Podcasts about Lumpy

Bobby and I have been friends for about twenty-five years and it hasn't always been smooth sailing. Mostly yes, but not always. There have been some hard conversations, healthy disagreements, slightly-less-healthy disagreements and the odd honest misunderstanding but underneath it all, there was (is) always love, trust, respect and a strong brotherly bond. And fun, silly-ness and laughter. Of course. I liked this chat where we both got a little vulnerable and raw and spoke about all-things communication, connection, social and emotional intelligence, self-awareness and of course, friendship. Enjoy.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to The Force Unscripted Podcast, where Star Wars fans share unfiltered discussions, fresh insights, and genuine camaraderie in exploring the galaxy far, far away. Tune in weekly for authentic conversations that celebrate the timeless appeal of Star Wars. May the Force be with you on this adventure!------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Join us as we dive into this week's Force Fact. Be sure to catch us every Tuesday for the next installment of Force Facts!Come visit our website and leave us a review, voice note or topics you may want discussed on the show!The Force Unscripted WebsiteBe sure to follow us on Twitter formerly known as X for all your The Force Unscripted updates:Twitter (Formerly known as X)Be sure to follow us on Twitch as well to catch our recording sessions on Sundays:TwitchCheck out our website as well.The Force Unscripted

Rafe is joined by the Buf's most frequent guest, Big Brain Smart Head™ Bob Luzenski, America's Favorite Rocket Scientist™, to discuss what is happening in the world of Bob and the world of rockets: winter, flowers and bulbs of Spring, model train shows, big rocket launches, lunar landers, and much more.**********As always, you can reach the Buf at bufnagle@bufnagle.com*****As you know, this is an independent podcast so your hosts also carry all the expenses of running this podcast. As such, some of you have asked how you can help out. Well, here's the answer: support us on Buy Me a Coffee:https://buymeacoffee.com/bufnagleOn this page, you can do a really nice thing like send us a couple dollars to help cover the cost of recording and hosting and microphones and research and all that. Any little bit really helps! Thank you in advance!!!

Red Maple is also sold as Soft Maple and it is one of the species of Maple commonly found in the Soft Maple group like Big Leaf, Silver, and Striped Maple. Box Elder is often lumped into this group and sold as well as Soft Maple. Also in this show: KDAT, Lumpy plywood, and untarped lumber.

Enjoy a special reheat of three Flashback segments remembering events at PGA National! First, Andy shares some details about Bruce Lietzke, the 1984 Honda winner, who changed his entire schedule to spend more time with his family and had an affinity for a timely hot dog. Brendan then recaps Tim "Lumpy" Herron's win at the 1996 Honda Classic. Lumpy won the tournament as a rookie, but this segment also has plenty of nuggets about the eventful week Greg Norman had and his ongoing issues with the TPC Network. The second Flashback in this episode covers Camilo Villegas' 2010 Honda win, the cycling career of "Spider-Man," and some good karma for Graeme McDowell after calling a penalty on himself at PGA National that year. Finally, take a trip back to the 1987 PGA Championship at PGA National, where the competition almost literally melted away in the Florida heat.

Winning Reddit arguements is a good reason to sell your soul, right?

Redscroll & Friends Favorites of 2024 We have our (Rick & Josh's) favorites of the year as usual. We have the Redscroll employee favorites also as usual. We've expanded beyond that even! Favorites from some folks in bands on our record label and folks we closely associate and collaborate on the regular! Friends! Most of those folks have recorded their own list and introduced themselves plus there's a few that have submitted a list that we've creatively included. You can go on the web post to peruse their lists (redscroll records dot com) as well. They've all but a couple (yet) been on the podcast too so we'll include their respective episode links on the site as well. Happy New Year!   Redscroll Records Label Releases for 2024 We generally feel too close to them ourselves (Josh & Rick) to include the Redscroll releases as favorites, but of course they are. We wouldn't release them otherwise! So, firstly, here's a quick round up of what we've released this past year (and it's been a good amount of great stuff)! In chronological order:February 2nd: Intercourse “Egyptian Democracy / Bum Wine” 12” February 2nd: Doom Beach / Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop (split) 12” April 5th: The Knife Kickers “Nameless” LP April 8th: Dirt Devil “Desert Moon” CS (SOLD OUT) March 1st: Tongue Depressor & Austin Larkin “Landau Bar” LP June 18th: Intercourse “Bag Fumblers Incorporated 2021-2024” CD July 5th: Trance Macabre “Trance Macabre” LP August 2nd: Dissolve “Burnt” CS/LP October 29th / December 6th: Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean “Sisyphean Cruelty” CD/CS/LP We've got a couple slated for next year already so we're not slowing down! Stay tuned for announcements on those! A couple more we were associate with with exclusive colors this year too! Kidnapped “Disgust” (DAZE) – would absolutely work with again, Lumpy is great. Kidnapped is great. Craven Faults “Bounds” (Leaf) Electronic experimental ambient act out of the Yorkshire, UK. We were contacted by Leaf about splitting a color (Lime Kiln Grey) with Norman Records in the UK and to have a unique OBI strip and it came out great. The record is really a great record and we're happy to be associated with it and it's our first overseas collaboration of any kind so that's pretty exciting and we're absolutely chuffed with how it turned out. FAVORITES LISTS! We've got our lists first. Staff picks follow. Then the rest will be in no particular order other than I will try to mix it up in the edit and put different ends of the spectrum back to back to keep y'all on your toes and hopefully interested in it all! Like I said before you'll be able to check them all out on our web post. Links, pictures, etc. up on the site. I'll assemble a playlist as well to publish with this so you can check all these things in more depth in your own time. That link will be on the web post as well.   Josh's Favorites of 2024: Shannon & The Clams “The Moon is in the Wrong Place” (Easy Eye Sound) Rickshaw Billie's Burger Patrol “Big Dumb Riffs” (Permanent Teeth Records) Pissed Jeans “Half Divorced” (Sub Pop) TR/ST “Performance” (Dais) Chisel “What A Fucking Nightmare" (Pure Noise) High Vis “Guided Tour” (Dais) Trees Speak “Timefold” (Soul Jazz) Future Islands “People Who Aren't There Anymore” (4AD) Jamie xx “In Waves” (Young) Rotting Christ “Pro Xristou” (Season of Mist) Disfigure "New Age Of Judgement" (Self Released) BEST LOCAL Glass Beams “Mahal” (Ninja Tune) BEST EP Josh's Honorable Mentions (no music clips in podcast - check 'em out though!) Missiles “Weaponize Tomorrow” (Svart) Jon Hopkins “Ritual” (Domino) Knoll “As Spoken” (Unto Viewing) Speed “Only One Mode” (Flatspot / Last Ride) Chubby & The Gang “And Then There Was” (Flatspot) Moonglow "Moonglow" (Dungeon's Deep) Caribou "Honey" (Merge / City Slang) Godspeed You! Black Emperor  "No Title As Of 13 February 2024 28,340 Dead" (Constellation) Rick's favorites of 2024: The Bug “Machine” / “Machines I-IV” (Relapse) Civerous “Maze Envy” (20 Buck Spin) Dame Area “Toda La Verdad Sabre Dame Area” (Mannequin) Beth Gibbons “Lives Outgrown” (Domino) Helen Island “Last Liasse” (Knekelhuis) Jonnine “Southside Girl” (Modern Love) Kite “VII” (Dais) *technically a comp, but here we are Lolina “Unrecognisable” (Relaxin Records) Moin “You Never End” (Ad 93) Astrid Sonne “Great Doubt” (Escho) Redscroll Staff Lists!  Caleb's favorites of 2024: Pedro The Lion "Santa Cruz" (Polyvinyl)Thou "Umbilical" (Sacred Bones)Kidnapped “Disgust”(DAZE)Crippling Alcoholism "With Love From A Padded Room" (Fisher King / Aonair)Black Curse "Burning In Celestial Poison" (Sepulchrual Voice) Godspeed You! Black Emperor  "No Title As Of 13 February 2024 28,340 Dead" (Constellation)Blood Incantation "Absolute Elsewhere" (Century Media)Dave Blunts "Well Dude Here's My Thing" (Foundation Media) Chat Pile "Cool World" (Flenser) Caren's favorites of 2024:  Clarissa Connelly "World of Work" (Warp) Cindy Lee "Diamond Jubilee" (Self Released / W.25th) Holy Tongue meets Shackleton  "The Tumbling Psychic Joy of Now" (AD 93) Astrid Sonne “Great Doubt” (Escho) Fine "Rocky Top Ballads" (Escho) Molina "When You Wake Up" (Escho) Milan W "Leave Another Day" (Stroom) Able Noise "High Tide" (World Of Echo) Dregs "Dregs" (Purely Physical Teeny Tapes) Jabu "A Soft and Gatherable Star" (Do You Have Peace?) Julia Heyward & T-Venus "Duka 1" (Modern Harmonic) Dennis Bovell "Sufferer Sounds" (Disciples) Various Artists"Propeller Product Prop 4-1" (Lawrence Wilmington) Erica's favorites of 2024: Castle Rat "Into the Realm" (King Volume / Kozmik Artifaktz / Wise Blood)  Chat Pile "Cool World" (Flenser) Cody Abilene "Dreamstation" (Self-Released) The Cure "Songs of a Lost World" (Polydor / Fiction / Capitol) Beth Gibbons “Lives Outgrown” (Domino) Godspeed You! Black Emperor  "No Title As Of 13 February 2024 28,340 Dead" (Constellation) Gost "Prophecy" (Metal Blade) He Was a God "Muckraker" (Self-Released) Mdou Moctar "Funeral for Justice" (Matador) Missiles “Weaponize Tomorrow” (Svart) Ploho "Почва" (Artoffact / Anchor / Iconic) TR/ST "TR/ST" (reissue) (Arts & Crafts) Ultra Sunn "US" (Artoffact) Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats "Nell' Ora Blu" (Rise Above) Wisp "Pandora" (Interscope) Lexi's favorites of 2024: Anja Huwe "Codes" (Sacred Bones) Aseethe "The Cost" (Thrill Jockey) Aura Merlin "Illuminations" (Dungeons Deep / Ancient King) Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean “Sisyphean Cruelty” (Redscroll)Charli XCX "Brat" (Atlantic) Civerous “Maze Envy” (20 Buck Spin)Crippling Alcoholism "With Love From A Padded Room" (Fisher King / Aonair)  Dave Blunts "I Would Like to See You Try" (Foundation Media) Doom Beach "Burden" (The Ghost Is Clear) Gleemer "End of the Nail" (Other People Records) Intercourse “Egyptian Democracy" (Redscroll) Kidnapped “Disgust” (DAZE) The Knife Kickers “Nameless” (Redscroll) Meth. "Shame" (Prosthetic) Midwife "No Depression In Heaven" (Flenser) Missouri Executive Order 44 "Salt Sermon" (Learning Curve / The Ghost Is Clear) Portrayal Of Guilt "Christfucker II" (Run for Cover) R. Missing "Knife Shook Your Hand" (Self Released) Reymour "NoLand" (Knekelhuis) Rickshaw Billie's Burger Patrol “Big Dumb Riffs” (Permanent Teeth Records)Sunrise Patriot Motion "My Father Took Me Hunting In The Snow" (Sibir) Thou "Umbilical" (Sacred Bones) Uniform "American Standard" (Sacred Bones) Matt's favorites of 2024: Amyl & The Sniffers "Cartoon Darkness" (Virgin / B2B / Rough Trade) Shirese "Hardly Cricket" (C/Site / Grapefruit) Shannon & The Clams “The Moon is in the Wrong Place” (Easy Eye Sound) Sheer Mag "Playing Favorites" (Third Man) Cavemen "Ca$h 4 Scrap" (Slovenly) Trance Macabre “Trance Macabre” (Redscroll) Emilia Sisco "Introducing Emilia" (Timmion) Jamie xx “In Waves” (Young) Patrick Cowley "From Behind" (Dark Entries) Castle Rat "Into the Realm" (King Volume / Kozmik Artifaktz / Wise Blood)  Ty Segall " Love Rudiments" (Drag City) Redscroll Records Label Bands & Friends Lists!  (less music embedded, but just as fun!) (Those who are in blue are hyperlinked to their individual podcast episode!) Stefan Christensen of C/Site and various projects including solo material List: Stefan talks about his label releases from Shirese and his latest solo record. The cassette from Last Light just recently came out and a December release from the Flower Corsano Duo.  Local recap: Mountain Movers released a record.  Kryssi Battalene's Rock Candy with Emily Robb on 7" and her 12" with Wednesday Knudsen. The Secular Music Group and The Pist and local black metal label Ixiol Productions was busy! Beyond: Los Doroncos "昼​花​火​ / Sun And Fireworks" (An'archives)Omit "InSec" (Siltbreeze) Alastair Galbraith "Lagash"(Nice) + "Talisman" (Otic)Arv & Miljö "Jorden Först" (Discreet Music)Juho Toivonen "Sisarusten Toistuva Un" (Discreet Music) Wakuénai (Curripaco) "Music for Shape​-​Shifters: Field Recordings from the Amazonian Lowlands, 1981​-​1985" (Sublime Frequencies) Mohammad Syfkhan "I Am Kurdish" (Nyahh) Jentlemen of Heatsync/Neu Body,  & various projects List: Roy Of The Ravers "You Don't" (Winthorpe Electronics) M Parent "ZMNT009" (Zement) Alex Ranzino "Ride Da Perc EP" (PHOQ U PHONOGRAMMEN/U-TRAX) Bryan Zentz "Barada Trax Six" (Sonic Groove) Viikatory "Atom Heart EP" (Unknown to the Unknown) Guilt Attendant "A Flower Wilts Under The Heat Of The Son" (Unimatrix Zero)Love Letters "Falling Star" (Interdimensional Transmissions) Scotia "Giving Chase" (Acid Camp)Paranoid London "Arseholes, Liars, And Electronic Pioneers" (Paranoid London Records)AceMo "Moblu" (Self Released) Dirt Devil collective List: Tempestade "que é que eu faço" (Self Released) Ex-Tradition "The Holy Pervert" (Self Released) Alvilda "C'est Déjà L'heure" (Statik Shock) Departure Chandelier "Satan Soldier of Fortune" (Nuclear War Now!) The Mountain Movers "Walking After Dark" (Trouble In Mind) Gloomy Reflections "Oath of the Paladins" (Crypt of the Wizard) Clock Serum "Contrast" (Synthicide) Ian St. George "Emergency Index" (Dead Bell) Chappell Roan "Good Luck, Babe!" (Island) Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean List: Spectral Voice "Sparagmos" (Dark Descent)Upon Stone "Dead Mother Moon" (Century Media)Tzompantli "Beating The Drums Of Ancestral Force" (20 Buck Spin)Chanel Beads "Your Day Will Come" (Jagjaguwar)Container "YACKER" (Alter)Sumac "The Healer" (Thrill Jockey / Sige)The Body "The Crying Out of Things" (Thrill Jockey) Collapsed Skull "Your Father's Rage Evaporated In The Sun" (Closed Casked Activities) Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop Chop List: Frail Body "Artificial Bouquet" (Deathwish)Thou "Umbilical" (Sacred Bones)Space Camp "How Could I Not Be  Your Girl" (Self Released)Kendrick Lamar "GNX" (pgLang / Interscope)B L A C K I E "Noise God" (Self Released) Sissy Spacek "Mirror Aggressor State" (Helicopter)Suppression "Spiritual Sepsis" (To Live A Lie)Kidnapped “Disgust” (DAZE)Tyler the Creator "Chromakopia" (Columbia)Collapsed Skull "Your Father's Rage Evaporated In The Sun" (Closed Casked Activities) Dissolve - Paul List: Sumac "The Healer" (Thrill Jockey / Sige) Mary Timony "Untame The Tiger" (Merge) Melt-Banana "3+5" (A-Zap) High On Fire "Cometh The Storm" (SPV / MNRK Heavy) Kim Deal "Nobody Loves You More" (4AD) Shellac "To All Trains" (Touch & Go) Chelsea Wolfe "She Reaches Out To She Reaches Out To She" (Loma Vista) Bed Maker "Bed Maker" (Dischord) Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds "Wild God" (Bad Seed / Play It Again Sam) Kim Gordon "The Collective" (Matador) Doom Beach - James List: MIKE & Tony Selzer "Pinball" (10K)Missouri Executive Order 44 "Salt Sermon"(Learning Curve / The Ghost Is Clear)Blind Girls "An Exit Exists" (Secret Voice / Persistent Vision / Life.Lair.Regret)Magdalena Bay "Imaginal Disk" (Mom + Pop)Mount Kimbie "The Sunset Violent" (Warp) Honorable Mentions: Space Camp, Intercourse, Chopx7, Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean, Kidnapped Tongue Depressor Henry Birdsey List: Paysage d'Hiver "Die Berge" (Kunsthall Produktionen)Lukas de Clerck "The Telescopic Aulos of Atlas" (Ideologic Organ)Jim Strong "My Enemies Are Mine to Keep" (Horn O Plenty

