Life as a New Hire Ch. 25

Endo: (gasp) "Oh my God! He's not imaging it. He provided ten fully viable...and copious sperm samples in a seven hour period."

Me: "I was so close to making it eleven too...but they caught us in the act."

Para: "You had sex with a member of your medical team?"

Me: (puppy dog eyes): "Medicine is a harsh profession. You ladies who dedicate so much of yourselves deserve a little TLC (tender loving care for you non-romantics). Face it, you aren't going to rest until you've found out what's happened to me. How much of a bastard would I have to be to ignore such passion, extensive training and resolve on your part?"

Para: (blush) "Oh."

CoN: "Mr. Nyilas, don't make me sedate you."

Rachel: (whispered): "Please, please, please."

To top it all off, it went downhill from there. They decided on the correct medical procedure. When I discovered it entailed cracking open my skull and probing around, I nixed that. They'd have to shave my head and I had my hair right at the perfect length. It would take months to get it back to that level of a sexually accessory. I'm not vain. I'm perpetually horny.

(Between later that night and before sunrise – with the Parasitologist in her bed)

"Do you feel better?" she said as she drew a circle around my right nipple. Translation: did I want to go home?

"Yes..." I sighed. "I wish I felt remotely back to where I was before I was jumped." T: I don't want to go home, I want to keep having sex with you, yes, you have made me a better man through your medical and physical exertions, and this won't be a one-time thing. Oink.

Adultery? Yes...no excuse. I was seeing more attractive, better crafted females, but I was a sucker for women with bright, laughing eyes, quick wits and an altruistic outlook on life.

"I've never cheated on my husband before," Evian (the parasitologist) told me after she'd rolled over and rested her head on my sweaty chest.

"This is cheating?" I rumbled. "Evian, I'm the one in desperate need of care and comfort and all I see is an adult woman, professional expert and compassionate soul sacrificing herself to bring comfort to a person in need."

"Is that what you see?" she murmured happily, her guilt evaporating.

"Absolutely. You should tell your husband every detail of what you have done for me. It is only cheating if you plan to be dishonest. Choose the moment, set up the encounter in an emotionally safe place and bare any doubts you may have to him," I soothed her. "If he is the man you know him to be, he will understand," I added. I didn't know the guy.

I did know he had a hot, energetic wife that he'd left behind while he took a sabbatical to the Maldives. His specialty was parapsychology, which helped explain her extra interest in me. Deep down she was afraid her mate was a personable narcissist squandering their lives in chasing his egomaniacal discredited pursuits.

They were a mixed race couple. Evian was a first generation Gahanna-American. Hubby was Dutch-Armenian with a fanatical devotion to academic life, exotic travel and spending other people's money. They had honeymooned in the Bahamas – so he could record a mass sponge migration – he claimed it was nearly half a meter in less than one month (29 days).

Propelled solely by my penis, I bet I could have covered the same distance in under three hours. It soon had proven impossible for Evian to advance in her career if they were both constantly gallivanting across the globe, so they now lived somewhat separate lives. They kept in touch through random e-mails and Instagram.

I quickly noted that in a preponderance of his pictures were handsome young men who Evian swore were his 'native' guides hired to lead him to distant, hard to reach locations. I couldn't help but point out in one pic was a Scandinavian nuclear family, cooking like sausages, in the background on some white sandy beach with its crystal blue-green surf. Maybe ghosts, cryptids, a low sanitation rating, or a high shark count kept the majority of tourists at bay?

Or the fortuitous ice-cold beverage dispensers that – somehow – Raiders of the Lost Ark had avoided placing in their opening sequence. Maybe he toted a cooler with him on every expedition, along with his 'not boy toys' local, non-sunbaked, un-calloused callow young men. I broached the subject of condoms. Fine for me, but Evian was certain that she and the Other Half wanted children (?).

How could I warn her she was playing Russian roulette with the Developing World? Instead, I told her she was lucky to find a man who let her explore herself and her horizons (sex with me). I thought he was exceptionally dedicated doing such brave and unappreciated work (not really) and he would most likely be drawn away for months, years, or even decades to come.

Lay out the 'facts' to a healthy, adult woman that her only chance for sexual fulfillment in the next ten years is in her apartment with her ready to go rarely fails to deliver upon the promised sexual reward. Evian was slow out of the gate, then accelerated to front-runner status. Cunnilingus? No – straight to a '69'. Missionary? Why stick with one sexual position for more than a minute when there were so many to choose from?

Anal sex? No, but that was a matter of time constraints, not lack of her willingness to explore. Back to me explaining to her how she hadn't cheated, her loving spouse would understand everything despite my certainty that he wouldn't contribute to anything or anyone until the turning globe compressed him into hydrocarbons.

We rolled over, Evian on the bottom, her legs spreading out to welcome my penetration and then encasing me while we embraced. Knock, knock came the sound from the open bedroom door.

"Time to go, Stud," Pamela grinned from the doorway. "Almost sunrise."

"What!" Evian squawked. She tried to pull the covers up, but our body positions didn't allow it.

"How did you get in here – into my apartment?" Evian tried again.

"Evian, these people," I automatically assumed there were multiple people out of sight, "are with me. I highly doubt your security system was designed for the NSA and your lock wasn't crafted by a master of the art of creating Chinese puzzle boxes, so they broke in – probably a few hours ago."

"You mean you've been...the entire time?" Evian looked past me to Pamela.

"Oh, we made sure to not peek in, paid for everything we used and met the takeout guy outside," my mentor smoothly related to my current bed partner. "We are his bodyguards. That does require us to keep in somewhat close proximity of his body, you understand."

