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.’
 ‘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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
your mother dead?’ she seethed. ‘Normally, I would take a Death
Certificate, mortuary report and a grave marker to be enough. Not with
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 too 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
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 Miss 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?’
Special Agent 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
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
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 Host, 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 joined us. ‘Okay, that's an
exaggeration. According to the Shawnee Arinniti, the Ishara/Vranus line
passes along the Y-chromosome.’
‘How
that translates to my daughters having the Ishara bloodline; Shawnee
smiled at me and said it would happen, by the Will of the Ancestors,’ I
looked them over. They weren't born Amazons so they didn't bob their
heads in blind acceptance. ‘Yeah, me to,’ I acknowledged their cynicism.
‘Except
I ended up on Day Two of this job, standing in the Havenstone
boardroom, listening to women talking in a dead language I learned
solely to arouse my first lover and mentor. Then I encouraged a little
Amazon girl to shoot AT me while I stood next to her target. She was so
nervous, her first shot fell short and skidded to my feet.
Her
second arrow hit the mark; her first hit of the day. I didn't want that
first arrow to remind her of 'almost' succeeding, so I picked it up.
Because of that, an assassin barely missed her first shot at me. I
stopped Oneida Arinniti's death curse; not because I had any idea there
was such a thing, but because it felt 'wrong' to let her die. Make of
all have one incredible advantage over all Amazons born into the Host.
Search back to your time before here and examine what you know about
men. Then tell me why I would want this position? You are a legion of
man-haters. At best, you do not want to understand me. At worse, you
think I should be a pet with my tongue cut out.
Some
of you may think it could be for the sex. No. I had over 200 sexual
encounters over four years in college. If anything, Havenstone is
slowing me down. After all, even the Havenstone women who do like me
still consider me property half the time and some SD chicks swooping in
during lunch can put a real cramp in my dating style.’
‘What did you do wrong?’ Marsha inquired.
‘Buffy?’ I passed the buck.
‘Three possible choices:
·         Cáel elevates every sexual encounter he is in, to unforeseen levels, making him indispensable to any happy home.
·         I have a feud with the head of Havenstone HQ's SD; Elsa, and Cáel chose me over her.
·         And thirdly, he physically molested Elsa to orgasm,’ Buffy finished.
‘Ugh;’ I sighed. ‘Wasn't sure you knew about the last one.’
‘I own you,’ Buffy scolded me. ‘Get used to it.’
The
psycho-bitches all chuckled. I was back as undisputed Head of House
Ishara; because a bitch owned me. Yay democracy. I could give a futile
stab at trying to convince Odette not to spill every detail of my sex
life to Buffy. That would be unfair. Buffy scared me and I had an actual
chance of not dying at her hands. Odette would be pâté.
Making my way back to Aunt Stella was a relief. She was back to being a Nyilas; stoic, thoughtful and level-headed.
‘Cáel, what is going on here?’ she took me by the forearm while being quietly insistent.
‘Dad was murdered and I'm going to kill the people responsible,’ I replied. ‘Vér a vér; blood for blood,’ I translated.
‘Can you possibly win this feud?’ she asked next.
‘See those women I've been hanging out with?’ I started to explain.
‘Do
you mean that street gang who look like they are ready to start a
fight, your mother's ten sisters, or those; three; I can only see two
now; odder than the rest of the women?’ Stella cut to the heart of the
matter.
‘Ten!’ I gulped.
‘Yes.
They all have come by and talked with me; very polite. They remind me
of octopi; looking somewhat harmless with a fiendish intellect cleverly
concealed behind their eyes,’ Stella informed me. Oh yeah,
crab-fisher-folk and octopi didn't get along.
‘They are also all soaked in evil,’ I cautioned my last living kin, ‘just so we are clear.’
‘Of course,’ she nodded. ‘That have that off-kilter, squirrelly look your mother always had.’
‘Some people think she might not be dead,’ I sighed.
‘She's not,’ Stella patted my hand.