The Matt Gaetz report is out, so Trump will surely offer him another job. Surely in need of new Pampers, the President Elect wants to buy Greenland, take back the Panama Canal and occupy Canada. Surely unrelated to the whole canal thing, Shitler is being sued by Panama for tax evasion. Diaper Don reminded America the human impersonator known as Elon is not the president. A GOP congressperson was secretly admitted to a dementia facility. Lumpy brained Pillow Czar Mike Lindell hid financials behind an uncrackable password protected Quicken account. Alaska Repubs rejected a Trump plan to rename Denali. Self-proclaimed Nazi and North Carolina Lieutenant Governor Mark Robinson, AKA Tiny Soldier, logged into an online meeting using his Nude Africa username. In an effort to convince the anti-Globist mouth-breathers of our planet's shape, thoughtless leaders of the flat Earth movement were flown to Antarctica. Speaking of flat, Lara Trump blathered she didn't want to be the Crab's Senator.

Googly eyes are too expensive.  That drunk driver just gave up.  Stop collecting garbage bro.  See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Kid Beast Party Dehd - Mood Ring The Characters - Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow) The Four Seasons - Let's Hang On The Monkees - I'm A Believer The Mullet Monster Mafia - Milestone The Cure - I Can Never Say Goodbye Flesh For Lulu - Postcards From Paradise Billy Idol - Cradle Of Love The Exotic Ones - Cat Beast Party The Chemical Brothers - Setting Sun The Charlatans - The Only One I Know Love & Rockets - Ball Of Confusion The Loved Ones - Hightone Hop X - Blue Spark Weezer - Mr. Blue Sky The Wild Swans - Melting Blue Delicious The Detroit Cobras - Midnight Blues 

