal issue, here," she produced a business card with a flourish, "is the contact information for our legal department." Theodora took the card gingerly then read it. "Havenstone again," she mused. "Are you sure this is the path you wish to take, Mr. Nyilas?" "Are you insane?" I trembled with emotion. "I want to be back in New York, working my queue and thinking about what my date and I will be doing tonight. I want my Dad to be alive. I don't want to be thinking that the last time we talked I forgot to tell him I loved him." "Path, you Idiot!" I screamed at Theodora. Screw it, I was crying again. "Not a damn thing any of you can do will bring my Dad back to me; so fuck off!" In a strange way, that was what they had been looking for. Not my wounded soul, but my rage and pain toward a World suddenly found to be cruel and pointless. Behind my crumbling façade was another worry. Outside in the parking lot were three Amazons with weapons ready to rush to my aid. It wasn't that the Host was rash, or reckless, by nature. I was one of the fifty-six most important people in their society. Three other SD members had died in the defense of House Ishara already and they were damn sure those women would not have died in vain. I wasn't leaving in federal custody willingly and if I walked out in restraints, I wasn't sure if they would decide offing some law enforcement agents and staging my kidnapping was the best course of action. Remember, I wanted to bury my Father. They wanted to keep me alive. If those two goals collided, they would apologize after the fact. "Mr. Nyilas, I really believe we should;” Theodora got out then I brushed past her. It was a delicate moment and the chemistry between Rachel and I wasn't lost on most of them. She was a bodyguard yet my servant too. It was professional tribalism; two words that don't normally get along. Rios picked up on the other undercurrent. He recoiled from Rachel, retreating to buy space when/if Rachel attacked. Unlike the rest, he sensed that aggression by law enforcement would be met with lethal force. The Amazon didn't care about the badge and the legions of fellow officers backing it up. She was fearless. Things weren't over yet. "Mr. Nyilas, where are you going next?" Detective Lisa came after us. "I; I don't know," I muttered. "Where is my Father's body? I know he wanted to be cremated and buried beside Mom; I guess." Brewster came hurrying along. "He is at the Medical Examiner's Office," Lisa informed me. "Come with me." "Why don't you give me the address?" I sighed. "Do you and your buddy know your way around Chicago, Hometown Boy?" Lisa kept it up. She was hitting on me and lining me up at the same time. "How about we cut to the chase?" I looked at her with tear-soaked eyes. "We'll take my cars; cars with an 's'," I offered. "I am a hometown boy. I've never had a reason to locate the Medical Examiner before. Since I have a boatload of angry women with guns who will not fit into your sedan and leaving them behind isn't an option, mine is the only means of travel that makes sense." Low and behold, the two cops looked at each other then followed Rachel and I to our little caravan. We were too close for the officers to have missed Rachel snapping off some quick, coded instructions to her team; most likely to hide the seriously illegal firearms. To say the Amazons were not pleased with my decisions spoke volumes to their concern for me and lack of police experience. Pamela, who had beaten us back to the cars, seemed privately entertained as always. Rachel was reluctantly sitting up front. Lisa, Brewster and I were in the second row and Pamela sat in back. Not only did the two not get a good look at Pamela, she was perfectly placed to do all kinds of mischief unseen. "So the woman upstairs works with you?" Lisa asked as we pulled out. "Where to?" Tiger Lily (I still wasn't used to that name) requested of our Police 'buddies'. Lisa popped off the address. It was 'I'll scratch your back, you'll scratch mine'. Tiger Lily entered the data into the onboard computer and off we went. "No. She does not work for me, or my boss, directly. She was at my Father's on my behalf though I was unaware of it," I related. "Are you going to tell us what the hell happened?" Brewster prodded. "That I don't know. I am not personally aware of anyone who would want to kill my Father, or me," I answered. "Anyone who would want to get at me would come at me, not Dad," I continued. "I don't live in a fortress. It is a hardly spacious apartment near the East River. I share the place with my roommate, Timothy Denver, and a; companion by the name of Odette Sievert." "Companion? Is she; a working girl?" Lisa went searching. "No, I use the term companion to indicate she's too nice a girl for me. She's sweet, conscientious and giving. My only wish for Odette is that she finds a guy who can appreciate her a hell of a lot more than I do," I explained. "Timothy is my gay, body-building tattoo artist best friend. I've gotten the feeling he's busted some heads in his time. Hardly anything noteworthy." "Mr. Nyilas, have you ever considered that you live a very messy life?" Brewster pondered. "One does not 'consider' what one knows to be true. One knows it to be true and moves on," I grumbled. "Yes, I know I live a screwed up life." "What about your friends here?" Lisa indicated the other three women in the vehicle. This elicited another groan from me. "Investigator Brewster; Horace and Detective Capella; Lisa, please call me Cáel. This is the point I accept that I am exhausted and not in any shape to make good decisions. I'll plead the Fifth," I confessed. "We already know you were in New York when your father was murdered, Mister; Cáel," Brewster stated. "Everyone we've talked to says you and your father were very close. Barring some expensive Life Insurance policy being taken out on him, we have no reason to suspect you had a direct hand in his death. Not being a suspect, that implies you have no Fifth Amendment, or Miranda Rights to hide behind; just so we are clear," Brewster schooled me. "I can make this game of footsy easy on all of you," Pamela whispered. The officers jolted in their seats. "Cáel cannot talk to you for the very reason the Fifth Amendment exists." "You are not like the rest of this menagerie," Lisa noted. "Nah, I kill people for a living. The rest of the group has some code of conduct that keeps you two alive," Pamela smiled. Those two didn't know what to make of Pamela's statement because it was so sincere yet incredible. "If Cáel tells you anything else he will be admitting to his involvement in a criminal conspiracy. Said conspiracy is why Ferko Nyilas is dead, but Cáel had nothing to do with it," Pamela enlightened them. Fact digestion time for the two law dogs. Brewster recovered faster. "But why was Ferko Nyilas murdered?" he asked. "The men didn't come to kill him," Pamela kept talking about the tea and crumpets. "They probably showed up to escort him to a place where some far more important scumbags could talk with him." "The all-girl squad was there and Ferko was caught in the crossfire," Lisa mumbled. "Why was there a firefight if his life was in danger and both sides wanted him alive?" "Stupidity," Pamela replied. "Give any group of people guns and then surprise them, stupid shit happens; I apologize Cáel." "I don't buy that," Brewster said. "They simply started shooting at each other; no." "Okay Horace, let me break it down for you. The ladies were told to go there and guard the guy without being told why. The men who showed up were most likely told to grab Ferko without knowing why either." "That makes no sense," Lisa protested. "Congratulations. That is why Cáel can't talk to you anymore," Pamela smirked. "This is the sort of crap he has inadvertently been caught up with; no fault of his own. If he did any of this on purpose, I'd kill him myself." "He is some poor schmuck who only wanted a 7 to 5 job, to make tons of money and bedding a different girl every night," Pamela teased me. "He's no criminal mastermind, or even a convincing criminal. If he has a failing it is that he tends to merely beat up people who deserve to have their spleens ripped out instead. I'm training him to be smarter than that." "Who are you?" Brewster gawked. Pamela gave a sinister smile. Lisa looked at me. "I've fought a woman with a twelve foot stick with a pointy bit of metal at the end with little thought to my personal safety. This lady (Pamela) scares me. She is with me because I have no means of stopping her and I put saving others a great deal of pain and suffering over my own unsettled nerves." "Do you really think you are that good?" Lisa half-turned around to face Pamela. "Do you want your gun back?" Pamela offered up a police issue Glock 22, grip first. My kind of gun. How sad. I was too depressed to seduce Officer Lisa. Brewster reached around to check is firearm. It was still there, much to his relief. "How did you do that?" Lisa wondered as she retrieved and inspected her weapon. Pamela tapped Brewster's shoulder with the man's magazine. Brewster was aghast. She'd stolen his gun, taken out the ammo and returned it without him noticing. "I found it on the floor. The truth is a bit more expensive than you are willing to pay at the moment, believe me," Pamela grinned. Why had Pamela showboated? She was buying me some mental respite. She was also exhibiting to the two police folks that there might be some truth to her outlandish tale of criminal conspiracies. Unlike the other Amazons, Pamela knew we had to maintain friendly relations with some part of law enforcement if I was going to bury my Father. (The Medical Examiner's Office) So much happens in life we rarely put the timespan of events in context. Talking with a person in line who turns out to make your day better/worse, become