‘Your
father once told me that if he was ever killed, I was to take you in
until your mother showed back up for you. That is all he ever said on
the matter. I was not sure why she pretended to die; until today when I
met the rest of the family; the ones not killed in that freak Arctic
Sperm Whale Hunting accident.’
I
felt like Uncle Lumpy had rammed his monster fist through my midsection
and ripped out my spine. I couldn't think of why my mother would; ah
shit. My dad, who had been a giant in my life, rose to ranks of the
titans in my love and respect. He earned that status in that moment for
not hating me with all his heart for most of my life. I had driven Mom
an ounce of resentment, or anger, had ever shone through. As I grew up,
all that addictive crap that Granddad had woven into my genetics must
have started to kick in. I may have looked different, but I had his
eyes. I could only imagine what that conversation between Mom and Dad
must have been like when she decided she had to go.
They
had shared nine years of bliss. Before my grandfather's madness
overtook her once more, she had to leave me, thus my father. Dad
couldn't have created the cover story, but the daughter of Cáel O'Shea
would have done it effortlessly. My father sat there, month after month,
paying off a debt he'd never earned so that when they came looking it
would all make sense.
When
someone jumps in front of a bullet for you, you know they've given up
everything for you. My father had bled inside for fifteen years, gone
down swinging with a floor lamp in his hands, for a wife he would never
see again; not even knowing if she was alive, or dead; and a son who
didn't know what price his father was paying for his son's safety. I
patted Aunt Stella's hand and wandered past the faceless well-wishers.
In Akkadian, I said; ‘Vengeance is my fire that consumes my enemies. Let those we tread in my dust eat their ashes.’
‘What was that?’ Javiera caught me off guard. Nicole and Street were keeping up with her.
‘It is Assyrian,’ was my abrupt answer.
‘What does it mean?’ Street pressed.
‘It
means I hate, Special Agent of the FBI Street Moslin,’ I glared through
teary-eyes. ‘I hate that certain people breathe. I hate that they block
the sunlight from touching the ground. I hate that people take other
people's lives for granted; you included, Butt-Monkey.’
‘What does that mean?’ he tensed up and leaned in.
‘It
means I'm not stupid. It also means I can have the life's diary of any
person I can think of, on my tiny little desk in a week's time,’ I
glared right back.
‘Are you threatening me?’ he sneered.
‘Mr. Nyilas did no such thing,’ Nicole defended me.
‘Perhaps
Mr. Nyilas can clarify what he did mean,’ Javiera studied me. Like
Nicole, she knew something had twisted the proverbial life into my
already wounded heart.
‘I meant that the rest of you assume civility as a right,’ I reigned in my fractured emotions.
‘Hunting
wasn't always going where you pleased, tracking down a helpless prey,
slaughtering it and taking that trophy,’ I continued. ‘Hunters have
forgotten that once there were bears, wolves, lions and other hunters
who took exception to such liberties. They have forgotten that it was
often more efficient for the other predators to track him back to his
lair and take him as he walked out of his cave, still thinking the world
obeyed his rules. People need to really examine who we are and what are
true role in life is.
What
we are and what we choose to be is part of the philosophical war in the
human psyche. Between the hunter, who roams, and the farmer, who is
tied to one place. The invader, who seizes what he wishes, and the
supplicant, who surrenders up part to save the rest. And, the solitary
man, free from control yet unsafe, and the tribesman, controlled yet
dwelling in shared security. We are torn,’ I finished.
‘Nice obfuscated flourish to cover your ass,’ Street mocked me. Javiera yanked him around so that he was facing her.
‘What is your problem?’ Javiera hissed.
‘He is guilty as sin and behaving like some 1920's Mafioso,’ Street reposed. ‘He doesn't scare me.’
 I
laughed at that. ‘Whoa,’ I chuckled. It was painful, but I did it. ‘You
keep sliding down the old smart-o-meter, don't ya, Street?’ I shook my
head. ‘You have knuckle-dragged your way right out of the game. I am now
asking you to leave my father's wake. I'll give you a minute then I'm
sending in the 'little girls' squad to show you the door.’