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

Of Funerals and Families; Part Two. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Birthed by stars, in immortal light, so why do we assume we pass into Darkness.” A maniac conducted the orchestra, while every section fought for dominance without a thought to the opera unfolding under its twittering cacophony. That is how it felt as I steeled myself for the service, but my musings were a fantasy. I had a swirling company of my twenty inductees, two Amazons, plus Rachel's detail and Esmeralda coordinating all the traffic. Pamela was absent. Buffy was the one in charge, deciding who got how close and under what level of scrutiny. The presence of law enforcement was made obvious by our vigilance, with mutual hostility being declared. The government was catching up with how they'd been screwed over. They couldn't prove a thing yet, although they had missed an entire day trailing after me. They also had new leadership. Pamela had expelled Theodora with the simple application of Conflict of Interest. Nicole and Pratt had joined me in my suite, so I was suitably armored when the Feds made their next run at me. I had stepped up in the world, so I was rewarded with a new attack plan. Her name was Assistant Federal District Attorney Javiera Castello, and two seconds of eye contact made precisely transparent what a hurricane she was going to bring to my life. Sex? Oh yeah, she was already figuring what penitentiary to send me to so she could make monthly visits. An impressive dicking wasn't going to save me this time. She was professional, polite and courteous concerning my mourning without being false. Theodora's strategy assumed I was the man who graduated from Bolingbrook a few months back. My history was clear and muddy enough to be real. I was what my documentation said I was; until Havenstone. Theodora had waved the flags and charged the barricades only to discover too late that my defenses weren't manned by a lone yahoo with a bow and arrow, but with mortars and machineguns and her troops had been scattered, her plans shredded. Javiera had my measure now. I was a Prince. Of what, she didn't know yet. She was going to find out. Not out of some fatalistic curiosity, but because that's where the bread crumbs led. Dad was what he appeared to be, that plot of land was relatively worthless and two groups of professional killers had fought and died dragging my father either away, or to safety. I work with some scary-smart ladies. "Ms. Castello, would you care to travel with me to the service?" I turned to her at the last moment. I was a clever puppy, good with women and I wasn't trying to be a politician. Javiera took my gesture for what it was; an olive branch. I was offering to be less of an obstructionist, and she was willing to forgo retribution for my earlier stunts. Five minutes down the road in the stretch limo, I could see the question eating Javiera up inside. She was honoring my melancholy; I could almost hear Dad saying, 'Son, you have company' as a persistent reminder to his petulant teenage slacker that I was a member of the Human Equation. "What do you want to ask me?" I gathered my civility to the fore. Nicole shifted so that we were making eye contact. "Is there a limit to how many questions?" she started off with. I didn't say 'One and that was it'. "I've been told it will take us thirty-two minutes to the cemetery," I looked at my watch. "That gives us; twenty-six minutes," I offered. "Why all the hostility?" led the charge. "A variety of people consider my life to have some value. For a few it is personal. For most, they attach a more esoteric price tag on my existence," I replied. "That is vague enough to be useless," she gently scolded me. Oh, I could see that both Javiera and Nicole were about to play Nutcracker with my heritage until it was the consistency of warm peanut butter. "I am the member of not one, but two secret societies," I kept steady eye contact with her. Yes; there was that look I was slowly becoming accustomed to; that one that conveyed 'what you said made no sense, so why aren't you lying to me?' "Which ones?" Javiera rebounded quickly. "Perhaps we should discuss this at a later time," Nicole reposed. "Nicole," I patted her knee, "how would you feel if you got Javiera murdered?" "That thought shouldn't even be;” she stated. "Nicole, I'm worried enough about you. People know I like you, so they may not kill you for looking in the wrong trash bin," I explained. "She doesn't even have that rather tenuous screen." "Was it one, or both secret societies that shot and killed your father?" Javier continued. "Without a doubt it was an accident. The all-female group was simply scouting the location out as part of forming a contingency plan," I said. "The other group showed up to kidnap my father to interrogate him; I'm not going to tell you why." "The first group identified themselves and the second group began shooting. In the process of grabbing my father, they shot him three times. In the process of taking him to one of their cars, the living lady engaged them in a final firefight. They abandoned my father and left." "You seem to know a great deal about what happened," Javiera noted. "I've seen the footage the first group took from their helmet cams," I told her. "Is there any way I could see that?" she prodded. "By no human means I can think of," I shrugged. "Feel free to ask that extremely venomous lady sitting next to you. Her name is Rachel," I made the introduction. "She remains under the impression that killing people around me will somehow save me from myself," I added. "I not only trust her, I trust her with the lives of my daughters." "You don't have any children we are aware of," Javiera wondered. "Rachel knows what I mean," I gave a lopsided grin. Rachel knew alright. I wasn't asking her to save me with that statement. I was asking her to save my future. "What is with all the women? I'm a believer in gender equality. You seem to lack any male employees, period. Is this a permutation of a harem?" Javier opened another line of investigation. Rachel and Buffy quickly snorted their amusement then returned to their not-so-subtle aggression. I was sure my chauffeur, Tiger Lily, was snickering it up too, beyond the glass. Sigh. "That was uncalled for," I frowned at the Fed. "Five Google searches and you should know all about Havenstone's hiring practices. Ask what you want to ask. Don't try to trick me. I am definitely not in the mood." "Why are you in charge; a male over Havenstone employees that certainly have more skill and experience at; just about everything?" Javiera came clean. "Put on your hip-waders," I groaned. "This is going to suck." I waited until I had her undivided attention. "A long time ago, I killed a group of really bad people," I grunted. I could see that she wasn't buying it despite her interrogation senses saying I was being truthful. "When I say a long time ago, I mean about 2500 years ago." Sigh. "Before you start tossing Thorazine at me, all you need to accept is that every one of those women around me believes that to be true." "So this is a cult?" Javiera inquired bravely. "Put it this way. I'm sure you practice a martial art of some kind. You probably have a chromatic belt that you are rather proud of. It will not help you. These women are professional killers. I'm pretty sure there are a dozen unidentified corpses that could be attributed to these two." I already knew that Buffy killed some guys. Rachel? She was a team leader, so I was willing to have faith in her ability to remorselessly end another person's life. Javiera must have volunteered for my personal fiasco. "Are you being held against your will?" she looked so vigilant and intent. "I can get you out." "No," a dry chuckle. "I'm; not good; getting by. There is no way in Hell I'm leaving Havenstone. I can hardly kill all the people responsible for my father's death if I did that." "If you seek personal vengeance, I will be forced to bring every legal power to bear to stop you," she felt bound to threaten me. "Don't stop being you on my account, Ms. Castello," I finally managed a smile. It was sincere and Javiera knew it. "Who? Maybe I can catch them before you do?" she offered me an escape clause. "You will know it when you see it," I took a deep breath. "Do not try anything at the funeral," she warned me. "Law enforcement will be all over the place." She really wanted to screw me in prison. I knew those things. "I'm not going to kill them there," I assured her. "They will be the ones running for their lives though." "How is that going to work?" Nicole finally broke my silence. "I have 27 ladies willing to kill on my command," I exaggerated. "When I tell those men I know they were responsible and that they should run for their lives, they are going to run for their lousy stinking lives." "But you are not going to give the order to have them killed," Javiera stated. She was getting my measure now. "No, but they don't know that and being horrible human beings, they will assume that I will have them murdered over my father's grave," I turned positively wolfish. "They will run and they will keep running because of you and yours, Javiera. They won't have guns because they don't want to be arrested," I finished. "Why are they afraid to be arrested?" Javiera was putting the puzzle together. That was our deal after all. "I can have repeated, heavenly sex on a train with a nun," I confessed. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange to have a scumbag killed in prison." "I think we can both agree my client is under a great deal of stress at this time," Nicole intervened. "I think we can agree your client is not Al Capone, much less Osama bin Laden," Javiera allowed. "I still think he is exceedingly dangerous." "Dangerous? Dangerous is dating in this town," I groaned. "Went out late last night to a dance club, met two sweet girls visiting the Windy City, stepped outside and they tried to kill me." "Do these two count as 'public'?" Buffy snarled. She meant Javiera and Nicole. Pratt was in another car and the only others with us were Rachel and me. This was going to hurt. "No," I sighed. Wham! The Charlie Horse from Hell! "That's why you have bodyguards, you jerk," Buffy nearly cried. "Ah; we were with him," Rachel tapped Buffy's upper arm. "Oh." Long pause. "I; I apologize," Buffy said sheepishly. "I had no idea you were getting smarter." That was probably the best apology I was going to get. It was still my fault. "You do it out of love, Buffy," I rubbed my arm. Buffy gave me a heartbreaking smile. "Was that domestic violence, or assault?" Javiera snarled. "Neither one is allowable under Illinois law." "It is a Human Resources Team-building tool," I lied. "In some places it is called Obedience Training, or Negative Reinforcement." "I have never seen another human being take a beating like Cáel can," Rachel complimented me. "He is also incredible in the bed room," Buffy added on. Javier didn't know what to make of the menagerie of 'not-normal' women who hung around me. She locked eyes with Buffy. "I mean Really fantastic," Buffy licked her lips. Nicole nodded in agreement. "I can't use any of this," Javiera muttered after several minute of silence. "It is all a type of shared delusion; with fourteen dead bodies attached to it." "Ah, the guy with both femoral arteries shot out made it? Whoa, we've got some top notch surgeons in this city," I nodded. "Yes. As opposed to those two men who had their heads shot off," Javiera added bitterly. Reminding her that poor Horace of the Burnham PD had done the deeds was pointless. "Who died?" I attempted some reciprocity from Javiera. She'd read through every public aspect of my life and had talked to me for less than ten minutes. She excelled at her craft; punishing lawbreakers. "I conclude you know the name of the three dead women and the one living one," she began, "because we haven't a clue who they really are. Their cover identities aren't perfect. We simply can't get anything about them behind the fallacy of their existence." She waited. "If you can help us put the wounded woman in some sort of shared protective custody, I can probably 'suggest' that she be more cooperative," I counter-offered. Rachel nodded. "The eight other bodies at the house;” Javiera shook her head. "Four were dead and by that I mean reported dead from four to nine years ago. The rest; Hell, they were all twisted fucking savages. Every one of them had Interpol warrants out for them, for questioning. No accusations seemed to stick to them: misplaced evidence, dead witnesses and falsified death certificates." "Does this mean anything to you?" Javiera paused to get some more information. "Yes. Reference the men running for their lives," I nodded. "Cáel?" Rachel cautioned me. "This is not something you can rush into." "Actually, it was you who clued me in, Rachel," I looked at her. "Given an opportunity to have only one gun of a given type, would you choose one you knew intimately, or a totally random one?" was my rhetorical question. Professionals trained with a large variety of weapons, yet every Amazon I had met had a preferred weapon; one that if they could have it with them, they would. "The Zastava M2," Rachel nodded. "It is not used in too many places and only Peru in this hemisphere. Someone really loved that gun; enough to bring it from whatever killing field where he was currently employed to my home," I said. "Since the other likely culprit passed on a chance to kill me last night, I am sure enough to pick a fight." (Holy Cross) It had to be odd in so many ways for the people who knew Dad and, to a lesser extent, me. They gathered by the graveside. It wasn't much. Dad had been cremated as had Mom. They had these small granite markers; no headstones for them. They had been so much in love. All they wanted is to be laid to rest, side by side. Mom had insisted on cremation. I thought I knew why, but it had done no good. The true oddity was obvious. The islet of normalcy was the small funerary party with me. My Aunt; my Father's Sister; was here and somewhat in shock. She and Dad hadn't been close; so much unsaid. When my Grandparents died, Dad was only nineteen and Stella was sixteen. Stella's lifelong friend had moved to Maryland a few months previously. Stella reached out to her friend, her friend's parents talked to Dad and Stella went to off to be a mariner. Seeing her occasionally as I was growing up was the extent of our relationship. The priest did his thing. I wondered what Christ thought of this mystic fur ball that was the amalgam of my life. My hope was that he was quietly urging me to do the right thing. The Padre finished, the co-workers and neighbors came by to give their condolences and then ran the gauntlet. The gauntlet? Yes, the herd of Amazons, O'Shea kin and four other clumps of people who I didn't know, yet undoubtedly would soon. Selena and Miyako were present along with a third female who looked luscious in a burqa-shaped covering and a diaphanous veil. Javiera, Pratt and Nicole were somewhat out of place with their lack of arrogant lethality. A limo driver came to take Stella away. "I have some issues to deal with, Aunt Stella," I comforted her. "Vér a vér." It had been ages since she'd heard Hungarian so she wasn't sure what I meant, but she knew it was bad. One of my O'Shea aunts was coming my way until the menace of the closing Amazons halted her. The others had no clue what they were about to behold. I doubt outsiders had ever been privileged to witness anything like it. This was a declaration; it was my mission statement. Ishara did not hide. I took off my coat, folded it, placed it on the damp grass then knelt on it. Buffy stepped up with the bowl of incense and followed my 'coat to keep your knees clean' stunt, sitting perpendicular on my right. Helena followed suit on my left, placing a shroud over my head and leaned over the bowl. Gamble number one: the incense lit up instantly. Gamble number two: it really did burn my eyes; no more Desiree slapping me around. I was sure she'd be heartbroken. Gamble number three: while using my nifty little Amazon blade to gather my tears, I managed not to cut myself. The inductees were much more impressed when they realized what I was doing under my head covering. The next step had me pulling back the shroud, standing up, and striding over the burning bowl of incense. Helena called out the first name. The lady didn't need any prodding. The Amazon walked over to my coat and knelt. Helena wrote down her name and handed her the slip of paper. My Keeper motioned to the bowl. The first applicant placed her named slip of paper on the embers. The simple message flashed up and was consumed. That was unlooked for. I declared her old self dead. With my tears, I opened her eyes to our ancestral history and with blood, I brought her into our future. She had entered House Ishara. She wasn't the only one crying either. What Rachel and her team thought was unknown to me. They were being hyper-vigilant. Esmeralda kept stealing glances our way. Things went along with joyous solemnity until the fourteenth woman, Alicia, knelt before me. Helena handed the paper over, the Amazon dropped it on the incense and nothing happened. I was about to move on to the next part of the ritual when I caught sight of that. Buffy, Helena and the lady were all staring at the offending bit of tinder. I bent over and, with my index finger, pushed it into the embers. Nothing; no heat, or fiery consumption. I put some spit on my finger and pushed again. This time it burned me. The paper was fine. Damn it; 'Come on Ishara!' I screamed mentally. 'Can't I have a simple bit of theater without you mangling someone's dreams?' There was no supernatural scolding, or retort. "Alicia, Ishara believes you have not yet finished your walk outside our House," I consoled the woman; Alicia Holt. As she stood up, faced gripped with disbelief, Buffy rose and took her away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia shoot me a poisonous look. Buffy had anticipated this and was making sure the woman didn't make a scene. The last six women were even more nervous than the previous thirteen. Thankfully, Ishara was accepting of the remainder and we all transited to the group celebratory hug. Act one has passed safely, Act two had an unexpected bump and here came round three. The 'dignitaries' started swooping in. Outside of the O'Shea's, none of the guests wanted to have another group behind them, or hemming in them. Two of the groups held back and since one was composed entirely of Asians, I was betting the other group was the Egyptian Rite. One of my now four aunts came forward. My small crowd of Isharans gave her barely enough room to approach the grave. She placed a green rose upon my Mother's small marble marker. I wondered what my Mother would have thought of her sisters finally finding her; green rose? Who made green; probably the same sick son of a bitch who made female clones of himself? The other three followed suit, placing the roses in a radiating sunburst on the small piece of marble. Through the wall of Illuminati security came; the Missing Link. Oh My God. I had heard of V-chested males, but this was insane. I swear his upper arms were as big as my thighs. The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders. The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down. "This is your Uncle Carrig," Brianna; I thought it was Brianna; made the introductions. I dialed up my Irish. Carrig meant; meant; 'rock'. Not 'the Rock' as in Dwayne Johnson. No, it meant 'rock' as in 'lump'. I had an Uncle Lumpy. How the fuck was I going to explain this at the next high school reunion? The answer was obvious. I'd parade out my four lava-stoked volcanic aunt-hotties and no one would be able to see old Uncle Lumpy over their sexual radiance. Perhaps being created in the form of a disfigured Neanderthal made Lumpy furious with the world. That might be why he wanted Grandpa to stay dead. Maybe; oh hell, Lumpy had serious family issues, as in he wanted to hump my aunts who only wanted to hump me. "Hello Uncle Carrig," I started out. "Thank you for; " "Shut up," he sneered. "I came here to see your whore of a mother one last time, not listen to your prattle." "Carrig, don't," Fiona intervened. "He is family." He took a deep breath. "I know why all of you want him in the Family," he snarled at his sisters. "Behave, or leave," I relayed in a far calmer voice than I felt. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Carrig turned his hate back on me. He put a finger to his nose and cleared his sinuses. The resulting sputum he launched at my Mother's tiny rock reminder was dead-on the money, gooey, white and full of phlegm. I looked at that defilement. This red-hot poker of rage seared through my mind. Instead, I laughed. It started as a stuttered utterance but grew and grew into a rich, resounding conquest of death and despair. "Wow, Unc; that was kind of pathetic," I chuckled. "It is impossible to imagine you ever breathed the same air, much less hold any genetic resemblance, to the greatest criminal mastermind of the past millennia. Seriously, spitting on a piece of stone was the most your orangutan-like, sloped-headed pea brain could come up with?" "After that (cough) brilliant bit of diplomacy, he's probably glad he's still dead and didn't have to witness your infantile blunder," I added. He was getting pissed; torn between his desires to pummel me, rip me to shreds, or storm off like a raging King Kong. "You know, when they killed Grandpa, they told me he made a noise like a stuck pig," I mirthfully met his hateful glare. "For a moment, they thought they'd killed the wrong man." "They suspected you and Granddad were in the next chamber, him ramming you up your sissy-ass for the umpteenth time because you are nothing but a ball-less wonder of a cast-off eunuch," I kept taunting him. "Then they recalled that you always squealed like a piglet, not a full grown boar, so they completed their mission and left," I refused to flinch before his vile hatred. "You think you are funny?" he leaned in and hissed. "I think you need a breath mint; and I am hilarious," I grinned. "I also think I'm the son Granddad always wanted, not you." That was me being mean; really mean. "We are not done," his eyes narrowed. "Take your pulse," I mocked him. "When it stops, we are finished. Until then, brush, use mouthwash and floss between meals. Your halitosis is truly offensive and worse, I think you are aware of it, yet still you refuse to respect other people's personal boundaries." "We should go brother," Deidre beckoned. She couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort and humiliation. Uncle Carrig pivoted and back-handed her. Deidre went flying, but my idiot kinsman didn't have long to savor his win. I hit him with two lightning blows. My first thought was that I had dislocated a few of my fingers from hitting his jaw. Wasn't there a Bond villain like that? Carrig turned on me, a feral fury brimming just beneath the surface. "That's a breach, you cocky, snot-nosed punk," he sneered. Mass carnage was in the offing. "You remain painfully ignorant, Uncle Carrig," I took a half-step back. "Take your punishment now, or later," he coughed. "It makes no difference to me." "First off, Carrig, timing should be a poignant concern. Second, you have only now expended a great deal of your meager brain power convincing everyone here we are related; kin; O'Shea's," I explained. "Also, can I have my knife back?" "Knife?" he blinked suspiciously. "Yeah, the knife I left in your chest," I pointed. I said I hit him twice. Uncle Lumpy looked down and, sure enough, my handy little 10 cm blade was between his second and third rib on the right side. I hadn't wanted to kill him. I had wanted to hurt him and apparently failed at that; while sticking a blade almost up to the handle (Amazon personal blades have no hilt) into him; "What; how?" Lumpy was slowly clueing in that he might be in some trouble. "Brother," Brianna stepped up; shooting me a sultry, 'bend me over the closest headstone and bang me like your Goth prom date' look. I actually didn't go to my prom, Goth chicks are fun and Brianna didn't have panties on. Trust me; I have ESP concerning such things. Of more immediate concern; "Carrig, don't pull out the knife," she placed herself between us, facing him. "You will bleed all over the place." "I'm about to ram it down his ass through his throat," he snarled, clearly educationally challenged. I'd left the blade there for that very reason; not have him fountain blood all over the gravesite. "How long is the blade?" Brianna asked me. She already knew the answer. "10 cm," I was polite, "as is the knife every other Amazon carries." "Reach around and pull out the blade when I tell you," Brianna requested. "I will keep pressure on the wound." I had serious doubts she had an MD associated with her name which meant she knew something I didn't. I also had a more pressing conundrum. Per instructions, I was about to be pressing against Brianna's backside with the added benefit of a free hand. "So, do you want me to pat them, or give them a good rub?" I whispered to Brianna. I'd let he decide what treatment her ass was about to receive. "I figure if I reach around and massage your breasts, Carrig will lose it." "Cáel, take a firm hold. Be doubly sure you are ready before we begin," Brianna instructed. It wasn't the Di Vinci Code, but Carrig wasn't about to conquer a Denny's Kid's Menu (it has little games on it) anytime soon either. Brianna wanted double penetration and, in the name of renewing family relations and my inability to resist any available woman for more than a few days, I complied. Then the horror came crashing in; I hadn't had sex all day and it was almost 10 am. "Don't move, Uncle," I cautioned him. I used those words to conceal the sound of Brianna's skirt zipper going down. I used my other hand to gingerly grab my weapon; the knife; jeesh. Brianna spread her legs wider so that the tension kept her apparel from slipping down. My free hand went inside and got to work. Fortunately, Brianna's hands pressing above and below the wound distracted Carrig from her cute, precious whimpering noises. I must be a total dick. I was stroking my aunt/clone mother with two fingers and teasing her bunghole with my thumb while pulling a knife from my uncle's chest. What is wrong with me? For that matter, Ishara could stymie the ambitions of some poor 'Runner', yet decided her prime minion doing this was a good thing? I work for some screwed up people; dead and alive. "Okay, I'm about to do it," I warned them both. Brianna was kind enough to roll her hips forward and ass up for more direct access. The blade came out, two fingers thrust into her depths, Carrig grunted more in annoyance than any physical distraction and Brianna gasped with piteous need. Before Carrig could start to connect A to B to C, I withdrew my fingers and zipped Brianna up. As I started to withdraw, Brianna acted like my loins were velcroed to her posterior. "Bad Girl," I quietly gave her a risqué reproach. She let me go. Then it hit me like a meteor; I had caused Brianna to orgasm, and hard, with one touch. In fact, she was still roughly riding through it. The mental discipline needed to mask her arousal was impressive. She had no control over her aromatic qualities, Lumpy's nostrils were working fine and his hateful, beady rodent-like eyes latched back on me. "I'm going to kill you," he screamed. Carrig definitely wanted to screw his sisters and they had certainly been denying him. I was curious how that had been accomplished. As he shoved Brianna aside, my suspicion about the seriousness of my wound to his chest was confirmed. I hadn't punched through his heavy corded muscle tissue; with a 10 cm blade. Fuck a duck. If Uncle Carrig got those horrifically huge paws of his on me, I'd be paper-mâché in a hurricane; turned into veal; the very tenderized kind. That wasn't going to happen because of a little factor called crowd density. Most notably, he was in the midst of a passel of Amazons invested in my well-being. A sliver of the O'Shea family dynamic took hold. As usual, it sucked to be me. The four O'Shea ladies rallied around Carrig, cautiously pulled him back then ushered him into the steely embrace of their security. Why did that mean it sucked to be me? In a momentary visual exchange, I understood