a friend and/or a date. In a matter of a few seconds your life has been altered. Two minutes later and you would have missed getting the concert tickets where you meet your future; whomever. Two minutes sooner and you get caught in the 'speed trap' instead of the other poor sap who you drive past as they sit on the side of the road keeping the patrol officer company. His/her insurance rate goes up while you have that extra money for later. Had we arrived two minutes earlier to the morgue; disaster aborted. Two minutes later would have equated to a frustrating mystery. Life was not so kind. It was the same group as before; Detective Lisa, Investigator Horace, Rachel and I. We had just added an Assistant Medical Examiner who was going over information garnered from the autopsy with the two cops. Pamela was 'checking things out', whatever that meant. The key to it all was Rachel being Rachel. Security Detail are more than simply elite fighting-women. They are also bodyguards, security specialist and normally stack a third specialty into the mix. When Rachel spotted five armed people in the hallway right outside the Medical Examiner's autopsy room, her alertness spiked. Only one was a uniformed police officer. Rachel was still gun-less. The two EMS personnel rolling an occupied body bag out on a gurney shouldn't have had on their heavy jackets on a late June afternoon. The other two men were chatting about something. That wasn't unusual. Where they were standing was; to Lisa's experienced eye. Rachel's heightened anxiety made Lisa double-check everything. Horace didn't know what was wrong yet when Lisa's hand came to rest on her piece, he put his hand on his Ruger SR45. "Excuse me," Lisa called out. No one stopped moving. "Excuse me," Lisa demanded in a louder voice. "I am Detective Lisa Capella, Chicago Police Department; Homicide Division. What is going on?" That was a reach. Bodies exit the morgue all the time. The two people with the body made sense. The two 'odd' fellows weren't breaking any law. In cop-talk, this was called 'gut instinct'. She produced her badge. There was a quick look by the two ambulance folk to the farther of the two 'talking' men. That group were rather competent, just not competent conmen. The two EMS guys turned and tried to give Lisa a causal look. "What can we do for you, officer?" the designated diplomat asked nonchalantly. "Whose body is that?" Lisa inquired. "I'm not sure; all we do is pick 'em up and take them to the appropriate funeral home," he shrugged. "Take ten seconds and show me the release order," Lisa gave a chilly command. The cop at the far end of the hall; the one with the door that lead to the loading/unloading area, was starting to clue in that something wasn't right. "Oh, by the Great Pumpkin, this is bad," Brewster muttered under his breath like a thousand other fathers who engaged in the daily struggle to not curse at work so they wouldn't curse around their children. "Of course, Detective Capella," the diplomat nodded. "Is there a problem?" He carefully pulled out his smart phone and handed it over. Lisa wasn't born yesterday. She handed the phone to me instead of looking at it herself. She was keeping her eyes on the guys with guns. They really did have an order to transfer my Father to a mortuary. Apparently I had requested this be done; without my knowledge. "Cáel Nyilas requested his father be taken to the Green Meadows mortuary in Cicero," I informed Lisa, Rachel and Horace. "I need to talk to Mr. Nyilas," Lisa informed them. "If I can't talk to him, I can't let the body leave this building. This is an ongoing investigation." The 'diplomat' was worried yet Lisa had given him an out. After I returned his phone, he called his off-site boss, who gave him a number which the diplomat gave to Lisa. Lisa called 'me' without my phone ringing. Even so, 'I' confirmed the authorization. The four gunmen relaxed as Lisa hung up. "One more question," Lisa pulled a 'Columbo', "was this a rush job, or are you all 'not ready for prime time players'?" The 'diplomat' made one last lunge at deception. "Detective Capella, our work order is legitimate," he shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what you mean?" "Funeral homes have their own uniforms; they do not dress as EMS," Lisa deconstructed their illusions. "The bodies of murder victim are not released by the Medical Examiner until a cause of death is known and that information is released to the homicide detective assigned to the case; that would be me, if there was any doubt. Your two buddies down the hall could have read and critiqued the Magna Carta in the time it has taken for you to do your 'song and dance'," Lisa pointed out. "Oh, and the real Cáel Nyilas is standing next to me. Whoever talked with me on the phone is going to jail too. Now I suggest the four of you face the wall, put your hands over your head, palms against the wall and no one will get hurt." Darwin check time; they drew their guns. Of course they drew their guns. Why would they not draw their guns considering the farthest enemy was all of 4 meters away and the only immediately cover was my Dad's horizontal corpse? Gurneys tend to be lightweight and mostly empty space. The quickest on the draw was one of the two 'talkers'. He whipped out a 357 Magnum revolver and popped two shots into the police officer next to him; right in the center mass at less than 2 meters; ouch. Rachel was next, making a diving front roll between the two cops, toward the two fake EMS guys. I was right behind her, except my plan was to vault Dad's body and get at the second talker. I was not acting sanely. The second talker went in the next split second. He had brought a sawed-off automatic shotgun to the fight. His first salvo blew a chunk out of the wall next to Lisa's hip. She was less than an eye-blink behind as she put two slugs into the 'diplomat's' armored chest. He was kind enough to drop his Mac 11 from his twitching fingers and into Rachel's hands. Less than a single heartbeat later, the 'diplomat's EMS buddy revealed his own Mac 11. His mistake was not shooting his first target; Brewster. He was tracking Rachel and me instead, hoping to catch us together in a spray of lead. The general feeling was that, for all his law enforcement experience, Investigator Brewster had never actually shot at anyone before. His cop instincts kicked into overdrive. The perpetrators appeared to be wearing body armor and possessed a small arsenal of illegal weapons. His aim tweaked up, he pulled the trigger and a 45 ACP round effectively decapitated his target; our first confirmed casualty. My encounter with the Latin Kings had been a lesson in poor tactical flexibility. This time, by unspoken agreement, the two talkers were exercising their tactical acumen as they began withdrawing toward the exit. With the short range, width of the hall and lack of cover, being shot at by a shotgun, or a 357 didn't make much difference. I was trying to jump onto the gurney and launch myself at the two when my toe caught on the bottom of Dad's body, turning my heroic rush into a face-plant on Father. The men's cover fire worked on Lisa and Horace. Lisa, being more exposed, had to dive flat. Horace crouch-ran to Rachel. Rachel, with her submachine gun, was firing a steady stream of bullets from between the gurney's top surface and bottom shelf. Her shots shattered shotgun guy's shins and blasted off his knee caps. As that bastard screamed and toppled forward, Rachel emptied the magazine into both his thighs and his right hip. By the copious nature of the blood spray, an artery had been clipped, if not severed. Horace grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me off the gurney, down to his side. Lisa fired off a few shots at the vanishing leader, but he was already out the door. Rachel was rifling the closest EMS's headless body, looking for a fresh clip for the M 11. "Don't," Horace cautioned her. Lisa was running to the door. "Rachel, leave the gun and follow me," I commanded. "Wait," Horace called out. He was in an impossible situation. The bold Assistant ME began looking for any survivors, starting with the diplomat. Detective Capella was chasing after a possible cop-killer. I was already running after Lisa and Horace couldn't ride herd on Rachel, catch me and support Lisa all at once. Rachel muttered in Hittite 'dirty goat' at my fleeting form. I was sure its true meaning was far nastier. "Da-darn it," Horace grimaced as he started rushing after the three of us. I doubted it was any consolation to Horace that Lisa shot me an evil look when I caught up to her at the loading dock. There were no cars peeling away and had the bad guy fled out the huge doors 15 meters away, she would have seen him. Rachel arrived next. "Secure my Father's body," I instructed. She wasn't pleased but she wasn't talking back either. Horace showed up last of all. He was talking over his walky-talky, updating the Chicago PD on all the crazy, tragic crap that had gone down. Rachel slipped past Horace on her way back to Dad. The unspoken order was for her to re-arm and stay close, something she couldn't do under Horace's watchful gaze. Lisa and Horace were working out a plan to take their perpetrator down and it didn't include me. I was a civilian after all. My thinking was traipsing in a different direction. They were thinking criminal evasion. I was thinking stone cold, bad-ass killer. He may have already killed one police officer in cold blood. Why not make it three? There was also the mathematics of it all. Two guns are more likely to hit a target than one; I had learned that bit of tactical insight from my time with Aya. My disadvantage was my advantage. I didn't have a gun so I didn't have to position myself so I could shoot at anyone else. "Here I go," I alerted the two