‘I am here to protect a Federal Attorney,’ Street glared.
‘She
can leave, or stay; her choice,’ I offered. ‘Javiera has been firm yet
polite. She's certainly not been insulting to me and my guests.’
‘Special
Agent Milson, please leave. Your official services are neither
required, beneficial nor desired,’ Javiera dismissed the guy. Street
looked angrily offended then left.
‘So, which penitentiary are you sending me to?’ I asked Javiera. Nicole arched an eyebrow.
‘It depends on where I think my promotion will take me,’ she mused.
‘Have I missed something?’ Nicole inquired.
‘Well,
we can't have intercourse while I have him under investigation and I am
going to arrest, indict, and convict him,’ Javiera answered.
‘Not
on my watch,’ Pamela shifted seamlessly through the crowd. ‘I take from
the description, that you are the new number one watchdog. I'm not glad
to meet you. Stop trying to be Cáel's match. You don't know the kind of
contest you are getting into.’
‘Women who seek to be equal with men, lack ambition,’ Javiera countered.
‘Did you use a man to make a feminist argument?’ I regarded Javiera. ‘Timothy Leary,’ I added for Pamela's benefit.
‘I prefer George Carlin,’ Pamela noted. ‘He; correctly; thought everyone was incompetent.’
‘You must be Cáel's white shadow I keep hearing about,’ Javiera extended her hand.
‘Cáel,’
Pamela turned to me, not shaking the proffered appendage, ‘do I come
across as a lesbian? I am curious because women are always asking for my
name and trying to touch me.’
‘I
wouldn't know,’ I sighed. ‘I've never looked at you as a sexual being.
Normally, you so freak me out my balls crawl up inside my body and I
start looking for the closest exit.’
Total
lie. Pamela felt more like family to me than Aunt Stella. Certainly
more than my 'Ten?' O'Shea aunts and Lumpy; if he was still bumping
seen the size of your ginormous nut sack, Cáel,’ Pamela chortled. ‘Said
retraction is physically impossible.’ Seeing Nicole and Javiera's
confusion. ‘We shower together (sigh). We have communal showers at
Havenstone.’
‘That's rather egalitarian,’ Javiera commented snidely.
‘What?
Havenstone is going to build a shower complex for the grand total of
three men that still work there?’ Pamela engaged her. ‘I don't think so.
Cáel, as fun as this distraction has been, I need you to do something
for me. I want you to meet a friend.’
‘You
don't have any friends,’ I reposed. ‘Except for me and I am hardly
honored by the distinction.’ Again, total lie. Pamela was one of the
three people in my life I considered to be a true friend. Timothy, my
rock-solid, hard-working gay tattoo artist roommate, Odette, my
passionate, young post-high school girl looking for more in life, and
Pamela; my soul mate, if Ishara would let me have a soul.
Rachel
started following us as we left the main room. Charlotte was watching
the front doors, Tiger Lily was with our car, and Mona was most likely
roaming the back. The unexpected destination of our quest was the third
floor bathroom. I didn't recall having to 'go' until I arrived.
‘There you go,’ Pamela presented me the door.
Rachel
peeked in first, did a quick poke/scan, then gave me the nod before
retiring. I went in and took a pee, trying, and failing, to put together
what in the hell Pamela was up to; no hand towels to dry off with. I
opened the armoire and a folded-up Miyako handed me said bathroom
accoutrement.
‘Does this make you a 'ninja in my closet', or 'a closet ninja'?’ I asked.
She uncoiled herself from that awkward position. Since it was completely unnecessary, I caught her.
‘What are you doing here?’ I continued.
Miyako started off with a name in Japanese adding, ‘told me you wanted to meet in private.’
‘Okay, I missed the name,’ I worried.
‘Um;
it translates over to something like 'Frosty, the Snow-white Gremlin',’
Miyako stated. ‘She said you wanted to see me. I am neither a ninja in
your closet; it wasn't your closet, nor am I a 'closet ninja' as no
ninja is classified as a ninja. That defeats the purpose of being
invisible warriors.’