what Lumpy instinctually sensed when he showed up today. His reign as the place-holder for me was coming to an end. The second my Aunts recruited me over to their side, he was a goner. Obviously they had all the real intellect on that side of the clan. Poor Lumpy merely stomped around and acted like the socially maladjusted homicidal maniac he was. Once the journey to Grandpa's house began, he would cease to have any value whatsoever. Behind his animalistic, dull eyes, we shared that. Tragically, but most likely by design, Carrig couldn't develop a new set of skills to adapt to the situation. The best example I could come up with was; Imagine the last of the super-large amphibious predators confronting the first of the true dinosaur apex carnivores. Somewhere in that tiny amphibian brain, it knew it was screwed. Evolution simply hadn't left it an 'out'. It couldn't get bigger, faster, or more ferocious. It had maxxed out those traits for that model. Nope, it was toast and nothing could save it. As I processed that, the rest of that train of thought came tumbling down. Lumpy was a dead man. He'd hit one of his sisters in front of me which was precisely what they wanted. Deidre hadn't come by my place on Monday to warn me that Uncle Blockhead was trying to kill me. She was prepping me for the knowledge that they had killed Lumpy; to save me. Those incestuous nightmares had trotted Uncle Carrig out like a Barnum  and  Bailey Sasquatch, to loud acclaim and fanfare. Before I could do some in depth research/check to see if this was the 'real' Sasquatch, he would vanish aka be killed to save me. Well played ladies. They should have taken into account I worked for Katrina Love. Katrina undoubtedly played three-dimensional chess on-line so she could lure out the true Vulcans trapped on Earth. My aunts' straw man wasn't going to cut it. Back to the reality that included my father never again enjoying my meandering thoughts over dinner. Back to the other curious 'real' players as they moved in, having soaked up my ceremony and our O'Shea family struggle. If there as a benefit in that misadventure, it was the look on the faces of the two most distant groups. The ambassadors had on their poker faces. I was two decades away from having a chance of deciphering them. Foolish mortals, both groups had brought women with them though. That was not to imply that women can't keep secrets; they are among the experts. It wasn't secrets they were defending though; it was the interaction between Brianna and me that opened them up. If you are a woman and you see a man bring a different woman to orgasm with his fingers in under ten seconds and you are NOT intrigued, you have been sexually neutered. Even if you are a lesbian, you want your lover to pick up that technique. From the level of interest coming my way, I could tell what their bosses/associates really thought of me. The lady who was already thinking how to pull me aside at the reception was also projecting that I had piqued her co-workers, despite their feigned disinterest. The one who was plotting out how to disguise herself as a maid, so she could hide in my bathroom closet until I came in for a shower this evening. Then the feigned interrogation/instructional demonstration could begin, which told me they had chosen to not leave Chicago today despite previous travel plans. The three assholes won the social dare contest and approached me next. They were cool, somewhat disdainful and not a party to the murderous program that led us here today. They were still Condotteiri, thus my enemies and slayers of my Dad. "Mr. Nyilas," a smooth talking Canadian male began, "I wish to pass on the condolences of; " "I know it was you," I broke in. The Canadian; Ottawa, I thought; stopped talking, allowing me to vent. "You killed my father, you fucks. Now here is your 'I got drunk and stuck my cock in a meat grinder only to discover some other moron plugged it in' bullet to the brain. I am not only Cáel Nyilas, I am Cáel Ishara and Cáel, grandson of Cáel O'Shea," I narrowed my vision to menacing slits. "I will let you figure out which Goddess is Ishara as well as the convoluted genetics that has resurrected male Amazons. I want you to know that my father was the Head of House Ishara. You killed a Factor of the Illuminati, the 'Voice' of one of the Nine Clans, one of your own Generals, a Grand Master of the Egyptian Rite, a Ba Wang of the 7 Pillars, or a Chosen Son or Daughter, of Earth  and  Sky "That's right," I let the fear sink in. "This goes beyond a breach, Dumbass. You BROKE the Truce and have ended the Protocols by killing an Amazon leader. I'm sure claims of ignorance by your Generals will be taken for the empty blathering they are. It is time for your blood to soak the sacred soil of my father's place of entombment." Having buried him and his two cohorts in a rockslide of truth, my final bluff passed unrevealed for the empty threat it was. I could see by the looks in their eyes. Amazons didn't care about law enforcement. They would kill those three, vanish into the surrounds then slink back to their secret compounds. It was how the Condotteiri thought Amazon's worked. "Or," I grumbled, "Are you going to make me and my sisters hunt you down and work for it. Killing you with our knives is going to be;” I was saying when their retreat began. I was going to say 'messy'. Those three took a half-dozen steps back then ran for it. Now the stage was fully set. The three members of the Nine Clans came next. I took a totally different tone. Selena stepped up to speak, bowing as she started to speak. "We wish;” she started. There was a lot of interrupting going on today. "Please do not bow to me," I requested softly. "We have fought and it seems inappropriate to me that, without there being a martial decision, we cannot be sure who should be more respectful to whom," I suggested. Selena quickly switched gears. She and her two female companions were now openly staring at me. "My Sith Lady is most likely preparing for trouble at my most vulnerable point," I told Selena. "I'm much more trouble than I first appear," I added. A hiccup in the conversation took place. "You are the male Head of an Amazon House; how?" Selena questioned. "My father and the fathers before him carried the genes of the original Ishara. When Her daughters died out, the legacy fell to me," I explained. Really smart girls; really, really smart girls. "You do not have any daughters, so your first born daughter will be the next Head of your House," the Hashashin noted quickly. "Of any line?" Ah, the siren call of 'please have unprotected sex with me, Mr. Studmuffin. Not only will I walk bow-legged for a week afterwards, I'll have a political tool to use for a lifetime.' "Yes, that is true. Please understand, unless you can catch a thrown tomahawk with your feet, I can't say you are at the top of the list," I sighed. "Speaking of the acrobat of my dreams, how are you doing Miyako?" I knocked away at the barrier between our respective groups. I could hardly be considered an Amazon if I wasn't stacking the odds against the Condotteiri, now could I? On came that child-like Nipponese girl's smile that made me want to double-check her ID for proof of age. "It is recovering nicely. Thank you, Ishara-sama," she smiled warmly. "May I see?" I inquired. Miyako nodded so I went down until I was balanced on the balls of my feet. She deftly slipped out of one of her shoes, placed her foot on my knee then began rolling up the pants leg until the bandage was revealed. In the past few hours my medical knowledge had not increased one iota. I was pretty sure that Miyako knew what this doctor's visit was really all about. I gently massaged her leg from ankle to knee, examining it for flaws and weaknesses. I received some manna from Heaven when I stumbled upon a muscle spasm in her foot arch. I worked it out in under thirty seconds and she gave me a musical murmur of relief when I was done. I put her shoe back on and rolled down her trouser leg. "I would still like you to see our medic if you could spare the half-hour," I offered as I stood. "If it would ease any misconceptions about our first encounter, I will do it," Miyako changed her mind from last night. My next neural misfire was 'Did I pack enough condoms to do all these girls I've been promising to fuck since I got here?' "Estere Abed," the thinly-veiled applicant to be the mother of my first child introduced herself. I was at my father's funeral, I'd been hit with the realization that my incestuous aunts are going to emasculate the uncle I'd just met before they kill him, and I was talking to a woman with skin the color of well-seasoned Oak, eyes as dark as expresso-roasted coffee beans (so deeply brown they were almost black), a pale turquoise, virtually transparent pretend-burqa, with inner, skimpy clothing bits keeping her barely street-legal and visualizing what our daughter would look like. "I am of Kurdish extraction," she lowered her head minutely. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Not only was a-bed something I was seriously considering with this woman, Estere was a Kurdish name of Old Persian extraction. It meant Ishtar; who was the advanced incarnation of Ishara. Bitch; aimed up at my Matron Goddess and Ancestral Mother turned Dominatrixes of my soul. "How; how mystically convergent that is," I grumbled. "I apologize. Me and my matron Ball-buster are exchanging psychic barbs at the moment. Had you somehow predicted this would have happened, I would be happier. With my luck though, this is accidental from the perspective of the mortal plane, thus a point of incredible annoyance to me right now." "Do you often talk to your ancestors?" Estere inquired politely. "Only after I've done something bad," I groaned. "Usually my Goddess is short on instructions yet always ready with 'I told you so'." "How can she chastise you for doing wrong if she fails to give you direction?" Estere was so sincere. I had to keep in mind she was a professional librarian with the nasty habit of misfiling people's lives. "I can tell you don't deal with the Spirit World much," I gave a sad grin. "The last time she gave me a prod, I was staring down a life sentence in a dog cage; after I was condemned, not before." "You escaped," she reminded me with a sparkle. I gave a harsh laugh. "No; no, I didn't," I said. "I'll prove it." I lashed out at Estere. She turned my strike aside and was about to do something I assumed would be unfortunate for me when she restrained herself. "See, Estere, you've been doing this most of your life. I'm a college kid who had a good fortune to meet and be guided by a series of stellar women." She nodded. She didn't understand yet she wanted to remain sympathetic. "I'm playing catch up in an incredibly lethal chess match," I continued. "My advantage is I'm not fuck-nuts crazy like the rest of you people. I don't mean to insult you. I simply want to make it clear how I feel. All the societies are spiritually malformed blights on reality; evil, twisted and predatory." "But you like us," she observed. "I'm going to Hell," I risked much by brushing her nose with my finger from brow to the edge of the veil. "I might as well enjoy the journey." Since I returned with all the fingers I started out with, I could tell she appreciated my caress. Our other guests were getting restless, so I had to end our interaction there. A lone man approached. He looked to be a Turkish/Mongolian mixture and he was uncomfortable with the way the situation had developed. I doubt I had offended him. It was much more the scope of this informal meeting had gone way above his pay grade. As he was from the Earth  and  Sky, the Amazons' hostility simmered. I countered that by being as civil as possible. The emissary, Iskender, gave his condolences, I thanked him for his respect and entered into a small conversation. When he figured out who the Magyar were, he smiled. Iskender was a Kyrgyz, a Turkish people from Central Asia, and we bonded over our male progenitors having saddled up on our nomad ponies, making Eurasia tremble. I was putting forth the effort to make him feel welcome. That was the message for him to take home. Not all the Amazons were going to have their knee-jerk reaction to the E and S's goal. Next came the Seven Pillars, mainly because the Egyptians seemed ready to wait for the grass to devour them before coming my way. Now I had to pillage the vaults of my crafty interpersonal skills to do this correctly. Two men, endowed with as much racial supremacy as Ursula, if not more, introduced themselves. Slight bowing, polite English and the proper, rehearsed words flowed from their mouths. They didn't look down on me; the reason being that behind their perfect civility, they considered me and mine to be inconsequential. The nice female of an indeterminate South Asian lineage had that haunted look of someone made to do horrible things just to survive. A flash of the macabre dumped a memory of her strangling homeless people in some back alleys with barbed wire; so it would hurt them both; training, Seven Pillars style. "Thank you for paying your respects at my father's grave," I started. They hadn't, btw. "I only ask for two things, please," I added humbly. "May I see her palms for a moment?" I asked the man. The woman was clearly a servant; some sort of Palace Guard/Fuck Slave. The leader nodded. The girl was never consulted. Her hands came forward and they rolled so that I saw the scars on her palm; screw you, Ishara. I don't want to care about her. My day planner was more than full with anguish as it was. No answer. "I appreciate it," I smiled. I waited, keeping eye contact. "Was there something else?" the leader finally gave in. "Oh yes," I smiled and nodded. "Don't get in our way. Behave, stay put on that rotting, rubble pile of a decadent and faded civilization you call Heaven and let us do what needs to be done." "Is that clear enough, or do I need to send you both home with your irradiated testicles in jars?" I kept politely smiling and nodding. I was threatening to make them eunuchs with the bonus of having their precious genetics rendered useless. The girl was giving off minute reactive tremors. That was okay. I had been anything, but quiet. Twenty Amazons were ready and willing to make my threat a reality. I wasn't sure how they would break into Fermi Labs for the radiological material, but their resourcefulness never failed to amaze me. The two guys from the Seven Pillars were standing there, not sure what to do next. I had insulted and threatened them; emissaries. Didn't they realize Amazons had been killing poor bastards entreating them for peace for several millennia? "Beat it," I snapped with authority. "I'm done with you. Take my words back to your masters and pray they excuse your gutless reaction. Don't let the airport hit you in the ass." Ugly American? I was the God Damn Bearded Woman/Dog Boy American and their facades were finally fraying around the edges and not the least because going home and telling their bosses my exact words was going to be; well, the positive spin they put on it had better be impressive. They left with their confident poise while the Egyptians approached with a bit of trepidation. Calling me erratic and volatile was being overly kind. My bet was the older male was in charge, but my age and lusty actions convinced them to put the younger woman forward. The younger male bodyguard wasn't even paying attention to me. If the shit went south, he knew he was a goner. "Greetings Cáel Ishara, it seems," she offered my hand to shake. In Old Kingdom Egyptian he said; "May the Blessed Isis bring understanding to this greeting," I countered. Both she and the old man blinked. The rest was in the Egyptian of Ramses and Seti. "It is wonderful to see you speak our sacred tongue; or a close proximity," she smiled. Not only was she generally happy, she was also pretty sure a very unfortunate confrontation was not in the offing. The bodyguard knew of the language but not enough to make out what was being said. The young lady and old man were more than happy to switch to this rare form of communication. We chatted. Things like funerary rites, thoughts on the afterlife and the role of the supernatural in the modern world all came up. No secrets were exchanged and we actually went over some ancient jokes and ribald tales. Buffy's coughing brought us out of our reverie. They taught me the proper Egyptian Rite greeting and farewell, departing in peace. The Amazons were stirring. It was time to head to the cars then on to the wake. "I do not understand you," Javiera grumbled. "You insulted multiple people, including threats of death and dismemberment. You struck and stabbed; something, but not before he knocked a women nearly three meters. I am not even sure that; relative of yours qualifies as human." "I don't know how to approach you and that woman/aunt/whatever," she continued. "Was that incest, public sex, or sexual assault since I didn't hear her give permission for you to do; that?" Whoops; jealousy. Nicole was a half-step back so she could hide her insidious smirk. She already knew I was a bad, bad boy. "I don't know if this makes it better, or worse, but that; those women are not just my aunts. They are the genetic duplicates of my mother and if you think it is funny that they look to be about my age; you wouldn't be alone," I sighed. "Is your mother dead?" she seethed. "Normally, I would take a Death Certificate, mortuary report and a grave marker to be enough. Not with you." "When I was seven years old I saw her very sick in the hospital. I never saw her die, or the cremation, so with my crazy life I'm not going to swear that she's no longer of this Earth," I confessed. "The only one who would know for sure would be; " "Your father," Javiera answered. I began crying all over again. That was it. When I wanted someone dead, I was going to personally put a stake in their hearts, starting with me. This shit has gone down the rabbit hole. In that transitory micro-burst, I flipped. Not to crazy. I had spent my life believing in what was real; working out, girls, books, literature and art; things I could touch and feel, even if it was the air escaping my lungs as words, notes and sounds sprang forth. Now I had to take things on faith. Not 'faith' as in the calculated possibilities which is what most people really meant. I had to accept that there were things beyond my senses that I could not measure, or codify, and move my life forward understanding the total lack of a solid foundation I was basing my actions on. I needed to see Aya so much it hurt. "Are you going to arrest me?" I hiccupped. I was done bawling like a bereft child for a while. "For what?" Javiera snapped. "If I took this insanity before any judge I know, I'd be on Administrative Leave, if not out of a job altogether." "Oh yes," Nicole winked at me. "I was so looking forward to parading out the four identical aunts and the uncle/part-primate." Javiera shot Nicole a dirty look. "We need to go," Buffy reminded me. The only snag was the FBI guys, backed up by some Chicago PD, who intercepted Javiera as she walked with me to our limo. She had to separate for a minute to assure them she hadn't been kidnapped. After some rumbling, we were gifted with one FBI 'bodyguard' for Javiera. That was laughable. If a psychotic fit seized us, there would be two dead government officials instead of one. "Did you really stab that guy?" Special Agent Street Moslin asked once we were on our way. "My family believes in tough love," I muttered. "What sort of organized crime outfit are you with?" was next. "Pre-teen beauty pageants," I sighed. "You wouldn't believe how cutthroat they are." "It is a crime to lie to a criminal investigator," he countered. "And if this was an interrogation," Nicole sizzled, "you would have to Mirandize him." "He has already been Mirandized," the puppy yipped. "Oh? On the charge of Criminal Conspiracy to commit; clarify the charge for me," Nicole grinned. Street looked to Javiera. "What? Special Agent Moslin, consider yourself to not know a damn thing about what is going on and proceed from there," Javiera informed him. The poor bastard looked perplexed. "I will put your situation in context. The woman to my side (Rachel) is about to slit your throat. The woman (Buffy) next to Ms. Lawless is going to snap your neck. They do not give a crap that you, or I, are federal agents. The issue is not what will you do, it is which one gets to you first," Javiera glared at him. "Clear?" SA Street wasn't done yet. "They will get away with it because I suspect they already have such a contingency worked out," Javiera educated him. Javiera was yet Another really clever lady. "Call for our back-up vehicle, pull into a private driveway where you cannot legally follow us, abandon the vehicle, get picked up and leave the city on a private aircraft to another nation," Rachel sounded bored. That was so nice of her to assist Javiera out that way. "Thank you," I told Rachel. "That was very helpful of you." "I want the male to shut-up," Rachel answered. "He's grating. Worse, he's making me wish Pamela was with us and that is so wrong." I held up a finger to forestall Street. "Honestly Dude, she's is not messing with your head. She wants you to shut up, so please be quiet," I urged him. I conceptualized the assessment he was making. Crap. "Guy, whatever workout routine you think gives you the edge is what she does to warm up in the morning," I pleaded. Street had the 'she's only a girl' look about him. "Her combat training is with live rounds, real weapons and a plethora of scrapes, cuts and broken bones. I have little doubt that she's killed people, some in cold blood." "You being Top Shot at the local range and a Judo Champ isn't going to cut it," I emphasized. "You think she's some kind of Special Forces operator?" he mocked me. Javiera and Nicole got nervous. I didn't. Beginner's Amazon Psychology; male opinions do not matter. Rachel and Buffy weren't insulted because he was a chattering chimp and nothing more. "Have you ever heard of an all-female Special Forces unit?" I prodded. "No," he snorted. I kept staring; and staring; and then the idea began creeping in. "Where do you train?" Street looked at Rachel. Rachel was looking at him, not 'at' him. "Please Rachel," I requested. That was really for Javiera's benefit. "Physical training started at age five, weapons training at nine, survival testing at twelve, craft training at fifteen, and acceptance at nineteen," she rattled off in a monotone. "I am thirty." "What is 'craft training'?" Javiera inquired. "Learning to kill people and destroy things," she began. "My specialties are small unit tactics, security operations, electronic countermeasures and Recon Sniper," Rachel replied. "I am an accepted close combat trainer and handheld weapon expert. Do I need to explain any of that?" Pause. Street snorted. "Do you ever sleep?" Street joked. Rachel looked to me then rolled her eyes. "Yes. Six hours; every day unless duty intervenes," she said. "Right; so, what martial arts style do you practice?" he asked. "Not one you have ever heard of," Rachel took a deep breath. "Try me," Street entreated. "I've practiced with several." "Male, do I look like I enjoy talking to you?" Rachel glared. "To alleviate your obvious confusion, I do not. If you wish to lower the hostility level, hand me your pistol and the sap at your back. Your possession of said weapons in the presence of Cáel complicates my job. This is almost as irritating is restraining myself from taking them from you like the infant you are." "You think you could?" Street challenged her. "I was with the 82nd Airborne in Afghanistan." "Special Agent Moslin, she doesn't care. You might as well have told her you were a weekend security guard at an amusement park," I reasoned. "In her mind, being born with a penis renders all your accomplishments so much hyperbole; kind of how her having tits lowered your respect for her as a fighter." That successful ended that diversion. (The wake) Life was wonderful. I walked in the door of the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion, Charlotte pulled me into a vacant side room and handed me a secure phone. She mouthed the name of the person on the other end. "Hayden," I sighed to my High Priestess. "Ishara (not using my first name was a bad sign), I have heard a report that you have declared war on the Condotteiri," she gave me the 'I'm going to skin you alive' purr. "Yep and I urinated on the Seven Pillars too," I confirmed. "Don't worry about the Illuminati. I've got that alliance sown up." "I'm going to have a member of the Nine Clans give me my first born, Ishara daughter, so that prospective alliance looks good as well," I added. "I even managed to be diplomatic with Earth  and  Sky. It is not even noon yet either. No need to thank me. Knowing you are thinking passionate thoughts about me is enough." Charlotte looked like her eyes were going to bug out. "We are clear on the fact that there are fifty two other houses in the House, aren't we Cáel?" Hayden murmured. "Hey now," I reposed, "you said to not pick a fight inside Havenstone. You didn't say anything about these sons of bitches on the outside. I also added nineteen new members. Ishara rejected one who I now think was a closet Man-hater's man-hater." "I want you to come back to Havenstone immediately and keep your mouth shut," she commanded. "The Council will be rightly furious." "With me?" I asked. "Of course with you," Hayden growled. "With the aid of the Federal Assistant Attorney, I received computer discs with extensive and sensitive data on Havenstone, including pictures and locations of Sydney and Marilynn, your daughter and granddaughter," I lied. "The feds seized the Condotteiri's private jet." Silence. "What? Why am I only now hearing of this?" Hayden inquired with a deathly calm. "Do you want me to work with the feds to finish hunting down those last two killers while I send someone back with the data?" I persisted. An oddly longer pause. "Katrina insists there is no data," Hayden seethed. "Of course there is no data," I snapped back. "Unlike you, I'm loyal to EVERY MEMBER of the Host, not just the ones I approve of! If I had something that important, it would be on the way to you, if not already in your hands. My House Head has been murdered. Support me; don't support me. It doesn't change that reality. You have lowered your worth in my eyes, Hayden. We will talk of this when I return." And I hung up. Charlotte kept gaping at me. "Do you think I was clear enough, Charlotte?" I asked her. "Yes Ishara," she whispered. "I doubt a single ancestor misconstrued your wrath." That stopped me in my tracks. A rank and file Amazon using my house name was perfectly acceptable. A Council 'equal' saying it was the equivalent of your pissed Mom yelling out your entire name. "You agree with me?" I blinked. "Had it been Fatima, Beyoncé, or Ngozi there would be no debate," Charlotte answered. "I don't like you; okay, beyond your physical magnetism I do not like you. You are still the Head of House Ishara and we believe that the ancestors move through you." By 'we' I imagine she meant Rachel's SD detachment. A social paradigm presented itself. Amazons were surprisingly democratic for such an ancient society. Their bonds of sisterhood gave them greater liberty than any other group I'd heard of. All could take their grievances to the highest authority. They could hate me and die for me at the same time, in the same way Charlotte could be honest at that moment. I was her superior in rank yet her equal in blood. "You realize that if you tell Buffy about this she'll beat me black and blue," I teased Charlotte. "No can do, Ishara," she chuckled. "She's your sister and, quite frankly, you wove this disaster and if anyone deserves to remind you of the trouble you've wrought, it is her." "I would call you a heartless Amazon, but that's kind of redundant," I glowered playfully. I couldn't hide with Charlotte in the side room forever. It was my father's wake after all. Out I went and there was Buffy waiting for me. "We have a problem," Buffy murmured to me as I headed to the main reception area/family room. "There are some questions concerning your Aunt Stella and the Ishara legacy." "Thank God," I muttered. My crisis was momentarily sidelined. I moved into the gathering, letting Helena and Buffy bring the Amazon to my corner. "Quick and easy," I stated as the last one j