officers. My body was flying onto the loading deck before they could stop me. My cockamamie idea saved my life. Maybe he thought I stumbled and lost my piece. Maybe, at the last second, he saw through my deception. Maybe he was wondering what the last episode of 'Defiance' would be like. We'll never know. According to Lisa, he was tracking my fall with his 3 57 Magnum. He didn't shoot because he only had two bullets left, hadn't been able to reload yet and his Berretta 9 mm back-up pistol was on the other side of his body. Two bullets; two cops, he was probably sure he could beat me to death. Anyway, when he figured out the sacrificial lamb was the unarmed me, he returned his aim to the entryway, Lisa and Horace. The guy wasn't behind any sort of cover. He was pressed against the wall so he wouldn't be able to bring his other pistol into play inside that first split second. When Lisa shot him, it had to hurt, but didn't put him down. She shot again; missed. He shot, missed, shot again hitting Lisa and knocking her back and down. The leader pivoted off the wall, bringing his Berretta to bare on Investigator Brewster. A lifetime inside the blink of an eye; Horace's bullet hit the criminal; major brain splatter. Poor Horace. Horace was falling onto his side, taking a wild shot and hoping to keep the gunman from shooting Lisa and I when he accidentally ended the man's existence. The lead bad guy's final shot zipped passed Horace's left shoulder, over my legs and ricocheted off the loading dock wall and into space. Good old Lisa, she staggered to her feet then stumbled over to the gunman, seeking some signs of life. He was alive. Horace's 45 slug had 'only' removed the top half of his brain so the heart and lungs were still being told to beat and breath. As she was making her own call for Emergency Services, a piece of the man's skull that had been clinging to the wall plopped down. That broke Horace. He began vomiting. I rolled over to a sitting position. Rachel peeked in then utilized her blue tooth to stop the rest of the SD team from swarming me in a public building. Cops began showing up. As soon as Detective Capella had made her initial report and dealt with the traumatic injuries among the survivors, she turned on me. "Are you insane!" she screamed at yours truly. "Yes," I muttered. "I've been trying to tell you that for over an hour now." "This is not a joking matter," Lisa moved into my personal space. Was I really so far gone I didn't want sex? Nah; I could do her. "I could have killed people." "To be fair," I stood up, "you didn't kill anyone." The policeman was clinging to life, the 'diplomat' had been saved by his body armor and the second talker's prospects didn't look promising. "Horace buried two and I'm betting the guy Rachel shot isn't going to survive having both his femoral arteries cut. Two decades of Law  and  Order has taught me that some sort of Internal Affair's investigation is going to happen. I imagine there is a great deal of surveillance video so you should be vindicated quickly. We are still going to part ways for a while," I pointed out. "Take care." I made to leave. "Where do you think you are going?" Lisa grabbed my arm. "You were involved in a gunfight in a major municipal building. You can't walk away." "Yes I can," I grunted. "Horace, I've pointed you at the dead bodies," I told the Burnham investigator. "Good luck," I patted him on the shoulder. The look he came back with wasn't one of resigned defeat. Oh no, he was going to figure out what the fuck was going on, or else. The rest of the Chicago PD wasn't letting to let us leave either, so off Rachel and I were taken to the closest Precinct where we were non-communicative. (Back with the Feds) Theodora rescued me and Rachel into Federal custody where we were equally useless. It didn't take me long to figure out that, compared to Rachel, I was being downright verbose. If me being a jackass was a bonus for the Feds, they didn't exhibit an ounce of appreciation. I really loved Special Agent John Rios getting all 'super ass-kicker' on me. I was looking at 'serious' federal jail time. I was a 'domestic terrorist' and under the Patriot Act; then I fell out of my chair laughing. I was fatigued; my ability to separate desire from reality was fading plus I always fought back with my wits before my fists. "I've been awake for thirty-six hours," I chuckled as I regained my seat. "What is your excuse for being delusional?" I snorted. "I trip up cocky bastards like you all the time," John sat on the table, hovering above me. "You think you've got all the angles covered. You don't, Mr. Nyilas. People like you take things for granted, screw up and then you are all turning on each other like rats." "Ugh," I sighed. "Fine, Brainiac, what am I doing wrong? To clarify the question for you, what crime am I involved with that makes me a criminal, a terrorist, or a criminal terrorist?" "Guns, Cáel Nyilas," John sneered. "With all the people running around with all those firearms, it is pretty freaking obvious." "Wow; uh; John;” I started. <

Soph's back on the house renovations this week, flexing her savant flat pack skills, while Emma's been dealing with manual baby evacuations. Plus, we hear from one mum whose itchy leg shenanigans ended up not being stealthy at all. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

With all the fighting  and  sex, my work reviews should suck. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..  “Saving a life isn't about worthiness. It is about instinct and guts.” (Friday) Since I liked to think that life encouraging me with bruises, punctures, cuts and concussions made me smarter, I had scheduled some eleven o'clock gym time most of the week so to avoid the whole lunch and after-work crowds. Aya and I went to the 'Others' gym, which was nice, but wasn't as complete as the Full/Pure-blood one. Most notable was the lack of weapons. Aya's and my trip to the 'Other' gym on Friday hit a snag. Aya clued in on the fact that I was avoiding the Pure-blood facility. We talked about it. I explained I wasn't a Pure-blood. Her counter-argument was she was and I should confront my fears. Yes, I lost an argument with a nine year old. I have talked a nineteen year old, promise-ring virgin into nameless sex in an airport stall. Aya was an unassailable wall of resolve that dashed all of my ploys into so many useless words. I found myself entering the real 'No Man's Land' twice in less than a week. Not only was I hard-headed, I was also obviously soft-hearted. At the last moment, I imagined I had a reprieve. I didn't have to tell Aya how I got in the first time; grabbing an open door. I could swipe my card, have it rejected and move on to safer pursuits. Sure enough, my card failed. Aya's didn't; mother-puss-bucket! Upon entering, the twenty, or so women in the place looked at me; and Aya. I recognized somebody. It was Constanza, Elsa's chief evil henchwoman. Our eyes met. She smiled in a way that assured me she vividly recalled our last encounter. It should be of no surprise that I insulted her somewhere in the process. It's how I roll. I smiled back at Constanza and gave her a nod before setting up Aya and me for our workout routine. Constanza was not mollified in the slightest. She was patiently waiting; for something. I decided that Aya would be my sole focus and banished the other women from my mind. The munchkin could tell the difference and relayed that to me with her happiness. After twenty minutes, she decided her time with the machines was done and her minutes were better spent resting against, or sitting on, me. My cock was reminding me that it was approaching 36 torturous hours without sex. It was also pointing out that there were thirty available, sexually inquisitive women achingly close. I reminded my penis that being relocated was probably as fun-less as it sounded. That bought me some time. We finished up our sojourn by walking the wall, going over the weapon racks. Mainly we went over the ones various members of her family were proficient with. Aya still had problems with even the most basic ones. The words 'let me help you' spilled out of my mouth. There were two problems; Aya's tiny size and the fact that all the weapons were very dangerous. Even the leaf-shaped short blade was too heavy for her so we ended up screwing around instead. I picked up two Iron Age style axes. The blades were more of a thick wedge than the broad axe heads of medieval fame. They were less effective in delivering damage, compensating somewhat in their reduced weight. I've convinced a Jewish girl to have sex in a synagogue despite me not being Jewish yet this child was twirling me around her pinkie finger. I was entertaining her with some exotic, flamboyant moves wielding two axes while Aya clapped her hands and giggled when I felt a stranger approach me on the sparring mat. I had been hopping around keeping all my weight on my right leg until that moment. I turned to face the woman, putting my left behind me yet while keeping it firmly on the ground. I also drew my axes up, crossing them over my chest, blades pointing past my shoulders. "I have never seen that technique before," she addressed me. That and what followed was all in the Amazon tongue. "It is more of a fantasy creation. I had a love affair with pseudo-archaic movies that always do the crazy, two-weapon stuff so my mentor helped me create this method," I explained. "Has it ever been tested?" she continued. "I am Cáel Nyilas," I answered, "and yes, my mentor preferred using a poleaxe, or a mace/shield combo against me." "Oneida," she seemed amused. "We will see how well you have been tested." "May I request a favor?" I tried to keep my cool. She pulled out one of those damn spears. "Yes," she seemed intrigued. "Can you call someone over to sit with