I put the Nipponese beauty down, sat on the edge of the tub and wiped my hands on the towel.
‘Have you ever thought about a normal life outside of this; madhouse?’ I posed.
‘Yes,’
Miyako nodded. ‘I see normal people living normal lives, free of the
mortal fears of my daily existence and I am envious at times.’
‘I
have my Oaths to consider, Cáel Ishara. There is my family that
nurtured and trained me. Leaving the Families would be a death sentence,
plus we have a host of enemies. Any life I would have would be on the
run, short, nasty, brutal and violently final,’ she related. That didn't
Daimyos raze a dozen mighty castles. Legendary Fathers raise a dozen
happy children,’ was the saying she gifted me with as a smile traced
across her lips and her eyes shone with compassion. I doubted 'raze' and
'raise' were that close in Japanese, but I went with it.
‘So why are we here again?’ I sighed.
‘Your
friend said you wanted to speak with me, yet it is now clear that is
not the case,’ Miyako reasoned. She could have left, accepting the
deception of what it was. Instead, ‘Do you wish to see my wound? I had
it looked after by your 'Mona',’ Miyako offered.
‘Sure,’ I allowed.
She
started off by removing her dark, shark-skin jacket. She folded it,
placing it across the toilet seat (top down). Her shirt came next; a
plain white number. The bra followed. This was a lot of work for a leg
wound, not that I minded. Her bra was unspectacular which highlighted
her breasts all the more.
Her
mammaries were a solid, high-twenties B-cup, with the bases being
perfectly formed hemispheres and the tops being finely sculpted convex
slopes to the areolas.
‘You have certainly seen more attractive women,’ Miyako stopped and studied me.
‘Yes,
I have. I'm soaking up the experience of being with a below average one
for a change,’ I nodded. No, I wasn't letting her get away with the
'I'm just a girl' game she was playing.
‘You are scalding me with your wit,’ her eyes scolded me.
‘I
make up for it by being a wicked bridge player,’ I met her dancing
light with my own renewed mirth. Off went the shoes and down came her
pants. Yep; full front, pink lace panties up front and a thong in back.
Wiggling out of her underwear didn't take a second.
The standing split so she could dangle her wounded appendage in front of my eyes was exceptional and new.
‘See,’ she commented softly. ‘I had my wound tended to by your medic.’
‘It looks somewhat inflamed,’ I pointed out. Miyako's eyebrows flinched.
‘Yes,
starting right here,’ I kissed her big toe, ‘and here,’ the first toe,’
and so on. Miyako was strong in the enduring, athletic way of all
competitive (and combative) gymnasts. She patiently held her standing
split pose until I tired of the pretense, and the neck crick I was
working on as I licked her vulva, and pulled Miyako's sex box up to my
should have recalled that at age three, the ninja masters had her
swinging through trees like a Gibbon. Miyako leaned back and back and
back until my penis was just above; below her ear. I was a bit taller
than my Nipponese Ninja so she opted for a hair covered (nice, silky
locks) hand job. I quickly taught her she wasn't in the bush leagues
I couldn't catch a tomahawk with any part of my anatomy that wasn't a
hand. I could find a girls G-spot inside of two minutes plus another to
figure out what kind of tongue/finger motion was the most pleasurable
and she was my toy to play with. I would never tell Miyako that. She'd
do something horrible to me and it would be a week later before I even
figured out what it was.
Miyako
was a bad little ninja kitty. She orgasmed quite vocally. I was happy
right up until Rachel burst in ready to kill somebody who wasn't me. By
the look on her face as she drank in the scene, she might have wished to
kill me after all.
‘It is all my fault, Rachel,’ Pamela spoke up from behind. ‘I set them up.’
Thankfully, Rachel backed out so she could give Pamela a good-sized piece of her mind.
‘That
was very pleasurable, Ishara-sama,’ Miyako flexed back up until she
rested with her thighs on my shoulders, her hands in my hair and her
eyes looking down into mine.
‘We aren't done yet,’ I began kissing her lower abdomen. Happy killer-ninja babe.