Of Funerals and Families; Part Two. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Birthed by stars, in immortal light, so why do we assume we pass into Darkness.” A maniac conducted the orchestra, while every section fought for dominance without a thought to the opera unfolding under its twittering cacophony. That is how it felt as I steeled myself for the service, but my musings were a fantasy. I had a swirling company of my twenty inductees, two Amazons, plus Rachel's detail and Esmeralda coordinating all the traffic. Pamela was absent. Buffy was the one in charge, deciding who got how close and under what level of scrutiny. The presence of law enforcement was made obvious by our vigilance, with mutual hostility being declared. The government was catching up with how they'd been screwed over. They couldn't prove a thing yet, although they had missed an entire day trailing after me. They also had new leadership. Pamela had expelled Theodora with the simple application of Conflict of Interest. Nicole and Pratt had joined me in my suite, so I was suitably armored when the Feds made their next run at me. I had stepped up in the world, so I was rewarded with a new attack plan. Her name was Assistant Federal District Attorney Javiera Castello, and two seconds of eye contact made precisely transparent what a hurricane she was going to bring to my life. Sex? Oh yeah, she was already figuring what penitentiary to send me to so she could make monthly visits. An impressive dicking wasn't going to save me this time. She was professional, polite and courteous concerning my mourning without being false. Theodora's strategy assumed I was the man who graduated from Bolingbrook a few months back. My history was clear and muddy enough to be real. I was what my documentation said I was; until Havenstone. Theodora had waved the flags and charged the barricades only to discover too late that my defenses weren't manned by a lone yahoo with a bow and arrow, but with mortars and machineguns and her troops had been scattered, her plans shredded. Javiera had my measure now. I was a Prince. Of what, she didn't know yet. She was going to find out. Not out of some fatalistic curiosity, but because that's where the bread crumbs led. Dad was what he appeared to be, that plot of land was relatively worthless and two groups of professional killers had fought and died dragging my father either away, or to safety. I work with some scary-smart ladies. "Ms. Castello, would you care to travel with me to the service?" I turned to her at the last moment. I was a clever puppy, good with women and I wasn't trying to be a politician. Javiera took my gesture for what it was; an olive branch. I was offering to be less of an obstructionist, and she was willing to forgo retribution for my earlier stunts. Five minutes down the road in the stretch limo, I could see the question eating Javiera up inside. She was honoring my melancholy; I could almost hear Dad saying, 'Son, you have company' as a persistent reminder to his petulant teenage slacker that I was a member of the Human Equation. "What do you want to ask me?" I gathered my civility to the fore. Nicole shifted so that we were making eye contact. "Is there a limit to how many questions?" she started off with. I didn't say 'One and that was it'. "I've been told it will take us thirty-two minutes to the cemetery," I looked at my watch. "That gives us; twenty-six minutes," I offered. "Why all the hostility?" led the charge. "A variety of people consider my life to have some value. For a few it is personal. For most, they attach a more esoteric price tag on my existence," I replied. "That is vague enough to be useless," she gently scolded me. Oh, I could see that both Javiera and Nicole were about to play Nutcracker with my heritage until it was the consistency of warm peanut butter. "I am the member of not one, but two secret societies," I kept steady eye contact with her. Yes; there was that look I was slowly becoming accustomed to; that one that conveyed 'what you said made no sense, so why aren't you lying to me?' "Which ones?" Javiera rebounded quickly. "Perhaps we should discuss this at a later time," Nicole reposed. "Nicole," I patted her knee, "how would you feel if you got Javiera murdered?" "That thought shouldn't even be;” she stated. "Nicole, I'm worried enough about you. People know I like you, so they may not kill you for looking in the wrong trash bin," I explained. "She doesn't even have that rather tenuous screen." "Was it one, or both secret societies that shot and killed your father?" Javier continued. "Without a doubt it was an accident. The all-female group was simply scouting the location out as part of forming a contingency plan," I said. "The other group showed up to kidnap my father to interrogate him; I'm not going to tell you why." "The first group identified themselves and the second group began shooting. In the process of grabbing my father, they shot him three times. In the process of taking him to one of their cars, the living lady engaged them in a final firefight. They abandoned my father and left." "You seem to know a great deal about what happened," Javiera noted. "I've seen the footage the first group took from their helmet cams," I told her. "Is there any way I could see that?" she prodded. "By no human means I can think of," I shrugged. "Feel free to ask that extremely venomous lady sitting next to you. Her name is Rachel," I made the introduction. "She remains under the impression that killing people around me will somehow save me from myself," I added. "I not only trust her, I trust her with the lives of my daughters." "You don't have any children we are aware of," Javiera wondered. "Rachel knows what I mean," I gave a lopsided grin. Rachel knew alright. I wasn't asking her to save me with that statement. I was asking her to save my future. "What is with all the women? I'm a believer in gender equality. You seem to lack any male employees, period. Is this a permutation of a harem?" Javier opened another line of investigation. Rachel and Buffy quickly snorted their amusement then returned to their not-so-subtle aggression. I was sure my chauffeur, Tiger Lily, was snickering it up too, beyond the glass. Sigh. "That was uncalled for," I frowned at the Fed. "Five Google searches and you should know all about Havenstone's hiring practices. Ask what you want to ask. Don't try to trick me. I am definitely not in the mood." "Why are you in charge; a male over Havenstone employees that certainly have more skill and experience at; just about everything?" Javiera came clean. "Put on your hip-waders," I groaned. "This is going to suck." I waited until I had her undivided attention. "A long time ago, I killed a group of really bad people," I grunted. I could see that she wasn't buying it despite her interrogation senses saying I was being truthful. "When I say a long time ago, I mean about 2500 years ago." Sigh. "Before you start tossing Thorazine at me, all you need to accept is that every one of those women around me believes that to be true." "So this is a cult?" Javiera inquired bravely. "Put it this way. I'm sure you practice a martial art of some kind. You probably have a chromatic belt that you are rather proud of. It will not help you. These women are professional killers. I'm pretty sure there are a dozen unidentified corpses that could be attributed to these two." I already knew that Buffy killed some guys. Rachel? She was a team leader, so I was willing to have faith in her ability to remorselessly end another person's life. Javiera must have volunteered for my personal fiasco. "Are you being held against your will?" she looked so vigilant and intent. "I can get you out." "No," a dry chuckle. "I'm; not good; getting by. There is no way in Hell I'm leaving Havenstone. I can hardly kill all the people responsible for my father's death if I did that." "If you seek personal vengeance, I will be forced to bring every legal power to bear to stop you," she felt bound to threaten me. "Don't stop being you on my account, Ms. Castello," I finally managed a smile. It was sincere and Javiera knew it. "Who? Maybe I can catch them before you do?" she offered me an escape clause. "You will know it when you see it," I took a deep breath. "Do not try anything at the funeral," she warned me. "Law enforcement will be all over the place." She really wanted to screw me in prison. I knew those things. "I'm not going to kill them there," I assured her. "They will be the ones running for their lives though." "How is that going to work?" Nicole finally broke my silence. "I have 27 ladies willing to kill on my command," I exaggerated. "When I tell those men I know they were responsible and that they should run for their lives, they are going to run for their lousy stinking lives." "But you are not going to give the order to have them killed," Javiera stated. She was getting my measure now. "No, but they don't know that and being horrible human beings, they will assume that I will have them murdered over my father's grave," I turned positively wolfish. "They will run and they will keep running because of you and yours, Javiera. They won't have guns because they don't want to be arrested," I finished. "Why are they afraid to be arrested?" Javiera was putting the puzzle together. That was our deal after all. "I can have repeated, heavenly sex on a train with a nun," I confessed. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange to have a scumbag killed in prison." "I think we can both agree my client is under a great deal of stress at this time," Nicole intervened. "I think we can agree your client is not Al Capone, much less Osama bin Laden," Javiera allowed. "I still think he is exceedingly dangerous." "Dangerous? Dangerous is dating in this town," I groaned. "Went out late last night to a dance club, met two sweet girls visiting the Windy City, stepped outside and they tried to kill me." "Do these two count as 'public'?" Buffy snarled. She meant Javiera and Nicole. Pratt was in another car and the only others with us were Rachel and me. This was going to hurt. "No," I sighed. Wham! The Charlie Horse from Hell! "That's why you have bodyguards, you jerk," Buffy nearly cried. "Ah; we were with him," Rachel tapped Buffy's upper arm. "Oh." Long pause. "I; I apologize," Buffy said sheepishly. "I had no idea you were getting smarter." That was probably the best apology I was going to get. It was still my fault. "You do it out of love, Buffy," I rubbed my arm. Buffy gave me a heartbreaking smile. "Was that domestic violence, or assault?" Javiera snarled. "Neither one is allowable under Illinois law." "It is a Human Resources Team-building tool," I lied. "In some places it is called Obedience Training, or Negative Reinforcement." "I have never seen another human being take a beating like Cáel can," Rachel complimented me. "He is also incredible in the bed room," Buffy added on. Javier didn't know what to make of the menagerie of 'not-normal' women who hung around me. She locked eyes with Buffy. "I mean Really fantastic," Buffy licked her lips. Nicole nodded in agreement. "I can't use any of this," Javiera muttered after several minute of silence. "It is all a type of shared delusion; with fourteen dead bodies attached to it." "Ah, the guy with both femoral arteries shot out made it? Whoa, we've got some top notch surgeons in this city," I nodded. "Yes. As opposed to those two men who had their heads shot off," Javiera added bitterly. Reminding her that poor Horace of the Burnham PD had done the deeds was pointless. "Who died?" I attempted some reciprocity from Javiera. She'd read through every public aspect of my life and had talked to me for less than ten minutes. She excelled at her craft; punishing lawbreakers. "I conclude you know the name of the three dead women and the one living one," she began, "because we haven't a clue who they really are. Their cover identities aren't perfect. We simply can't get anything about them behind the fallacy of their existence." She waited. "If you can help us put the wounded woman in some sort of shared protective custody, I can probably 'suggest' that she be more cooperative," I counter-offered. Rachel nodded. "The eight other bodies at the house;” Javiera shook her head. "Four were dead and by that I mean reported dead from four to nine years ago. The rest; Hell, they were all twisted fucking savages. Every one of them had Interpol warrants out for them, for questioning. No accusations seemed to stick to them: misplaced evidence, dead witnesses and falsified death certificates." "Does this mean anything to you?" Javiera paused to get some more information. "Yes. Reference the men running for their lives," I nodded. "Cáel?" Rachel cautioned me. "This is not something you can rush into." "Actually, it was you who clued me in, Rachel," I looked at her. "Given an opportunity to have only one gun of a given type, would you choose one you knew intimately, or a totally random one?" was my rhetorical question. Professionals trained with a large variety of weapons, yet every Amazon I had met had a preferred weapon; one that if they could have it with them, they would. "The Zastava M2," Rachel nodded. "It is not used in too many places and only Peru in this hemisphere. Someone really loved that gun; enough to bring it from whatever killing field where he was currently employed to my home," I said. "Since the other likely culprit passed on a chance to kill me last night, I am sure enough to pick a fight." (Holy Cross) It had to be odd in so many ways for the people who knew Dad and, to a lesser extent, me. They gathered by the graveside. It wasn't much. Dad had been cremated as had Mom. They had these small granite markers; no headstones for them. They had been so much in love. All they wanted is to be laid to rest, side by side. Mom had insisted on cremation. I thought I knew why, but it had done no good. The true oddity was obvious. The islet of normalcy was the small funerary party with me. My Aunt; my Father's Sister; was here and somewhat in shock. She and Dad hadn't been close; so much unsaid. When my Grandparents died, Dad was only nineteen and Stella was sixteen. Stella's lifelong friend had moved to Maryland a few months previously. Stella reached out to her friend, her friend's parents talked to Dad and Stella went to off to be a mariner. Seeing her occasionally as I was growing up was the extent of our relationship. The priest did his thing. I wondered what Christ thought of this mystic fur ball that was the amalgam of my life. My hope was that he was quietly urging me to do the right thing. The Padre finished, the co-workers and neighbors came by to give their condolences and then ran the gauntlet. The gauntlet? Yes, the herd of Amazons, O'Shea kin and four other clumps of people who I didn't know, yet undoubtedly would soon. Selena and Miyako were present along with a third female who looked luscious in a burqa-shaped covering and a diaphanous veil. Javiera, Pratt and Nicole were somewhat out of place with their lack of arrogant lethality. A limo driver came to take Stella away. "I have some issues to deal with, Aunt Stella," I comforted her. "Vér a vér." It had been ages since she'd heard Hungarian so she wasn't sure what I meant, but she knew it was bad. One of my O'Shea aunts was coming my way until the menace of the closing Amazons halted her. The others had no clue what they were about to behold. I doubt outsiders had ever been privileged to witness anything like it. This was a declaration; it was my mission statement. Ishara did not hide. I took off my coat, folded it, placed it on the damp grass then knelt on it. Buffy stepped up with the bowl of incense and followed my 'coat to keep your knees clean' stunt, sitting perpendicular on my right. Helena followed suit on my left, placing a shroud over my head and leaned over the bowl. Gamble number one: the incense lit up instantly. Gamble number two: it really did burn my eyes; no more Desiree slapping me around. I was sure she'd be heartbroken. Gamble number three: while using my nifty little Amazon blade to gather my tears, I managed not to cut myself. The inductees were much more impressed when they realized what I was doing under my head covering. The next step had me pulling back the shroud, standing up, and striding over the burning bowl of incense. Helena called out the first name. The lady didn't need any prodding. The Amazon walked over to my coat and knelt. Helena wrote down her name and handed her the slip of paper. My Keeper motioned to the bowl. The first applicant placed her named slip of paper on the embers. The simple message flashed up and was consumed. That was unlooked for. I declared her old self dead. With my tears, I opened her eyes to our ancestral history and with blood, I brought her into our future. She had entered House Ishara. She wasn't the only one crying either. What Rachel and her team thought was unknown to me. They were being hyper-vigilant. Esmeralda kept stealing glances our way. Things went along with joyous solemnity until the fourteenth woman, Alicia, knelt before me. Helena handed the paper over, the Amazon dropped it on the incense and nothing happened. I was about to move on to the next part of the ritual when I caught sight of that. Buffy, Helena and the lady were all staring at the offending bit of tinder. I bent over and, with my index finger, pushed it into the embers. Nothing; no heat, or fiery consumption. I put some spit on my finger and pushed again. This time it burned me. The paper was fine. Damn it; 'Come on Ishara!' I screamed mentally. 'Can't I have a simple bit of theater without you mangling someone's dreams?' There was no supernatural scolding, or retort. "Alicia, Ishara believes you have not yet finished your walk outside our House," I consoled the woman; Alicia Holt. As she stood up, faced gripped with disbelief, Buffy rose and took her away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia shoot me a poisonous look. Buffy had anticipated this and was making sure the woman didn't make a scene. The last six women were even more nervous than the previous thirteen. Thankfully, Ishara was accepting of the remainder and we all transited to the group celebratory hug. Act one has passed safely, Act two had an unexpected bump and here came round three. The 'dignitaries' started swooping in. Outside of the O'Shea's, none of the guests wanted to have another group behind them, or hemming in them. Two of the groups held back and since one was composed entirely of Asians, I was betting the other group was the Egyptian Rite. One of my now four aunts came forward. My small crowd of Isharans gave her barely enough room to approach the grave. She placed a green rose upon my Mother's small marble marker. I wondered what my Mother would have thought of her sisters finally finding her; green rose? Who made green; probably the same sick son of a bitch who made female clones of himself? The other three followed suit, placing the roses in a radiating sunburst on the small piece of marble. Through the wall of Illuminati security came; the Missing Link. Oh My God. I had heard of V-chested males, but this was insane. I swear his upper arms were as big as my thighs. The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders. The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down. "This is your Uncle Carrig," Brianna; I thought it was Brianna; made the introductions. I dialed up my Irish. Carrig meant; meant; 'rock'. Not 'the Rock' as in Dwayne Johnson. No, it meant 'rock' as in 'lump'. I had an Uncle Lumpy. How the fuck was I going to explain this at the next high school reunion? The answer was obvious. I'd parade out my four lava-stoked volcanic aunt-hotties and no one would be able to see old Uncle Lumpy over their sexual radiance. Perhaps being created in the form of a disfigured Neanderthal made Lumpy furious with the world. That might be why he wanted Grandpa to stay dead. Maybe; oh hell, Lumpy had serious family issues, as in he wanted to hump my aunts who only wanted to hump me. "Hello Uncle Carrig," I started out. "Thank you for; " "Shut up," he sneered. "I came here to see your whore of a mother one last time, not listen to your prattle." "Carrig, don't," Fiona intervened. "He is family." He took a deep breath. "I know why all of you want him in the Family," he snarled at his sisters. "Behave, or leave," I relayed in a far calmer voice than I felt. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Carrig turned his hate back on me. He put a finger to his nose and cleared his sinuses. The resulting sputum he launched at my Mother's tiny rock reminder was dead-on the money, gooey, white and full of phlegm. I looked at that defilement. This red-hot poker of rage seared through my mind. Instead, I laughed. It started as a stuttered utterance but grew and grew into a rich, resounding conquest of death and despair. "Wow, Unc; that was kind of pathetic," I chuckled. "It is impossible to imagine you ever breathed the same air, much less hold any genetic resemblance, to the greatest criminal mastermind of the past millennia. Seriously, spitting on a piece of stone was the most your orangutan-like, sloped-headed pea brain could come up with?" "After that (cough) brilliant bit of diplomacy, he's probably glad he's still dead and didn't have to witness your infantile blunder," I added. He was getting pissed; torn between his desires to pummel me, rip me to shreds, or storm off like a raging King Kong. "You know, when they killed Grandpa, they told me he made a noise like a stuck pig," I mirthfully met his hateful glare. "For a moment, they thought they'd killed the wrong man." "They suspected you and Granddad were in the next chamber, him ramming you up your sissy-ass for the umpteenth time because you are nothing but a ball-less wonder of a cast-off eunuch," I kept taunting him. "Then they recalled that you always squealed like a piglet, not a full grown boar, so they completed their mission and left," I refused to flinch before his vile hatred. "You think you are funny?" he leaned in and hissed. "I think you need a breath mint; and I am hilarious," I grinned. "I also think I'm the son Granddad always wanted, not you." That was me being mean; really mean. "We are not done," his eyes narrowed. "Take your pulse," I mocked him. "When it stops, we are finished. Until then, brush, use mouthwash and floss between meals. Your halitosis is truly offensive and worse, I think you are aware of it, yet still you refuse to respect other people's personal boundaries." "We should go brother," Deidre beckoned. She couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort and humiliation. Uncle Carrig pivoted and back-handed her. Deidre went flying, but my idiot kinsman didn't have long to savor his win. I hit him with two lightning blows. My first thought was that I had dislocated a few of my fingers from hitting his jaw. Wasn't there a Bond villain like that? Carrig turned on me, a feral fury brimming just beneath the surface. "That's a breach, you cocky, snot-nosed punk," he sneered. Mass carnage was in the offing. "You remain painfully ignorant, Uncle Carrig," I took a half-step back. "Take your punishment now, or later," he coughed. "It makes no difference to me." "First off, Carrig, timing should be a poignant concern. Second, you have only now expended a great deal of your meager brain power convincing everyone here we are related; kin; O'Shea's," I explained. "Also, can I have my knife back?" "Knife?" he blinked suspiciously. "Yeah, the knife I left in your chest," I pointed. I said I hit him twice. Uncle Lumpy looked down and, sure enough, my handy little 10 cm blade was between his second and third rib on the right side. I hadn't wanted to kill him. I had wanted to hurt him and apparently failed at that; while sticking a blade almost up to the handle (Amazon personal blades have no hilt) into him; "What; how?" Lumpy was slowly clueing in that he might be in some trouble. "Brother," Brianna stepped up; shooting me a sultry, 'bend me over the closest headstone and bang me like your Goth prom date' look. I actually didn't go to my prom, Goth chicks are fun and Brianna didn't have panties on. Trust me; I have ESP concerning such things. Of more immediate concern; "Carrig, don't pull out the knife," she placed herself between us, facing him. "You will bleed all over the place." "I'm about to ram it down his ass through his throat," he snarled, clearly educationally challenged. I'd left the blade there for that very reason; not have him fountain blood all over the gravesite. "How long is the blade?" Brianna asked me. She already knew the answer. "10 cm," I was polite, "as is the knife every other Amazon carries." "Reach around and pull out the blade when I tell you," Brianna requested. "I will keep pressure on the wound." I had serious doubts she had an MD associated with her name which meant she knew something I didn't. I also had a more pressing conundrum. Per instructions, I was about to be pressing against Brianna's backside with the added benefit of a free hand. "So, do you want me to pat them, or give them a good rub?" I whispered to Brianna. I'd let he decide what treatment her ass was about to receive. "I figure if I reach around and massage your breasts, Carrig will lose it." "Cáel, take a firm hold. Be doubly sure you are ready before we begin," Brianna instructed. It wasn't the Di Vinci Code, but Carrig wasn't about to conquer a Denny's Kid's Menu (it has little games on it) anytime soon either. Brianna wanted double penetration and, in the name of renewing family relations and my inability to resist any available woman for more than a few days, I complied. Then the horror came crashing in; I hadn't had sex all day and it was almost 10 am. "Don't move, Uncle," I cautioned him. I used those words to conceal the sound of Brianna's skirt zipper going down. I used my other hand to gingerly grab my weapon; the knife; jeesh. Brianna spread her legs wider so that the tension kept her apparel from slipping down. My free hand went inside and got to work. Fortunately, Brianna's hands pressing above and below the wound distracted Carrig from her cute, precious whimpering noises. I must be a total dick. I was stroking my aunt/clone mother with two fingers and teasing her bunghole with my thumb while pulling a knife from my uncle's chest. What is wrong with me? For that matter, Ishara could stymie the ambitions of some poor 'Runner', yet decided her prime minion doing this was a good thing? I work for some screwed up people; dead and alive. "Okay, I'm about to do it," I warned them both. Brianna was kind enough to roll her hips forward and ass up for more direct access. The blade came out, two fingers thrust into her depths, Carrig grunted more in annoyance than any physical distraction and Brianna gasped with piteous need. Before Carrig could start to connect A to B to C, I withdrew my fingers and zipped Brianna up. As I started to withdraw, Brianna acted like my loins were velcroed to her posterior. "Bad Girl," I quietly gave her a risqué reproach. She let me go. Then it hit me like a meteor; I had caused Brianna to orgasm, and hard, with one touch. In fact, she was still roughly riding through it. The mental discipline needed to mask her arousal was impressive. She had no control over her aromatic qualities, Lumpy's nostrils were working fine and his hateful, beady rodent-like eyes latched back on me. "I'm going to kill you," he screamed. Carrig definitely wanted to screw his sisters and they had certainly been denying him. I was curious how that had been accomplished. As he shoved Brianna aside, my suspicion about the seriousness of my wound to his chest was confirmed. I hadn't punched through his heavy corded muscle tissue; with a 10 cm blade. Fuck a duck. If Uncle Carrig got those horrifically huge paws of his on me, I'd be paper-mâché in a hurricane; turned into veal; the very tenderized kind. That wasn't going to happen because of a little factor called crowd density. Most notably, he was in the midst of a passel of Amazons invested in my well-being. A sliver of the O'Shea family dynamic took hold. As usual, it sucked to be me. The four O'Shea ladies rallied around Carrig, cautiously pulled him back then ushered him into the steely embrace of their security. Why did that mean it sucked to be me? In a momentary visual exchange, I understood what Lumpy instinctually sensed when he showed up today. His reign as the place-holder for me was coming to an end. The second my Aunts recruited me over to their side, he was a goner. Obviously they had all the real intellect on that side of the clan. Poor Lumpy merely stomped around and acted like the socially maladjusted homicidal maniac he was. Once the journey to Grandpa's house began, he would cease to have any value whatsoever. Behind his animalistic, dull eyes, we shared that. Tragically, but most likely by design, Carrig couldn't develop a new set of skills to adapt to the situation. The best example I could come up with was; Imagine the last of the super-large amphibious predators confronting the first of the true dinosaur apex carnivores. Somewhere in that tiny amphibian brain, it knew it was screwed. Evolution simply hadn't left it an 'out'. It couldn't get bigger, faster, or more ferocious. It had maxxed out those traits for that model. Nope, it was toast and nothing could save it. As I processed that, the rest of that train of thought came tumbling down. Lumpy was a dead man. He'd hit one of his sisters in front of me which was precisely what they wanted. Deidre hadn't come by my place on Monday to warn me that Uncle Blockhead was trying to kill me. She was prepping me for the knowledge that they had killed Lumpy; to save me. Those incestuous nightmares had trotted Uncle Carrig out like a Barnum  and  Bailey Sasquatch, to loud acclaim and fanfare. Before I could do some in depth research/check to see if this was the 'real' Sasquatch, he would vanish aka be killed to save me. Well played ladies. They should have taken into account I worked for Katrina Love. Katrina undoubtedly played three-dimensional chess on-line so she could lure out the true Vulcans trapped on Earth. My aunts' straw man wasn't going to cut it. Back to the reality that included my father never again enjoying my meandering thoughts over dinner. Back to the other curious 'real' players as they moved in, having soaked up my ceremony and our O'Shea family struggle. If there as a benefit in that misadventure, it was the look on the faces of the two most distant groups. The ambassadors had on their poker faces. I was two decades away from having a chance of deciphering them. Foolish mortals, both groups had brought women with them though. That was not to imply that women can't keep secrets; they are among the experts. It wasn't secrets they were defending though; it was the interaction between Brianna and me that opened them up. If you are a woman and you see a man bring a different woman to orgasm with his fingers in under ten seconds and you are NOT intrigued, you have been sexually neutered. Even if you are a lesbian, you want your lover to pick up that technique. From the level of interest coming my way, I could tell what their bosses/associates really thought of me. The lady who was already thinking how to pull me aside at the reception was also projecting that I had piqued her co-workers, despite their feigned disinterest. The one who was plotting out how to disguise herself as a maid, so she could hide in my bathroom closet until I came in for a shower this evening. Then the feigned interrogation/instructional demonstration could begin, which told me they had chosen to not leave Chicago today despite previous travel plans. The three assholes won the social dare contest and approached me next. They were cool, somewhat disdainful and not a party to the murderous program that led us here today. They were still Condotteiri, thus my enemies and slayers of my Dad. "Mr. Nyilas," a smooth talking Canadian male began, "I wish to pass on the condolences of; " "I know it was you," I broke in. The Canadian; Ottawa, I thought; stopped talking, allowing me to vent. "You killed my father, you fucks. Now here is your 'I got drunk and stuck my cock in a meat grinder only to discover some other moron plugged it in' bullet to the brain. I am not only Cáel Nyilas, I am Cáel Ishara and Cáel, grandson of Cáel O'Shea," I narrowed my vision to menacing slits. "I will let you figure out which Goddess is Ishara as well as the convoluted genetics that has resurrected male Amazons. I want you to know that my father was the Head of House Ishara. You killed a Factor of the Illuminati, the 'Voice' of one of the Nine Clans, one of your own Generals, a Grand Master of the Egyptian Rite, a Ba Wang of the 7 Pillars, or a Chosen Son or Daughter, of Earth  and  Sky "That's right," I let the fear sink in. "This goes beyond a breach, Dumbass. You BROKE the Truce and have ended the Protocols by killing an Amazon leader. I'm sure claims of ignorance by your Generals will be taken for the empty blathering they are. It is time for your blood to soak the sacred soil of my father's place of entombment." Having buried him and his two cohorts in a rockslide of truth, my final bluff passed unrevealed for the empty threat it was. I could see by the looks in their eyes. Amazons didn't care about law enforcement. They would kill those three, vanish into the surrounds then slink back to their secret compounds. It was how the Condotteiri thought Amazon's worked. "Or," I grumbled, "Are you going to make me and my sisters hunt you down and work for it. Killing you with our knives is going to be;” I was saying when their retreat began. I was going to say 'messy'. Those three took a half-dozen steps back then ran for it. Now the stage was fully set. The three members of the Nine Clans came next. I took a totally different tone. Selena stepped up to speak, bowing as she started to speak. "We wish;” she started. There was a lot of interrupting going on today. "Please do not bow to me," I requested softly. "We have fought and it seems inappropriate to me that, without there being a martial decision, we cannot be sure who should be more respectful to whom," I suggested. Selena quickly switched gears. She and her two female companions were now openly staring at me. "My Sith Lady is most likely preparing for trouble at my most vulnerable point," I told Selena. "I'm much more trouble than I first appear," I added. A hiccup in the conversation took place. "You are the male Head of an Amazon House; how?" Selena questioned. "My father and the fathers before him carried the genes of the original Ishara. When Her daughters died out, the legacy fell to me," I explained. Really smart girls; really, really smart girls. "You do not have any daughters, so your first born daughter will be the next Head of your House," the Hashashin noted quickly. "Of any line?" Ah, the siren call of 'please have unprotected sex with me, Mr. Studmuffin. Not only will I walk bow-legged for a week afterwards, I'll have a political tool to use for a lifetime.' "Yes, that is true. Please understand, unless you can catch a thrown tomahawk with your feet, I can't say you are at the top of the list," I sighed. "Speaking of the acrobat of my dreams, how are you doing Miyako?" I knocked away at the barrier between our respective groups. I could hardly be considered an Amazon if I wasn't stacking the odds against the Condotteiri, now could I? On came that child-like Nipponese girl's smile that made me want to double-check her ID for proof of age. "It is recovering nicely. Thank you, Ishara-sama," she smiled warmly. "May I see?" I inquired. Miyako nodded so I went down until I was balanced on the balls of my feet. She deftly slipped out of one of her shoes, placed her foot on my knee then began rolling up the pants leg until the bandage was revealed. In the past few hours my medical knowledge had not increased one iota. I was pretty sure that Miyako knew what this doctor's visit was really all about. I gently massaged her leg from ankle to knee, examining it for flaws and weaknesses. I received some manna from Heaven when I stumbled upon a muscle spasm in her foot arch. I worked it out in under thirty seconds and she gave me a musical murmur of relief when I was done. I put her shoe back on and rolled down her trouser leg. "I would still like you to see our medic if you could spare the half-hour," I offered as I stood. "If it would ease any misconceptions about our first encounter, I will do it," Miyako changed her mind from last night. My next neural misfire was 'Did I pack enough condoms to do all these girls I've been promising to fuck since I got here?' "Estere Abed," the thinly-veiled applicant to be the mother of my first child introduced herself. I was at my father's funeral, I'd been hit with the realization that my incestuous aunts are going to emasculate the uncle I'd just met before they kill him, and I was talking to a woman with skin the color of well-seasoned Oak, eyes as dark as expresso-roasted coffee beans (so deeply brown they were almost black), a pale turquoise, virtually transparent pretend-burqa, with inner, skimpy clothing bits keeping her barely street-legal and visualizing what our daughter would look like. "I am of Kurdish extraction," she lowered her head minutely. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Not only was a-bed something I was seriously considering with this woman, Estere was a Kurdish name of Old Persian extraction. It meant Ishtar; who was the advanced incarnation of Ishara. Bitch; aimed up at my Matron Goddess and Ancestral Mother turned Dominatrixes of my soul. "How; how mystically convergent that is," I grumbled. "I apologize. Me and my matron Ball-buster are exchanging psychic barbs at the moment. Had you somehow predicted this would have happened, I would be happier. With my luck though, this is accidental from the perspective of the mortal plane, thus a point of incredible annoyance to me right now." "Do you often talk to your ancestors?" Estere inquired politely. "Only after I've done something bad," I groaned. "Usually my Goddess is short on instructions yet always ready with 'I told you so'." "How can she chastise you for doing wrong if she fails to give you direction?" Estere was so sincere. I had to keep in mind she was a professional librarian with the nasty habit of misfiling people's lives. "I can tell you don't deal with the Spirit World much," I gave a sad grin. "The last time she gave me a prod, I was staring down a life sentence in a dog cage; after I was condemned, not before." "You escaped," she reminded me with a sparkle. I gave a harsh laugh. "No; no, I didn't," I said. "I'll prove it." I lashed out at Estere. She turned my strike aside and was about to do something I assumed would be unfortunate for me when she restrained herself. "See, Estere, you've been doing this most of your life. I'm a college kid who had a good fortune to meet and be guided by a series of stellar women." She nodded. She didn't understand yet she wanted to remain sympathetic. "I'm playing catch up in an incredibly lethal chess match," I continued. "My advantage is I'm not fuck-nuts crazy like the rest of you people. I don't mean to insult you. I simply want to make it clear how I feel. All the societies are spiritually malformed blights on reality; evil, twisted and predatory." "But you like us," she observed. "I'm going to Hell," I risked much by brushing her nose with my finger from brow to the edge of the veil. "I might as well enjoy the journey." Since I returned with all the fingers I started out with, I could tell she appreciated my caress. Our other guests were getting restless, so I had to end our interaction there. A lone man approached. He looked to be a Turkish/Mongolian mixture and he was uncomfortable with the way the situation had developed. I doubt I had offended him. It was much more the scope of this informal meeting had gone way above his pay grade. As he was from the Earth  and  Sky, the Amazons' hostility simmered. I countered that by being as civil as possible. The emissary, Iskender, gave his condolences, I thanked him for his respect and entered into a small conversation. When he figured out who the Magyar were, he smiled. Iskender was a Kyrgyz, a Turkish people from Central Asia, and we bonded over our male progenitors having saddled up on our nomad ponies, making Eurasia tremble. I was putting forth the effort to make him feel welcome. That was the message for him to take home. Not all the Amazons were going to have their knee-jerk reaction to the E and S's goal. Next came the Seven Pillars, mainly because the Egyptians seemed ready to wait for the grass to devour them before coming my way. Now I had to pillage the vaults of my crafty interpersonal skills to do this correctly. Two men, endowed with as much racial supremacy as Ursula, if not more, introduced themselves. Slight bowing, polite English and the proper, rehearsed words flowed from their mouths. They didn't look down on me; the reason being that behind their perfect civility, they considered me and mine to be inconsequential. The nice female of an indeterminate South Asian lineage had that haunted look of someone made to do horrible things just to survive. A flash of the macabre dumped a memory of her strangling homeless people in some back alleys with barbed wire; so it would hurt them both; training, Seven Pillars style. "Thank you for paying your respects at my father's grave," I started. They hadn't, btw. "I only ask for two things, please," I added humbly. "May I see her palms for a moment?" I asked the man. The woman was clearly a servant; some sort of Palace Guard/Fuck Slave. The leader nodded. The girl was never consulted. Her hands came forward and they rolled so that I saw the scars on her palm; screw you, Ishara. I don't want to care about her. My day planner was more than full with anguish as it was. No answer. "I appreciate it," I smiled. I waited, keeping eye contact. "Was there something else?" the leader finally gave in. "Oh yes," I smiled and nodded. "Don't get in our way. Behave, stay put on that rotting, rubble pile of a decadent and faded civilization you call Heaven and let us do what needs to be done." "Is that clear enough, or do I need to send you both home with your irradiated testicles in jars?" I kept politely smiling and nodding. I was threatening to make them eunuchs with the bonus of having their precious genetics rendered useless. The girl was giving off minute reactive tremors. That was okay. I had been anything, but quiet. Twenty Amazons were ready and willing to make my threat a reality. I wasn't sure how they would break into Fermi Labs for the radiological material, but their resourcefulness never failed to amaze me. The two guys from the Seven Pillars were standing there, not sure what to do next. I had insulted and threatened them; emissaries. Didn't they realize Amazons had been killing poor bastards entreating them for peace for several millennia? "Beat it," I snapped with authority. "I'm done with you. Take my words back to your masters and pray they excuse your gutless reaction. Don't let the airport hit you in the ass." Ugly American? I was the God Damn Bearded Woman/Dog Boy American and their facades were finally fraying around the edges and not the least because going home and telling their bosses my exact words was going to be; well, the positive spin they put on it had better be impressive. They left with their confident poise while the Egyptians approached with a bit of trepidation. Calling me erratic and volatile was being overly kind. My bet was the older male was in charge, but my age and lusty actions convinced them to put the younger woman forward. The younger male bodyguard wasn't even paying attention to me. If the shit went south, he knew he was a goner. "Greetings Cáel Ishara, it seems," she offered my hand to shake. In Old Kingdom Egyptian he said; "May the Blessed Isis bring understanding to this greeting," I countered. Both she and the old man blinked. The rest was in the Egyptian of Ramses and Seti. "It is wonderful to see you speak our sacred tongue; or a close proximity," she smiled. Not only was she generally happy, she was also pretty sure a very unfortunate confrontation was not in the offing. The bodyguard knew of the language but not enough to make out what was being said. The young lady and old man were more than happy to switch to this rare form of communication. We chatted. Things like funerary rites, thoughts on the afterlife and the role of the supernatural in the modern world all came up. No secrets were exchanged and we actually went over some ancient jokes and ribald tales. Buffy's coughing brought us out of our reverie. They taught me the proper Egyptian Rite greeting and farewell, departing in peace. The Amazons were stirring. It was time to head to the cars then on to the wake. "I do not understand you," Javiera grumbled. "You insulted multiple people, including threats of death and dismemberment. You struck and stabbed; something, but not before he knocked a women nearly three meters. I am not even sure that; relative of yours qualifies as human." "I don't know how to approach you and that woman/aunt/whatever," she continued. "Was that incest, public sex, or sexual assault since I didn't hear her give permission for you to do; that?" Whoops; jealousy. Nicole was a half-step back so she could hide her insidious smirk. She already knew I was a bad, bad boy. "I don't know if this makes it better, or worse, but that; those women are not just my aunts. They are the genetic duplicates of my mother and if you think it is funny that they look to be about my age; you wouldn't be alone," I sighed. "Is your mother dead?" she seethed. "Normally, I would take a Death Certificate, mortuary report and a grave marker to be enough. Not with you." "When I was seven years old I saw her very sick in the hospital. I never saw her die, or the cremation, so with my crazy life I'm not going to swear that she's no longer of this Earth," I confessed. "The only one who would know for sure would be; " "Your father," Javiera answered. I began crying all over again. That was it. When I wanted someone dead, I was going to personally put a stake in their hearts, starting with me. This shit has gone down the rabbit hole. In that transitory micro-burst, I flipped. Not to crazy. I had spent my life believing in what was real; working out, girls, books, literature and art; things I could touch and feel, even if it was the air escaping my lungs as words, notes and sounds sprang forth. Now I had to take things on faith. Not 'faith' as in the calculated possibilities which is what most people really meant. I had to accept that there were things beyond my senses that I could not measure, or codify, and move my life forward understanding the total lack of a solid foundation I was basing my actions on. I needed to see Aya so much it hurt. "Are you going to arrest me?" I hiccupped. I was done bawling like a bereft child for a while. "For what?" Javiera snapped. "If I took this insanity before any judge I know, I'd be on Administrative Leave, if not out of a job altogether." "Oh yes," Nicole winked at me. "I was so looking forward to parading out the four identical aunts and the uncle/part-primate." Javiera shot Nicole a dirty look. "We need to go," Buffy reminded me. The only snag was the FBI guys, backed up by some Chicago PD, who intercepted Javiera as she walked with me to our limo. She had to separate for a minute to assure them she hadn't been kidnapped. After some rumbling, we were gifted with one FBI 'bodyguard' for Javiera. That was laughable. If a psychotic fit seized us, there would be two dead government officials instead of one. "Did you really stab that guy?" Special Agent Street Moslin asked once we were on our way. "My family believes in tough love," I muttered. "What sort of organized crime outfit are you with?" was next. "Pre-teen beauty pageants," I sighed. "You wouldn't believe how cutthroat they are." "It is a crime to lie to a criminal investigator," he countered. "And if this was an interrogation," Nicole sizzled, "you would have to Mirandize him." "He has already been Mirandized," the puppy yipped. "Oh? On the charge of Criminal Conspiracy to commit; clarify the charge for me," Nicole grinned. Street looked to Javiera. "What? Special Agent Moslin, consider yourself to not know a damn thing about what is going on and proceed from there," Javiera informed him. The poor bastard looked perplexed. "I will put your situation in context. The woman to my side (Rachel) is about to slit your throat. The woman (Buffy) next to Ms. Lawless is going to snap your neck. They do not give a crap that you, or I, are federal agents. The issue is not what will you do, it is which one gets to you first," Javiera glared at him. "Clear?" SA Street wasn't done yet. "They will get away with it because I suspect they already have such a contingency worked out," Javiera educated him. Javiera was yet Another really clever lady. "Call for our back-up vehicle, pull into a private driveway where you cannot legally follow us, abandon the vehicle, get picked up and leave the city on a private aircraft to another nation," Rachel sounded bored. That was so nice of her to assist Javiera out that way. "Thank you," I told Rachel. "That was very helpful of you." "I want the male to shut-up," Rachel answered. "He's grating. Worse, he's making me wish Pamela was with us and that is so wrong." I held up a finger to forestall Street. "Honestly Dude, she's is not messing with your head. She wants you to shut up, so please be quiet," I urged him. I conceptualized the assessment he was making. Crap. "Guy, whatever workout routine you think gives you the edge is what she does to warm up in the morning," I pleaded. Street had the 'she's only a girl' look about him. "Her combat training is with live rounds, real weapons and a plethora of scrapes, cuts and broken bones. I have little doubt that she's killed people, some in cold blood." "You being Top Shot at the local range and a Judo Champ isn't going to cut it," I emphasized. "You think she's some kind of Special Forces operator?" he mocked me. Javiera and Nicole got nervous. I didn't. Beginner's Amazon Psychology; male opinions do not matter. Rachel and Buffy weren't insulted because he was a chattering chimp and nothing more. "Have you ever heard of an all-female Special Forces unit?" I prodded. "No," he snorted. I kept staring; and staring; and then the idea began creeping in. "Where do you train?" Street looked at Rachel. Rachel was looking at him, not 'at' him. "Please Rachel," I requested. That was really for Javiera's benefit. "Physical training started at age five, weapons training at nine, survival testing at twelve, craft training at fifteen, and acceptance at nineteen," she rattled off in a monotone. "I am thirty." "What is 'craft training'?" Javiera inquired. "Learning to kill people and destroy things," she began. "My specialties are small unit tactics, security operations, electronic countermeasures and Recon Sniper," Rachel replied. "I am an accepted close combat trainer and handheld weapon expert. Do I need to explain any of that?" Pause. Street snorted. "Do you ever sleep?" Street joked. Rachel looked to me then rolled her eyes. "Yes. Six hours; every day unless duty intervenes," she said. "Right; so, what martial arts style do you practice?" he asked. "Not one you have ever heard of," Rachel took a deep breath. "Try me," Street entreated. "I've practiced with several." "Male, do I look like I enjoy talking to you?" Rachel glared. "To alleviate your obvious confusion, I do not. If you wish to lower the hostility level, hand me your pistol and the sap at your back. Your possession of said weapons in the presence of Cáel complicates my job. This is almost as irritating is restraining myself from taking them from you like the infant you are." "You think you could?" Street challenged her. "I was with the 82nd Airborne in Afghanistan." "Special Agent Moslin, she doesn't care. You might as well have told her you were a weekend security guard at an amusement park," I reasoned. "In her mind, being born with a penis renders all your accomplishments so much hyperbole; kind of how her having tits lowered your respect for her as a fighter." That successful ended that diversion. (The wake) Life was wonderful. I walked in the door of the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion, Charlotte pulled me into a vacant side room and handed me a secure phone. She mouthed the name of the person on the other end. "Hayden," I sighed to my High Priestess. "Ishara (not using my first name was a bad sign), I have heard a report that you have declared war on the Condotteiri," she gave me the 'I'm going to skin you alive' purr. "Yep and I urinated on the Seven Pillars too," I confirmed. "Don't worry about the Illuminati. I've got that alliance sown up." "I'm going to have a member of the Nine Clans give me my first born, Ishara daughter, so that prospective alliance looks good as well," I added. "I even managed to be diplomatic with Earth  and  Sky. It is not even noon yet either. No need to thank me. Knowing you are thinking passionate thoughts about me is enough." Charlotte looked like her eyes were going to bug out. "We are clear on the fact that there are fifty two other houses in the House, aren't we Cáel?" Hayden murmured. "Hey now," I reposed, "you said to not pick a fight inside Havenstone. You didn't say anything about these sons of bitches on the outside. I also added nineteen new members. Ishara rejected one who I now think was a closet Man-hater's man-hater." "I want you to come back to Havenstone immediately and keep your mouth shut," she commanded. "The Council will be rightly furious." "With me?" I asked. "Of course with you," Hayden growled. "With the aid of the Federal Assistant Attorney, I received computer discs with extensive and sensitive data on Havenstone, including pictures and locations of Sydney and Marilynn, your daughter and granddaughter," I lied. "The feds seized the Condotteiri's private jet." Silence. "What? Why am I only now hearing of this?" Hayden inquired with a deathly calm. "Do you want me to work with the feds to finish hunting down those last two killers while I send someone back with the data?" I persisted. An oddly longer pause. "Katrina insists there is no data," Hayden seethed. "Of course there is no data," I snapped back. "Unlike you, I'm loyal to EVERY MEMBER of the Host, not just the ones I approve of! If I had something that important, it would be on the way to you, if not already in your hands. My House Head has been murdered. Support me; don't support me. It doesn't change that reality. You have lowered your worth in my eyes, Hayden. We will talk of this when I return." And I hung up. Charlotte kept gaping at me. "Do you think I was clear enough, Charlotte?" I asked her. "Yes Ishara," she whispered. "I doubt a single ancestor misconstrued your wrath." That stopped me in my tracks. A rank and file Amazon using my house name was perfectly acceptable. A Council 'equal' saying it was the equivalent of your pissed Mom yelling out your entire name. "You agree with me?" I blinked. "Had it been Fatima, Beyoncé, or Ngozi there would be no debate," Charlotte answered. "I don't like you; okay, beyond your physical magnetism I do not like you. You are still the Head of House Ishara and we believe that the ancestors move through you." By 'we' I imagine she meant Rachel's SD detachment. A social paradigm presented itself. Amazons were surprisingly democratic for such an ancient society. Their bonds of sisterhood gave them greater liberty than any other group I'd heard of. All could take their grievances to the highest authority. They could hate me and die for me at the same time, in the same way Charlotte could be honest at that moment. I was her superior in rank yet her equal in blood. "You realize that if you tell Buffy about this she'll beat me black and blue," I teased Charlotte. "No can do, Ishara," she chuckled. "She's your sister and, quite frankly, you wove this disaster and if anyone deserves to remind you of the trouble you've wrought, it is her." "I would call you a heartless Amazon, but that's kind of redundant," I glowered playfully. I couldn't hide with Charlotte in the side room forever. It was my father's wake after all. Out I went and there was Buffy waiting for me. "We have a problem," Buffy murmured to me as I headed to the main reception area/family room. "There are some questions concerning your Aunt Stella and the Ishara legacy." "Thank God," I muttered. My crisis was momentarily sidelined. I moved into the gathering, letting Helena and Buffy bring the Amazon to my corner. "Quick and easy," I stated as the last one j