Aya? I don't want her to accidently set foot on the mat," I beseeched. "Drusilla, please aid me," Oneida summoned an observer. The woman had heard my appeal and settled beside the nervous, kneeling Aya. "Cáel, please be careful," Aya pleaded. "Who me?" I chuckled. "I'm impervious to all man-made contrivances." "Every weapon in this room was crafted by women," Oneida snorted. "That would certainly explain my full-body bruising and the hole in my leg," I grinned back. I caught Oneida trying to sneak closer to me. My axes came to a ready position and I charged. I was sure some sort of medic would punish me for this later. She got off two jabs then I was all over her. I knew how to fight a two and a half meter spear. She had no clue how to plot out two incoming weapons with an extra meter of reach. The first time I drove her off the mat. The second time, I got inside her guard and clocked her in the temple with the back end of an axe head. I quickly hopped back three paces, knelt and put my axes on the mat. The rush to get me was stillborn. A few did come to stand over me while two others checked on Oneida who quickly came around. "What happened?" were Oneida's first, shaky words. "He hit you," one of her companions answered. "With what; the Moon?" Oneida mumbled as they helped her up. "My ears are still ringing." "My turn," Constanza announced. She went for a spear, blade, and round leather-covered, wicker shield. "Give Cáel a moment to rest," Aya appealed. "He has been fighting longer." No such luck. I was halfway to exhausted as well. Fighting with two weapons pretty much means just that; twice the fight. Kinetically speaking, I was burning around 80% more calories than my one weapon opponents. I was wielding axes, not fighting sticks after all. In my favor was a deep wellspring of stamina and my Will reinforced by my desire to not upset Aya. What little time I was given wasn't out of charity. A second Amazon was joining the struggle. I could back off, but I felt Constanza would enforce an intense level of groveling solely to grind up Aya emotionally. She didn't hate Aya. Aya was an avenue to really hurt me and we both knew it. For a second, when I hobbled off the mat, there were chuckles. I had fled. That ended as I began retrieving some select weapons from the wall racks. Sword harnesses came in two varieties; belted and shoulder slings. I took two shoulder slings and two more axes. I affixed my two 'spare' axes with leather straps. As I turned to the mat, Constanza had decided to be clever. She and her buddy had closed to within three meters of the edge. They would box me in as soon as my second foot touched down on the mat. "Please back up," I requested. Constanza smiled with supreme confidence. I smiled back. This was going to be dangerous, agonizing and unorthodox; totally me. I began backing up. "Cáel," Aya murmured. "Don't let them hurt you." "Running away?" Constanza sneered. "Aya, wickedness is the expedience of the weak," I nodded her way. "Do you think I can win?" "Of course," Aya sighed happily. "I am by your side." I laughed. I charged. The Amazons did the precisely wrong thing; the stepped up to meet me. You keep thrusting weapons, like spears, aimed at the central part of the body. This allows you to deviate your projection anywhere from the thighs to the face. This does imply you know where the central part of the enemy will be. This was not playschool. Real weapons; real damage; real death. They didn't have to kill me. It didn't mean they wouldn't. I leapt. I didn't leap at them, I leapt over them. Let's not forget I'm pretty freaking strong. My left leg shot-gunned pain straight to the brain but held it together. I sailed over their thrusting spear points, flipped my axes down so that they would impact the mats first. The flat tops of the axe heads impacted the mat and my body rose up and then flipped over them. This gave me an extra meter and a half on my back flip. I turned that maneuver into summersault, giving three more meters of space. I rolled over to my side and rode the momentum to my feet, facing my adversaries. Now they were the ones in the corner of the mat with their enemy pinning them in and I wasn't done yet. With all my might, I hurled my right-handed axe at Constanza's companion. She did exactly what I thought she'd do. She saw the throw halfway in motion and raised her shield up; right where I wanted it. Amazon shields aren't what most people think shields are today. They think medieval knights, or more appropriately, the shields of the Greek hoplites. The Amazons date back 700 years before those Greeks and they weren't heavy infantry anyway. Amazons moved light and fast. Consequently, their shields were light; wicker constructs with layers of leather stretched over the frame. Great for deflecting light weapons; not so great for what I was about to do. The steel axe head shattered the top half of the wicker frame. It saved her life, but now she had this useless object strapped to her arm. It also had the added bonus of knocking her back while Constanza engaged me alone. Her first jab forced me to jump back, but I still was able to draw my first spare axe. My luck with women held up a little longer. The other Amazon hesitated just long enough to remove her shattered shield. Alone with Constanza, I attacked. She thrust, I captured her spear head between my axe handles and yanked her forward. We kicked out simultaneously. Her off-balanced strike brushed past my abused left leg. My right kick hit her shield and knocked her down. Her grip on the spear slipped and I propelled it somewhere behind me. Constanza pulled off a reverse summersaulted while drawing her short blade. A really nice move. Unfortunately, it moved her away from the chick with the spear, who hesitated again. This time she took the thrown axe straight to the head; back end impacting. I didn't want to kill her. Constanza anticipated my next action. It came down to position, distance, and stride length and they all favored me. We raced to the downed companion. My left-handed axes flat side slammed into her forehead, rendering her unconscious, and I kicked her spear off the mat; out of bounds. I slowly backed away from Constanza and readied my second spare axe. "Retire from the field," I panted. I was physically failing fast. "Why should I?" Constanza glared. "You are about to fall over." "Aya won't let me fall," I stared her down. "You couldn't beat me with a companion and a spear, Constanza. Do you really think a shield and sword will work any better." "Let's find out," she charged. I really needed the short breather to recover somewhat. The short Amazon blade was an excellent close-in weapon. I never let her get close enough to use it. Tandem axes allowed me to shred her shield while keeping her at arm's length. My axe bit into her upper left arm right above the elbow. Constanza hissed instead of screaming. She did stagger back. I hopped back three steps, knelt and placed my axes on the mat at my side. "No!" Constanza howled. She came at me while I remained still. Her hand drew back for a killing thrust. I waited. Sparing my life didn't stop her. The looks of her fellow Amazons held back her wrath. They wouldn't stop her from slaughtering me, but that was exactly what it was; a butchery. Two things occurred to me: Aya was showing remarkably better control today than on Saturday, and I figured out a way to sleep with Buffy tonight. Being killed? Nah, worry about the things you have control over. "Constanza, he was instructing me," Oneida stood up. She took up Constanza's discarded spear and stepped toward us. What disturbed the gathering was how Oneida held it; sidewise, not ready for combat. "You do not intimidate me, Oneida," Constanza growled. "You misunderstand," Oneida intoned. "I would do this out of shame and despair." "I will shear my hair, burn it and take myself to the cliffs to die childless," she continued. "I leave whatever contempt you might possess for me to be conveyed to my House when they learn your actions have killed one of their last breeding females. The death of some male will not concern them. My death will. The shame I bear for killing a teacher will certainly interest many of our people." "You wouldn't dare," Constanza scoffed. The spear dropped. Fuck that noise. I snatched the last quarter of the shaft before it hit the ground. No one seemed to understand what to do about that. Apparently my reaction was unique. "Yay!" Aya cheered. "He's the best Daddy ever," she loudly announced to the crowd. "Oneida, my apology, but Katrina has put her faith in me and the New Directive," I adlibbed. "I am here to aid the recovery of your people, not diminish them. For the sake of Katrina's honor, please reconsider." "Cáel Nyilas," Oneida smiled sadly, "this is not a pledge that can be retracted." "Ah; doesn't it only take effect when the weapon hits the ground?" I struggled. "I mean, otherwise dropping the weapon would be pointless; right?" I repeat, apparently this had never come up before. "This is kind of awkward. Can someone take this?" I meant the spear. I was worn to the bone and holding a long spear from one end, with one hand. Quickly calls went out to Hayden as well as a few department heads. "Constanza," one of the Amazons spoke up, "if you attack the male, you will be actively sealing Oneida's Death Pledge. Far fewer of us will understand that." "How is it that you are so damn lucky?" Constanza growled at me. "You are asking this of a man, on his knees before you with your sword at his throat?" I countered. "Lucky isn't you sparing my life. Lucky is me never having heard of this place; Except for Aya. She makes the rest of this hellish experience worthwhile." "Best Daddy ever," Aya chirped. "Hayden is on her way," a different Amazon called out. Already a passel of newcomers