Miyako
helped me undress. Actually, she damn near tore off my clothes.
Remember, ninja aren't Geisha and Geisha don't put out anyway. Cheap, or
not-so-cheap, sex is what prostitutes are for in the Land of the Rising
Sun. I worried about squeezing into her. Miyako vaulted onto me.
Placing her hands on my shoulders, she guided her tight body downward,
her slit perfectly targeted to join with my sceptre.
‘Ugh;
tight,’ I coughed softly. By the closed-eyed look of concentration, she
was coming to that realization too. She started trying to wiggle away.
‘I did this wrong,’ she moped. I wouldn't let go.
‘How about we stay like this for a while,’ I offered.
She
wrapped her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist and nestled
in. We stayed that way for several minutes then I gave her a slight
'thump' up. She slid up me, then fell back down.
‘Oh,’ she purred. She kissed my shoulder. Another bounce; more kissing.
Before
long, we were humping and sweating away. She made these cherished
little chirping noises I was now associating with climax.
‘You
can scream into my chest in order to keep quiet,’ I suggested. She
nodded; more kissing and licking along my shoulders and neck. She was
close.
The breath and vibration of her howl tantalized my pectorals. An unwelcome side effect was;
‘Tight;’
I gasped. ‘Too tight.’ Her legs and arms had constricted like a python
around my body. She immediately eased her grip the coasted back through
her erotic release.
‘That was very pleasant, Ishara-sama,’ Miyako whispered to me.
‘You should come to my home sometime and meet my grandfather,’ she murmured.
‘I think I would do better with your grandmother,’ I countered.
‘Oh
no,’ she insisted. ‘Grandmother is wicked. My grandfather is a
gardener. The first thing she would ask you was if I was still a virgin
and if I wasn't, she would insist you marry me.’
‘But you weren't a virgin when I met you,’ I complained.
‘She knows that. As I said, she is a wicked woman,’ Miyako explained. ‘Are we done?’
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
‘Oh goodie!’ Miyako exclaimed and off we went. Apparently full-blooded ninja got out as much as full-blooded Amazon; not a lot.
When
we eventually exited, Miyako was sublimely graceful, I was glad I had
washed and toweled off, Rachel was displeased and Pamela was Pamela.
‘Good job, Stud. You knocked her up like a good boy should,’ Pamela patted me on the back.
‘It doesn't really work like that,’ I muttered.
‘I
have faith in you. Now, in twenty-eight days you have to impregnate the
other two so we have the Nine Clans in the bag. I heard you made a good
impression on the Earth  and  Sky; another plus, and; I still think
your O'Shea Aunts are going to go wonky when they get a whiff of you, so
let's be prepared for you sexing up one, or two, before we head home
tonight.
‘You are despicable,’ I grumbled to Pamela. Rachel clearly agreed.
‘A little poetic license; I thought I saw some Cunt; I did, I did,’ Pamela struck back.
‘I
am glad you are family,’ I glared at Pamela. ‘Otherwise I might ask
Rachel to hurt you and that wouldn't be fair to her.’ Pamela laughed
joyously as we made our way back to my father's wake.
Living the nightmare; hungering for a normal life.
 Thursday Night.
It
was well past the descent of Night's veil when the Havenstone jet
landed outside of New York City. Naomi and team gathered us up and led
us to the main building downtown. An unlooked for conflict developed.
Naomi's team was there to present me to Hayden. Rachel's team was still
focused on securing my wellbeing and they didn't like the attitude
Naomi's squad was giving off.
With
Buffy (Helena was in a different car), there was no concealing Rachel's
hostility toward the latest group of SD ladies. The new group was
treating me like a 'package', not a Head of House, and that infuriated
my First too. All of that ill-will simmered as we made our way to
Havenstone. The situation was compounded by the elevator ride.
Naomi,
her team, Buffy, Rachel and I went into the first elevator. By the time
we made it to the top few floors, it was clear that the rest were not
immediately following along. The situation ratcheted up to nasty when
Naomi demanded Buffy's firearm. Buffy looked ready to use it.