Bonus Q&A pod today.We hear from Alex who heard Nick and Mark talking about Corey Lamb's nickname and wants to know what some other tour pro nicknames are (or were), very funny, including Markos story about Lumpy the Caddy - which he has told before but never gets old.Daniel has a question about 7 Mile Beach in Tassie and whether it is potentially Australia's Tara Iti, which we discuss.Hef has a question for Nick following last weeks masterclass, we give him a buzz to elaborate.And finally Daniel messages us from his tractor in the Yarra Valley asking why people like hard courses, or hard holes, when golf is in his view meant to be fun. We discuss and Nick and Mark talk about some of the holes they found the toughest in their pro career.And we wrap up with a few predictions for this weekends Australian PGA in Brisbane.If you want to leave a voicemail - it's easy, head to our website here on your mobile or computer, hit the record button, tell us who you are, where you're from, where you play your golf, and leave your message. Couldn't be easier, you'll be done in 60-seconds.We're here each week with the great support of PING, see your local golf shop or professional for a PING club fitting. Just like they have with Nick O'Hern, PING will help you play your best. And the Golf Clearance Outlet, great prices on the best gear. See them instore in Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane or Perth, or online here. And watchMynumbers, the powerful data-based golf app in the world - play smarter by using data. Download from the AppStore or GooglePlay.And don't forget to follow us on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and TikTok, and you can see all our Masterclass videos on YouTube here. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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..