were swarming the scene. Truly curious was the group looking mournfully at Oneida. One stepped forward. "Male, do you need something? Water?" she asked. I gave it some thought. "Could you sing?" I requested. "A nice soothing song of hope would be nice." Blink. Like all panicked moments, nothing came to mind for several seconds. Oneida's people rapidly bantered about some names then the questioner began singing. By the third song I was crying and shaking like a leaf. Constanza had fallen back enough to get her arm tended to. Twice Aya had tried to get me, lending me the tiniest bit more strength. Wisely, her minder kept her away from the possible conflict. There was a whole different level of commotion when Hayden arrived this time. "To bear a weapon in my presence is Death, Cáel," Hayden stated. "I apologize for being a disappointing Male," I grunted. "Pass on my regrets to Katrina." "Drop the weapon and you will be spared. You will only be beaten," Hayden gave a hint of a smile. "If I drop it, she dies," I hissed. The ache in my right arm was exceeding that in my left leg. "I'm afraid I will have to decline," I concluded. "If I kill you, the spear will drop and she'll die anyway," Hayden pointed out. "Sucks to be both of us, I guess," I gasped. "Oneida, step on the spear. Push it down," Hayden ordered. Hush. Oneida raised her foot. "You are stepping in the wrong place," I huffed. She looked at me. My eyes flashed to the short side between my grip and my side. "Do you really think you can hold it up?" she questioned. "I know I'll fail if you step anywhere else," I tried to grin. "No matter what happens, you will die," she murmured. "Not my chief concern right now," I grunted. "Hurry." Oneida put her foot on the short end. "It will help your balance if you place a hand on his shoulder," Hayden noted. We both flashed Hayden a shocked look. Oneida stepped on the spear. It trembled and sunk down, barely millimeters off the mat. Her hand came to rest on the crux of my neck and shoulder. I felt my body about to tip over. I was at my limit. I almost missed the gasps whispering around the assembly. Oneida had her body off the ground. Hayden lowered herself so that she could witness there was a distance between the spear and the earth. "The spirits have not heard your pledge, Oneida," Hayden declared as she regained her regal posture. "I suggest you weigh your words with greater care in the future. Retrieve your spear." She turned and started to leave the gym. Oneida dismounted and snatched up her spear. "What of the male?" one of the spectators inquired. I didn't care. I had fallen on my back. "At a moment of such great spiritual significance; the ancestral rejection of a Death Pledge, the action of any one male does not concern me," Hayden remarked coldly. It wasn't praise. It was a 'don't fuck with him'. Around me a cultural conundrum was taking place. Not only could Oneida's house not thank me because I was a male, they couldn't thank me because, by Hayden's decree, there was no life to be saved. Oneida bent over me on one knee. "You really shouldn't be so eager to toss your life away, Cáel," she smiled warmly. I was essentially immobile. "You have the most gorgeous blue-grey eyes," I moaned. "You are thinking about that at a time like this?" she snorted. Her relatives were shockingly amused as well. "No time like the present. Besides, in 75 days you can all go out to some nature preserve and hunt me down with non-lethal weapons. Great way to spend a weekend." I heard an authoritative cough. I looked up from my still prone position to see Katrina. "Cancel that Oneida. I'm about to get relocated to Antarctica where I'll be tasked with teaching penguins how to arm wrestle," I sighed. "Cáel, why do you think I'd be so nice to you after all the hell you cause me on a daily basis?" Katrina looked all menacing. "You recall how much I like winter sports?" I pleaded. "Hey; wait. I was good on Friday. Wasn't I good on Friday?" "I don't recall you having a good day yet, but I may double check. Can you stand?" Katrina asked. "Is that a question, or veiled order?" I muttered. "If the former; no. If that latter, I'll die trying." Using a combination of my right leg and left arm, I managed to struggle my way upright. By that time, Aya had circled the practice mat and was at Katrina's side. "He was very brave," Aya insisted. One of Oneida's senior women coughed. "Nothing happened so nothing has changed," Katrina stated. It was a lie and both sides knew it. It was the whole loyalty/martial valor thing. Inside their closed little minds a balancing act had taken place; my worthlessness as a male against Oneida's value to her people. Aya was easy to discount as she was of Katrina's house. I had no clue who Oneida was yet still rallied to her when she desperately needed help; Hayden's obfuscation be damned. Yeah, Oneida had been young and foolish. Her challenge had been given to make Constanza back off. When Constanza called her bluff, pride took over. Oneida had been foolhardy and overly status conscious. Constanza had played Russian roulette with their House's future and almost 'won'. She'd be wise to avoid darkened corridors for the next few weeks too. There was not only Oneida's house but the houses allied to it to worry about despite Hayden's expunging of the official record. For me, it was time to be dragged over to my cute doctor friend. I had been slashed twice by the spears during my jump and not noticed it; adrenaline no doubt. "Congratulations, you and Aya are forbidden to work. I thought keeping you in the building would be safer. I'm mature enough to admit I was wrong," Katrina conceded. "No place is safe for you, or from you. I'm sending you home, under guard." "Can I choose Buffy?" I perked up. Katrina arched an eyebrow. "I also need something," I kept slaloming down toward Hell. "I need a six hour dispensation from you on the whole sex thing with employees." "Oh Goddess," Katrina laughed. "What part of me wanting you to stay alive have you missed?" "Are you going to sleep with my Mommy now?" Aya grinned. "No," Katrina answered for me, "he's going to play with Buffy." Right on the money. One scary-smart woman without a doubt. "Best of all, I'll let you assign Buffy to be your security for the night and you can tell her the good news when you get home. Aya, that means Cáel does, not you." "Yes Aunt Katrina," Aya moaped. She wanted me to be banging Caitlyn; her Momma. We would make love, Caitlyn would take me as her mate and I'd be Aya's Daddy for real. She'd kill me a month later for my twelfth indiscretion. I'm not a fortuneteller. I'm a bookie and I knew the odds of me staying faithful were a sucker's bet. The only questions were how many and with which one Caitlyn would kill me with. I wasn't sure how to break that reality to Aya. After getting bandaged/tortured my doctor, cleaned up and redressed, I managed to survive the rest of the day without catastrophe. (Later) "Cáel, do you realize that you've been wounded more than most Security Detail recruits do during their basic training?" Violet teased me. Buffy was too furious for coherent speech. "It isn't his fault, Buffy," Aya pleaded. "He wasn't seducing a woman, or anything like that. Oneida tried to sex him up all on her own." Huh? "Constanza's nipples were very aroused and we all know what she wanted." I really was worrying about the twisted sexual education Aya was getting. She knew the terms, but was missing out on the complete meaning of what she was saying. "Oneida? Who the hell is Oneida?" Buffy growled. "She's one of the new hires with Acquisitions," Violet answered. Brian Fung's group. "What were you making eyes at her for?" Buffy snarled possessively. "He didn't," Katrina swept into the office. "She made a Death Pledge and Cáel, acting as a vessel for our Ancestors, refused it; so the youngest breeding female in House Arinniti gets to keep living." I grunted because I knew who Arinniti was, or had been. "Vessels for the Ancestors?" Violet gasped. "Arinniti; that name rings a bell," Buffy mumbled. "She's one of the twenty founding bloodlines," Aya gladly provided. Katrina took her seat behind her desk and regarded me with something between amusement, annoyance, and pride. Oh, and sex. "Violet, Cáel held a weapon in the presence of Hayden; the spear that Oneida had dropped to seal her pledge. If he was a male acting alone, he would have to be killed. Is that the course of action you wish to recommend to the High Priestess?" Katrina suggested. "Ancestors work for me," Violet gulped. "You can't take back a Death Pledge," Buffy turned to Katrina. "It is a Death Pledge." "It appears you can if Cáel is in the room," Katrina smirked. "Best Daddy ever!" Aya yipped. "He caught the spear before it hit the ground and held it until Hayden came by and read the signs from the Ancestors that Cáel was supposed to retract Oneida's words. Hayden even had Oneida stand on the spear, but Da; Cáel didn't let it fall." "Maybe the Ancestors think Cáel is sexy too," Aya added. Groan. "They had better not," Buffy spun back to me threateningly. Fine, if some undead man-haters thought I was hot; sigh; that might entail there would be no rest for me even in the afterlife. "Buffy, do you have plans for this weekend?" I glared. "Why?" she snapped. "Great. Katrina, I want Buffy to be my bodyguard for this weekend," I looked to my boss. Aya almost slipped up, but bit her lip to hold herself back. "Fine," Katrina grumbled. "I promised you that you could choose your guardian. I was truly hoping you would pick among the candidates from SD I suggested, but so be it." "I have to be around him all weekend?" Buffy howled. "Yeah," I exhaled happily, "and I plan to have sex all weekend long." From the look on Buffy's face, she knew she was going to die. She was going to see me having