‘Buffy; gun,’ I held out my hand, palm up. Buffy reluctantly handed it over.
I
walked over to the nearest trash can, dropped out the clip, chambered
out the first round then dumped the entirety into the trash receptacle.
‘If
they touched it, the weapon would be fouled and not fit for a true
Amazon,’ I explained to Buffy. ‘Best to save your noble tool the
indignity and dispense with it instead.’
Buffy
snorted with amusement, Naomi's crew pretended not to care while Rachel
was deeply disturbed. It took a perfunctory gesture to stop Buffy
outside Hayden's office. In I went to face Hayden, Katrina, Saint Marie
and Troika of House Šauška alone. Šauška was the 'sister goddess' of
Ishara; together they formed Ishtar in later incarnations.
I didn't believe Troika was here for any sister solidarity this time around.
‘Why
did you do this? Start a war; is this your hatred of Amazon culture
shining through, trying to get us all killed in some global struggle
against the other Secret Societies?’ Hayden opened up with in an even
tone.
‘No,’ I kept it succinct. They waited for more of an explanation.
‘Do you have anything you can say to defend your actions?’ Troika glared.
‘I don't need to defend my actions,’ I regarded her as if she was of alien origin. ‘The actions speak for themselves.’
‘Why
don't you explain it to us, Ishara?’ Saint Marie rumbled. Insulted yet
again. As an equal, I warranted the use of my first name.
‘Do
I have your permission to fully and completely lay out my reasoning
without everyone closing in like a pack of hyenas on a leopard?’ I
looked to Hayden; not happy. She gave a curt nod. It wasn't like running
will speak slowly because all of you appear to have become incredibly
stupid,’ I started. ‘My parent and carrier of my Amazon ancestor's
genetic heritage was murdered. The leader of the Amazon Security Detail
identified herself, Then they were fired upon. Somehow you do not see
those actions as Casus Belli. [cause for war]
There
are three possible reasons for your blindness: you are all cowards who
bully behind closed doors, but fold up like gutless wonders when a true
challenge presents itself. Or, the male penis renders you incapable of
intelligent thought and induces irrational and unsustainable hostile
deductions in your though processes. Or, you want me and the line of
Ishara dead and are willing to accept any accident of fate that will
render us so,’ I laid things out for them.
‘Or,
you were in pain over your father's loss and used Havenstone as a tool
to lash out at your perceived foes without concern for what price the
other houses would have to pay for your personal vendetta,’ Hayden
suggested.
‘Your gender bias is appalling, High Priestess  Saint James,’ I shook my head.
‘Have
I been such an out of control, emotional male that yours is the logical
assumption for how events unfolded?’ I smirked. ‘Except for the meeting
where I learned your secret; only Katrina caught that. I've risked
death three times for Amazons; yet I hate all of you enough to kill
those people and myself. Besides,  Saint James, your opinion has been
rendered irrelevant.’
‘You will call me Hayden,’ Hayden simmered.
‘I
will when you and your lackeys get around to calling me Cáel,’ I
countered. ‘I don't like being insulted any more than you do. I could
keep up this childishness forever, but, as I was pointing out, we don't
is coming. Between my father's murder and my threats to the Condotteiri
and Seven Pillars' emissaries, I've guaranteed that. Apologizing won't
do any good. They won't believe you. Offering me up won't do any good.
They think you hold male life to be worthless; the truth of which I am
personally witnessing here and now. They are coming for you no matter
best chance for an alliance rests with me. I can establish truly good
will with the Nine Clans, Illuminati and the Earth  and  Sky. Without
me, they don't trust you enough to do any good. I'm sure only Katrina
believes this; I did all that alliance-building for Havenstone. I am
House Ishara and the fate of the Amazons is my fate.
Yet
here I am, being insulted, being treated like a traitor; an infantile
traitor at that, and being informed you will not honor your oaths and
obligations to me,’ I shook my head. ‘Are there any other issues to
discuss, or can I go home now? I'm beat.’
To be continued in Part 22
By FinalStand for Literotica.
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