The Count and TLo take a look at "Halloween". Not that one. No, not that one. This is the third Halloween that's the eleventh movie, the fourth reboot, and the third Halloween 2. How hard is that to keep track of?

The Rose's latest initiative integrates genetic testing to identify high-risk patients more effectively. Amanda Gujral, Nurse Practitioner of The Rose's Mammogram to Medical Home Program, emphasizes the importance of knowing one's genetic risk during this podcast episode with Dorothy Gibbons. This comprehensive approach aims to improve early detection and personalized care. Key Questions Answered 1. What is the purpose of the new genetic testing program at The Rose? 2. How did Amanda Gujral become interested in starting the genetics program? 3. What model is used to assess a woman's risk of breast cancer in this program? 4. What is considered a high-risk score for breast cancer according to the Tyrer-Cuzick model? 5. What are the next steps if a woman is identified as high-risk? 6. How does the program handle the cost of genetic testing for uninsured patients? 7. What are some of the preventive options available if a pathogenic gene is identified? 8. Why does having a biopsy potentially increase a person's risk profile? Timestamped Overview 00:00 Algorithm determines high risk for breast cancer. 03:15 Knowing risk enables early detection, frequent imaging. 06:19 Genetic testing reveals cancer risk, aids prevention. 11:30 Early detection and education gaps in breast cancer. 12:50 Lumpy breasts can obscure potential breast cancer. 17:16 Recommend risk assessment by 25 for early prevention. 20:34 Rose screens mammogram patients for Tyrer-Cuzick score. 24:44 Men at high risk for breast cancer awareness. 26:02 Stay calm, high risk needs proactive health measures. Support The Rose HERE. Subscribe to Let's Talk About Your Breasts on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, iHeart, and wherever you get your podcasts.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Todd Abrams went from being nicknamed "Lumpy" to an IFBB pro men's physique competitor and co-founder and CEO of ICON Meals, a company that delivers healthy meals to thousands across the US. But ICON Meals is just the latest chapter in Todd's entrepreneurial journey. He's founded and successfully exited multiple companies, including Outdoor Solutions and Layer Technologies. From funeral home management software to cloud computing, Todd has consistently demonstrated his knack for identifying opportunities and building thriving businesses across various markets. In this episode, Todd reveals a consistent pattern of identifying needs, seizing opportunities, and adapting to change. He illustrates the power of solving problems you encounter firsthand, the importance of being agile in the face of challenges, and the potential of combining passion with smart business strategies. Todd's experiences, from tech to food, underscore a fundamental truth in entrepreneurship: success often lies in making people's lives easier or better. Here are some of the key topics from the episode: - Build Solutions from Your Own Needs - Pivot or Perish - Food as a Tool for Change - First Mover Advantage - Convenience is King