sex with someone else, snap, kill me then kill herself out of shame and grief. Yep, she was going to die. It turned out Aya was off to Amazon Summer Camp for Squirts. We quickly arranged a series of smoke signals she could use to send for me if she was in danger. Desiree rolled her eyes, hefted Aya's luggage and left with my tiny boon companion. I sobbed. "Katrina, can I go see her when she's at camp?" I turned to my boss. "Cáel Nyilas, this is a place where we send our greatest treasure; our children," Katrina smirked. "We will not discuss the abuse of power it would be for me to reveal the location to you." "Cool; Daphne, where is it?" I turned to my closest female new hire. "I won't tell you and it changes every year," Daphne smiled. "But you know where it is this year," I persisted. "I didn't say I didn't," Daphne beamed. "Fine. Come home with me. While my ogress henchwoman holds you down, I'll tickle the truth out of you," I menaced. "Buffy don't!" Tigger shouted. Buffy was about to brain me with my reading lamp. I was fearless. "Okay, Bubbles," I beamed vindictively. "Go get us a car and make it snappy." There was a hush. "What? Did I use any words that were too big for you to understand?" Buffy's screamed caused people to reach for their sidearm three floors away. She stormed out, thankfully not running over anyone. "Do you want to die?" Violet tugged my sleeve. "Let the 'Lost Blood' (Old Kingdom Hittite) deal with him," Fabiola sneered. "They are both annoyances." I took a deep breath. "Fabiola, your laws regulate what I can and can't say to you," I stared at her. "Instead, I beseech you to never insult a 'Runner' (Old Kingdom Hittite) in my presence again." "Buffy is a 'Lost Blood' (Old Kingdom Hittite)," Fabiola defied me. I took another deep breath then hobbled over to Katrina's desk, retrieved a pen, piece of paper and a nice, soapstone-encased lighter. By the time I got back to my desk, I certainly had the new hires' attention. Since Fabiola was a Latin name, I had to guess at what it would look like in the Amazon alphabet. "Daphne, is this right?" I asked. She shook her head. She wouldn't give me the answer. I got it on the third try. I showed Fabiola her name on the paper then burned it. I rubbed the ashes between my palms then showed Fabiola my blackened palms. "What does that mean?" Paula inquired. She was worried. I was both flamboyant and hardcore at the same time. "Who cares?" Fabiola mocked me. "'Ghost'" I said in Old Kingdom Hittite. It took them a few seconds to realize it had a second definition; invisible. I had no doubt Katrina fully understood the implications of my actions. "Cáel, I will have to consult with Hayden over this," Katrina mused. I gave a nod, collected my stuff and headed for the elevator. "Katrina, what did he do?" Dora chimed in. "He murdered Fabiola," Katrina enlightened them. "In his mind, she no longer exists." "Can he do that?" Violet wondered. Fabiola took after me. "Cáel," she called out. I ignored her. She caught up. "Cáel." Ignored. Then she shoved me from behind in the shoulder. I kept walking. "Don't you ignore me!" she seethed. Daphne was coming up fast. "Leave him alone," Daphne insisted. Fabiola shoved me again. I was almost at the elevator. "Don't," Helena came up. She was aiming for Daphne because Daphne was about to kick Fabiola. "She's insulting you!" Daphne reacted to Helena while pointing at Fabiola. "He is a man," Helena explained. "We don't fight over men." Meaning that couldn't be the primary excuse, not that it never happened. "Katrina, make me Cáel's boss," Fabiola shouted. Well, I would never dare shout at Katrina unless her life was on the line. Also, technically Fabiola couldn't be my boss, being a 'new hire' and all. "Cáel Nyilas, Fabiola is your boss for the next five minutes," Katrina intoned. Oh fuck. "Cáel, to my side," Fabiola gloated. I looked past her to Katrina, sighed and punched the elevator button. "Don't turn your back on me," Fabiola snarled. A tug of war developed. She kept trying to turn me away from the elevator doors and I refused to be budged. Fabiola drew her blade. Shit. "You cannot run far enough away that I will let you get away with that," Daphne seethed in Old Kingdom Hittite. Fabiola was about to meet that challenge. "What are you doing?" Katrina had been coming out of her office when she caught the exchange. "I;” Daphne stammered. She'd screwed up. "Apologize," Katrina commanded. Daphne apologized grudgingly. The doors opened. "Cáel, hold the door." I did. "Cáel, to my side," Fabiola repeated. She thought she was about to win. I stayed where I was. "Fabiola, he can't hear you," Katrina pointed out. "Of course he can hear me," Fabiola rebutted. "No; no he can't," Katrina remained calm. "You have rendered yourself dead to him. Since he is not a priestess, or augur, he cannot hear the voices of the dead." "He cannot willfully decide he can't hear me," Fabiola demanded. "Oh, I agree. That would be wrong for him to willfully ignore any Havenstone female. Conversely, he can't allow any of our women to be harmed either," Katrina explained patiently. "So, when he witnessed an assault on the spirit of our women, he attempted to address it." "He approached the perpetrator and politely asked them to refrain from that activity. He was rebuffed. It wasn't like he could physically resolve the issue. To resolve that internal conflict; to defend his sisters but not attack a sister, he symbolically killed the problem. This allowed him to constantly and continuously forget the cause of this disruption." "He can't do that," Fabiola persisted. "Actually, it is pure Cáel," Katrina smirked. "I personally unaware of any scripture, bylaw, or statute that forbids him from doing this. I have given you a reasonable argument that explains his actions. He is essentially working through two conflicting orders." "Now Fabiola, as a perspective leader, what do you suggest he do? Let you force him to be relocated when he breaks your jaw? Let you insult half of Havenstone's staff until one day, one of them snaps and you end up in a Newark landfill? That would be wrong of him to do as he is supposed to lay his life down for us," Katrina kept at it. "What do you suggest?" "How do you resolve the crisis? Before you answer that, consider the fate of Leona," Katrina gave a predatory twist of the lips that would make a Momma T-Rex proud. "This male is making us fight amongst ourselves," Fabiola complained. "I'm not fighting just for the male," Daphne growled. "I'm fighting to have offspring that are strong in both body and mind." "Hey," Helena snorted, "can you imagine how much tougher the women in Acquisitions and Business Management have it? We get to talk about the New Directive without fear of weirding Cáel out." "Please believe me," I chuckled. "I'm still weirded out. There is simply nothing I can do about it so I get on with my day." "I don't understand any of you," Fabiola protested. "Fabiola, will Aya die?" Katrina asked. "Yes." "Why?" Katrina continued. "She is small, weak and hyperactive," Fabiola explained. "Cáel, will Aya die?" "No." "Why?" Katrina gazed at me. "Isn't she small, weak and hyperactive?" "Sure, she's small now, but she's only nine. Look at the size of all the other women in her house. None of them are super-tall either," I answered. "She's not hyperactive. She is very bright with a very active imagination. Once she finds her 'stillness'; her center; she'll do fine. If anything, she's too smart. She figures out that her guardians are worried, why they are worried and has to fight against their disappointment every time she does anything." Fabiola snorted, proving yet again she was clueless to her surroundings. "After all, Katrina, she's related to you and you are one of the scariest-smart people I've ever had the pleasure to know," I smiled. I could reply to Fabiola while not replying. "Cáel, go. You are unlikely to survive Buffy as it is," Katrina directed. Buffy was indeed apoplectic. She did manage to let me retrieve my bike before driving me home. Since I was dragging both all my business clothes, toiletries and my bike upstairs with crutches, it was painfully comical. A furious Buffy relented and took a few of my things. We had barely made it in the door when my phone rang. Buffy dumped my belongings in the center of the living room. "Hey," I answered the phone. "Hey, it's Odette," she greeted me happily. "Are you still in the HQ?" "Nope Odette," I grinned at Buffy. "I'm home. Do you want to come over?" "Sure; it's not going to be a problem, is it?" she asked. "I have a good friend over, but if you can stand my illicit behavior, you are more than welcome," I informed her. "Cool," she chirped. "I'll be over in about an hour." "See you soon. Until then Odette," I said. "Now I have to watch you fuck a whore?" Buffy stared at the ground. I wasn't going to go after for the 'whore' thing. She was at the end of her endurance. I knew that. I limped in front of her and pulled out her phone. She was too angry to look up at me so I knelt down. "Buffy," I showed her the text from Katrina about my six hour sexual exemption. She looked up and read it. "So? What does this mean?" Buffy looked ready to explode in tears and fists. "It means that when Constanza had her sword aimed at my throat I figured out a way to ease some of your fears," I stated. She blinked. "You worried that I'd be dead by the end of the month, and I did promise to try and make you the first Havenstone woman I made love to," I explained. "Constanza was about to kill you and you were thinking of me?" is what Buffy got out of all that. "Yeah. I also realized that Aya was far calmer than she was last Saturday, but the major thing was how to ask Katrina for the exemption and lure you here for the weekend," I told her. "Weekend?" Buffy studied me intently. "Yeah," I