My guest on the show today is Jacob Rowe, Founder and CIO of Rogue Funds. We met for the first time at my conference in Vegas, and invited Jacob on the show to share with you all his investing philosophy and strategy. Our focus today is special situations: I like to joke sometimes that most MicroCap investing theses are likely special situations, where you're making a calculated bet on an upcoming catalyst, for example. Today's episode, we cover quite a few examples of what makes MicroCaps and special situations synonymous. For more information about Rouge Funds, please visit: https://www.rogue-funds.com/ To attend our next investor conference, the Planet MicroCap Showcase: VANCOUVER in association with Small Cap Discoveries, taking place at the Fairmont Waterfront Vancouver on September 25-26, 2024, please register here: https://planetmicrocapshowcase.com/signup Planet MicroCap Podcast is on YouTube! All archived episodes and each new episode will be posted on the Planet MicroCap YouTube channel. I've provided the link in the description if you'd like to subscribe. You'll also get the chance to watch all our Video Interviews with management teams, educational panels from the conference, as well as expert commentary from some familiar guests on the podcast. Subscribe here: http://bit.ly/1Q5Yfym Click here to rate and review the Planet MicroCap Podcast The Planet MicroCap Podcast is brought to you by SNN Incorporated, The Official MicroCap News Source, and the Planet MicroCap Review Magazine, the leading magazine in the MicroCap market. You can Follow the Planet MicroCap Podcast on Twitter @BobbyKKraft