grinned seductively. "See, I figure we time everything. When we start something naughty, we flip on the timer and the moment we are done, we flip it off," I met her gaze. "That way we squeeze as much out of the six hours as possible; if that's what you want to do?" Buffy hugged me suddenly. "You were about to die and I was the one you were thinking about," Buffy wept. By that, I meant she fell apart emotionally. I had always seen Buffy so fierce that I was caught off-guard by this open vulnerability. I hugged her back and snuggled her close. She sniffled for several seconds. "This doesn't count, does it?" she hiccupped. "This is purely platonic. I'm bonding with my supervisor; team-building," I stated firmly. "Oh Goddess, you are crazy, you are crazy, you are crazy," she murmured into my shoulder. "Okay, I'm crazy. I also really want to have sex with you," I pushed her back so we could look eye to eye. "Or, are you going to make me beg like a big baby?" "I really want to have sex with you too," Buffy smiled; romantically. The fiery freakiness was gone to be replaced by a deeply sensual, gentle spirit. What the hell? "Let's go to the bedroom," I suggested. "We can try out the sofa later." "Is your leg going to be okay?" she suddenly worried. "Which one? Two of the three are working fine," I teased. No anger. "I love your sense of humor," Buffy snickered. I repeat; Huh? We stripped down then crawled under the sheets. Buffy was demure, calm and at peace. "Buffy, I don't want to ruin the mood," I said as I pulled her close. "But you are not acting normal and I don't know what to make of it," I completed. "I won," Buffy stroked my cheek lovingly. "I beat out everyone else for you. I gave it everything I had, you recognized that and came to me. This is me being happy, Cáel. Would you prefer me to be combative?" "I prefer you," I teased. The 'thank you' hovered right on the other side of unspoken. It wasn't in her. She was starting to get amorous. I pulled away to Buffy's momentary confusion then the condom came out, I ripped open the packet, slipped on the prophylactic and returned to my lover. I was about to slip into Buffy, missionary style. "Wait!" she stopped me. She hit two buttons on her wrist watch. "Timer," she explained. In I went. Buffy gasped slightly then began moving her legs up along my thighs. Years of experience made this a slow, gentle screw. This wasn't me wasting time; Buffy wanted savagery later. For her triumphal moment, she wanted to savor every second of this first time with her prize; me. Tender kissing and nuzzling were the signs of our affection. She ran her hands over my shoulders, back and ass. I would balance on my right arm while I coaxed delightful hums from Buffy. This was not Buffy's first time. By the level of stimulation she was giving me, this was unlikely to even be her 100th time. She knew her stuff. She had mentioned me physically and cerebrally engaging her being a reason she was so desperate to 'have' me. I had misinterpreted that. Buffy wanted a sex partner that could keep up in a way that went far beyond stamina; she hungered for matching skill and maturity. She could give me subtle clues with her body and I'd pick up on them, folding them back into my own actions and signals. There aren't too many that can meet me orgasm for orgasm. Buffy did. She crested first, but I was only seconds behind her. Before my final blasts, I rolled us over so that she was on top. I tried wiggle out of her. Buffy resisted. "Don't pull out yet," Buffy requested. "If I pull out, we can stop the clock," I insisted. "Oh," she giggled, "me lying naked on top of you in your bed isn't 'inappropriate behavior'?" "I won't tell if you won't," I snickered. Buffy cut of the timer on her wristwatch. Buffy was bringing her breathing under control and getting comfortable with our sweatiness. "If you hadn't been as good as your hype," Buffy whispered after a minute, "I think I would have fallen apart; and killed you; then probably myself." "Whoa," I reacted. "Explain that. Girls wanting to kill me is fine. Girls killing themselves for anything remotely involving me isn't." She mulled that over. She wasn't going to apologize yet felt a need to share something. I had to be patient. I've been with a lot of girls and a few guys who didn't take rejection well. That rarely had anything to do with the actual rejection. It was some festering wound much deeper and older than their encounter with me. "In high school I discovered the wonders of sex. I loved it. Not the lover, but the carnal act. I'd screw anyone, as long as it was something new and different," Buffy confided. "After a few bad incidents, my parents; my stepfather and my mother; threw me out because they thought I was a bad influence for my two younger sisters. I went to a city and did the only thing I was good at. I met this guy; you know the story. He would protect me, love me, blah, blah, blah," Buffy recalled painfully. "Slowly the sex stopped being fun. It was money and not my money at that. One night I got sick of it. 'He' wanted me to perform, I told him I was leaving so he and two buddies raped me. They raped me a lot over the next two days while they smoked meth and drank," she continued. "Finally, when they all passed out, I went to the place where he had his gun." "That wasn't going to be good enough for me," she tilted her head up to study my eyes. "I got his baseball bat instead and knocked them all out real good. I found a few garbage bag twist ties, tied their hands behind their backs and went at all three with a knife. I gutted them a bit so they were awake and in a shitload of pain; then I hacked their cocks and balls off." I was less revolted than I thought I'd be. I still felt my dick shrivel and my balls trying to retract into my bodies. I certainly wasn't going to joke about it; this was a serious sensitive moment for her. I stroked her hair. I could live with this revelation. I wasn't sure why I could, but my heart and mind weren't freaking out, so I went with my instincts. "I had barely finished up when the cops came bursting in. I had taken far longer torturing them than I imagined and their screams had been heard all over the housing complex. They Tasered me, I went to jail and finally to trial. My defense attorney argued an 'Insanity' Plea and I ended up in a mental facility," she was clearly relieved that I wasn't terrified. "A few months later, Katrina showed up," Buffy continued. "She wasn't where she is today. We talked a great deal, but there were only two crucial questions for her. 'Do you regret killing those men?' and 'Can you have sex again?' I answered 'no' and 'yes' after some thought. Two weeks later, I was transferred to a Havenstone facility, they cleaned me up, trained me, and I was stationed here." "What is with you and Elsa?" I prodded a handful of minutes later. "Don't go there, Cáel," Buffy muttered. "Do you seriously want me to confront her not knowing the whole score?" I countered. "She is a complete and total racist Bitch," she grumbled. "Please don't tell me it was a sex contest," I groaned. "If she is better than you, I'm going to die." Her grumbling lack of an explanation allowed me to crack a joke. Buffy 'punished' me by kissing my chin. "No, it wasn't a cunt-thing. If she can fuck you better than me, you have my permission to die," she smiled playfully. Scary. I was so used to her being scary, Buffy not being scary was scaring me. Push? "Well, the only thing I can do then, is a Buffy-Elsa-Cáel three-way," I sighed. "Okay," Buffy murmured. "Stop it!" I shouted. "You are freaking me out." Buffy giggled. I was howling off into madness on the inside. "I think you have company coming soon. We should get clean and put some clothes on," she exhaled joyously. By dressed, Buffy meant putting on my dress shirt; unbuttoned. She was like that, cross-legged on the sofa, eating Cheese Puffs and watching 'Real Housewives of Mumbai' when Odette arrived. It took Odette a second to realize this Buffy was the same firecracker from the last time they met. "Hi; um," Odette started. "We are fine. He fucked me. I'm in a state of grace," Buffy explained pleasantly; without a hint of menace, or fury. "Buffy; Odette Sievert," I made introductions. "Odette; Buffy Dubois." Odette strode right over to the sofa and plopped down beside Buffy. I had to struggle to not flinch. "He gives an incredible dicking, doesn't he?" Odette bubbled. "Yes," Buffy purred, "Yes, he does that and more. You are new to this whole 'love-making thing, aren't you?" "Pretty much," Odette openly admitted. "He gave me my first orgasm. I didn't realize how good sex was until I met Cáel." "I didn't realize how good sex was until I met me either," I joked. "Trust me," Buffy patted Odette's thigh, "I know a great deal about sex and I can assure you he's really, really good." "You are not wearing underwear," Odette noted. Life only got more bizarre. "Why don't you go into the bedroom, get one of his used dress shirts and put it on; and nothing else," Buffy advised. "It is a wonderful experience." "Oh God, don't I know it," Odette exulted. She jumped up and skipped into my bedroom. "Don't play with her," I cautioned Buffy. Buffy studied me then gave me a glowing look. "I'm trying to be a better companion Cáel," she told me. "I know I've put you through hell. I'm not going to apologize. I like the look of fear in your eyes. It is only matched by that look that says 'I'll get you for this'," she chuckled. "Just for that, its reverse cowgirl for you the next time we make love," I threatened. "How is that a threat?" Buffy teased. "I am absolutely positive you like my ass." "I bet he likes all of you," Odette sang out as she came out twirling in another one of my dressed shirts and nothing else. Odette had change really quick. I knew she came over bra-less. I was suspecting no underwear, or socks too. She sat down tightly next to Buffy. "So, how is this 'sharing' thing going to work?" Odette looked back and forth between us. "Have you ever been with a woman?" Buffy asked. "Don't be embarrassed about curiosity." "Ah; well, a little," Odette stammered. "Here is how it works," Buffy patted Odette's nervous hand. "I can only have sex with Cáel for five and a half more hours for the entire weekend. Since I like sex and you are here, I'm certainly interested in you." "Odette," she reassured my bed-buddy, "there is no pressure. I have gotten the most important thing; quality time with Cáel. Everything else is a bonus." "Oh; I'm okay with that," Odette nodded. Then she leaned in to kiss Buffy; maybe I should create a 'Sex for Beginners' CD. I was working gangbusters on expanding Odette's sexual horizons. Buffy wrapped a hand in Odette's hair and drew her into a steamer kiss. I settled in behind Odette, switching kisses between the back of Odette's head and Buffy's hand. "Wow," Odette panted. "You taste different than any guy I've kissed. I like it, but I like Cáel better." Before anyone thinks this never happens, or 'only in Hollywood (West Hollywood, that is), please understand I went to a rural college with a 70% female student enrollment. Convincing a girl to engage in a little girl-on-girl action to 'get me extra aroused' is insanely easy. The few times a lady has asked if I'd kiss a guy to get her 'extra aroused', I said 'for her and only for her'. Works every time. I've kissed a few guys, but only for charity. Fine; I've kissed a few guys in gay bars because Timothy intimated that we'd get our asses kicked if I didn't. He may have been playing me, but for all the shit I put him through, I can live with that. Back to the story: we had Odette in my bed in no time. I was on the bottom, Odette was lying on me, back to my chest and I was using my hips to piston into her while she moaned on top of me. Buffy was alternating between tantalizing Odette's clit and teasing her nipples. Using a very liberal definition for 'touching me', we decided that this wasn't consuming any of our 'exemption' time. Three orgasms later, Buffy poured an uber-contented Odette into her/my shirt and I carried her to the sofa. I put Odette's head in Buffy's lap, Buffy twirling Odette's forelock and Odette humming a happy tune. I was getting some apple and orange juice when Timothy's keys jangled in the door. He walked into the apartment and soaked up the scene. I took in that it was barely 8:30 and Timothy was in his date clothes. A seriously not-good situation. I diverted to him, drinks in hand, and hugged him. "Sorry Bro," I murmured. He hugged me back. "Buffy DuBois, this is Timothy." "Buffy? The crazy chick who wanted a hug?" Timothy chuckled. "She's not;” Odette mumbled. "Yes, that would be me," Buffy grinned sedately. Timothy looked down and shook his head. "That is some dick," he groused. "Damn Bro, "Timothy regarded me with some amusement, "did you bother to get her panties off, or was the mere thought of sex with you enough to cause a complete personality reversal?" "Cáel," Odette raised a shaking arm and commanded loftily, "put the drinks down and get us some ice cream. It is Bonding Time." She meant commiserating with Timothy over his dating failure. Timothy trundled off to his bedroom muttering something about 'getting into something more comfortable' and I delivered the drinks then doubled back for the ice cream and four spoons. Timothy ended up on the floor with his head resting against Odette's stomach. I offered to take the bottom spot. Timothy accepted the gesture then pointed out I was the guy with the bum leg. I ended up with Odette's feet in my lap. The flavor of the night was Cherry Vanilla and we were all making inroads into the supply quickly. Timothy dialed up Ninja Assassin on Netflix. Ten minutes in I realized why. There was this Asian actor who was really hot and extremely physically fit. Odette agreed. "You two can't believe any of this is real," Buffy commented shortly after. "This is absurd. Nothing and no one kills like that." She had professional pride after all. It hadn't taken me three days to figure out that the Executive Service babes' main purpose in life was not laundry delivery. They went everywhere and saw everything; just like a secret police force. Odd, huh? "Speaking of absurd and unreal," Timothy snickered. "Cáel, two ladies screaming Extreme High Maintenance showed up this morning. Apparently you weren't answering your phone, work said you were out of the office, and some spooky chicks at Havenstone showed them the door with something akin to a threat of lethal violence," he continued. "From long experience as your roommate, I could tell you'd fucked them to Nirvana and they wanted more." "From long experience'?" Buffy wondered. "You haven't known him two months yet." "Lady, this happens at least once a week with this guy. You are playing with the hair of one of those women right now," Timothy told her. "Yeah," Odette sighed happily. I was still wrapping my mind around the fact that Buffy hadn't threatened me with violence in the past four hours. Not even a glower. "So, what did you tell them?" I asked my bud. "I looked terribly put out then informed them you'd decided to become a Dominican and gone to a monastery in Italy to train," Timothy smirked. "What did you really say?" I thumped his head with my spoon. Before anyone goes 'iew, don't eat with that', I would remind you how pervasive hair is in a bachelor pad. Vacuum and you'll find out. "I told them you work in Looney Tunes Central; which they bought surprisingly easily; and that you would give them a call the moment your destiny was returned to you," Timothy said. I was willing to bet he used those exact words too. "What has Cáel told you about Havenstone?" Buffy prodded. "No way, Buffy," Timothy shook his head. "You are still one of those crazy bitches. Cáel hasn't told me the real deal, but when he looked me in the eye and said you ladies might kill me, I knew he wasn't playing around. He was afraid for my life." "Do you really think we would hurt you?" Buffy persisted. "You put an arrow in my boy; and he's got the magic dick. Since I'm not likely to put out for you ladies, I pretty much believe you'll put one through my heart without batting an eye," Timothy countered. "What would you do if he simply stopped showing up one day?" Buffy mused. "Not ask," Timothy snapped off his reply. "I trust Cáel enough to heed his warning and get on with my life." "Cáel has a big heart," Buffy regarded me warmly. "It is one of the many things that makes him a great prize." "Salmon; Angel Falls," Timothy taunted me. Before I even started at Havenstone, he had warned me that I had no chance of making it in that women-dominated Hell. He was right and he loved rubbing it in; the Bastard. To clarify: a salmon is a stupid fish who follows his penis to his death and Angel Falls in Venezuela is the Earth's longest, continuous waterfall; that's 807 meters for those who don't want to use Wikipedia. "Timothy, if there was any doubt, there will be no mention of Tuesday night and what came afterwards," I urged my guy. "Way ahead of you," Timothy chuckled. That was Rhada we were talking about. "If you are going to hang around Cáel, you will have to get used to all the other ladies," Odette sighed comfortably up at Buffy. "I know," Buffy stroked Odette's ear. "Also, if you see me outside of Cáel's home, be afraid of me because if you aren't, bad things might happen to you. Do we understand each other?" "No," Odette hesitated to respond. "Don't worry about it; just do it," Buffy warned her; affectionately. I was going mad. For the rest of the movie, everyone behaved. We emptied the ice cream container. Timothy went for beers. He bought back three. "Where is mine?" Odette inquired. "I don't think you are old enough to drink," Timothy told her. "Odette, if you give Buffy a kiss steamy enough to curl her toes, I'll give you mine," I offered. Odette weighed the offer, rolled over and crawled into Buffy's lap. The kiss was classic me; teasing contact; light tongue; full kiss; re-arrangement of tonsils. I was so proud of my girl. "That was exceedingly pleasant, Odette," Buffy grinned once the French kiss eventually ended. I handed Odette my beer. She remained straddling Buffy's lap, perfectly at ease. "Dude, do you have any guy friends you can bring over and make gay?" Timothy pleaded with me. We knew that didn't happen. "Fine, bi will do," he grinned. "I'm not a lesbian," Odette wiggled in Buffy's lap. "I just like Buffy." "Buffy likes you," Buffy placed a light kiss on Odette's lips. "Let's go to the bedroom." Acid test time. "Sure," Odette hopped up. She took Buffy's hand and pulled her up. Hand in hand they went to my room. I rose to follow. "We'll call you when we are ready," Buffy teased me. They went into my boudoir and shut the door. "Now you know how I feel," Timothy sighed. "Not really," I patted his shoulder. "In thirty, or forty minutes, I'm going to go in there and do some serious boning. Personally, I don't know how you take sleeping alone so often." Timothy and I sat down on the sofa. "You are an asshole," he grumbled. "Considering what you do to assholes, I don't know how to take that," I joked. He hit me. "Being gay would be the only thing that would make you more fun," Timothy laughed. I wondered how Katrina would take my sexual conversion. I deciding telling her would be unwise. I had another rescue flare about how out of control my life had become; Odette had seen my latest series of bandaged wounds and hadn't forced me to create some lie to explain them away. Damn. To be continued in Part 11 By FinalStand for Literotica.

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..