"I...ah..." Evian muttered. I stroked her hair.

"Don't worry. There will be no accessible record that says I was ever here," I said. "There is something I have to take care of. Can I call you later for any updates on my condition?"

"Yes...yes, of course you can," Evian's adrenaline rush began to subside with the knowledge that the criminals who had broken in were polite and not perverts.

For Cáel and company, it was back to Havenstone. In my absence, a truce had been reached. Agent Maddox gave up any pretense of a normal life, as had Delilah. Mona and Charlotte had gone over to their respective dwellings, retrieved a change of clothes and basic toiletries so those two could remain and meet their commitments.

Delilah was going gun-less inside Havenstone – all appeals denied. Virginia kept hers due to her official status and an agreement with Javiera. FP Castello could hardly justify to her superiors ordering an investigative agent to surrender her weapon on US soil. For all of us, it was the tail-dragging end to a long-ass day. I still had a few promises to keep before I could cuddle up with a nice comfy pillow.

Pamela could barely contain her glee. Was the source anything obvious? No. It was a victory conveyed with body posturing and a few courteous words from Corporate Security. Cáel Ishara, the Great Uplifter of 'Runners' was up and about once more. No other House had joined my lone wagon train. No other 'Runners' had been exalted for their efforts in my absence, so my spry presence was most welcome.

Velma and her unit were waiting at the ground level to relieve Rachel and her crew.

"I'll put Ishar...Wakko Ishara to bed," Rachel yawned. Velma appeared quizzical. "His new designation is 'Wakko'."

"How appropriate," Velma responded deadpan. She'd get the joke later...when someone told her.

"Do we have any idea when Cáel will be taking his vacation yet?" Pamela poked the issue.

"Four days," Velma answered. My trip to see Aya wasn't the issue.

"Thank goodness. I get to leave Buffy in charge. She can handle the Council and the inductions while I'm gone," I grinned. That was the issue – inductions.

My absence wouldn't curtail any of House Ishara's new missions. To the security guards, that was great news for them to spread around. Buffy was getting 'my' nod and being invested with the Goddess' Ishara's authority. As fitting with my impossible existence, that had never happened before either, but it was happening now.

When Tiger Lily and Charlotte joined us from the garage, we began our trip to the roof. Daphne, as House Ishara's honored guest was expected. I still had to officially request her assistance in the Council Chambers. I probably should have asked her Head of House as well. I had to hope Pamela's influence would carry the day. I was too damn tired.

Madori, Senior (whose name turned out to be Yalda – Lebanese), Helena and Buffy were waiting for us, as expected. Sydney, one of her siblings and Marilynn St. James were a bit of a shock. Three House Guards of – recognition took a second - House Anahit formed a screen for that group. I hadn't covered three meters when Marilynn noticed me and exploded.

"You Cock-sucker!" she screamed. "You killed her! She's shorn her hair and taken to the cliffs. How could you do that? She protected you," she ranted. "You murdered her!" In contrast, Sydney St. James and her sister were grieving, yet calm. They restrained Marilynn from a futile lunge in my direction.

What could I say? 'You are right?' 'I sacrificed your grandmother's life as part of a greater political play?' I had claimed ownership of every derogatory male, and gender neutral, descriptor in three languages. I was as bad as she said I was. Worse, I knew I would do it again if I had to. I was slipping that much more under the miasma of Amazon morality.

I stopped walking, torn by warring impulses. Having lost my father so recently, I was freshly acquainted with her pain and loss. Nothing I could say would change a damn thing. Instead...

"Marilynn," I said in a low, steady voice, "Hayden betrayed House Ishara. I would have cut out her heart with my own hands, given half an opportunity. Grow up, or join her."

That took the air out of the moment. My voicing such opinions was so unlike me, unless you were Kimberly, or Pamela. They knew me better. Marilynn snarled and leapt to the attack. Her House Guard did their jobs and held her back. My verbal smack to the face hadn't really stopped the air in its tracks. The wind was wreaking mayhem with our hair, clothes and my ritual shelter.

The sky was bleaching from pink to yellow. There wasn't much time. I couldn't imagine what even one second in the Black Sands would mean for Hayden. I trembled, thinking about the spirits of all those 'Runners' we had turned our backs on. I stepped into the roofless, cloth shelter constructed by someone who knew what they were doing.

I prepared for my shawl and the incense. Buffy put a hand to my chest and offered up a bowl with a miniscule amount of clear fluid. I took in my sisters. They all had red-rimmed eyes. This time out, they would shed the tears and blood ...because we were all equals in this decision. That was the true meaning of the tears in the bowl and the blood to be spilt.

In this moment, we were all Ishara. We stood as a house united before the face of our Goddess and our Ancestors...ours. I knelt down in my proper place, Helena handed me the first name. I read it aloud, set it aflame and declared the ghost dead once more. I dipped a fingertip on the bowl then pressed the finger into the glowing embers. I opened her sight to our ancestors. Buffy leaned forward and cut her finger, letting off a drop to sizzle among the small flames.

Six names. House Ishara grew by six members. Sure, they were dead; in most cases, dead for decades with their unheralded services forgotten by most. No more. The wind didn't die down yet in my imagining, it quieted a bit. The white fabric facing East, past the sliver of Manhattan left to us, the boroughs beyond, then Long Island and finally the great Atlantic, turned orange then yellow.

I took one last breath.

'No.'

'Fuck you.'

Helena handed me the seventh name. I prepared to declare Hayden dead. Not Hayden Anahit.

Our former High Priestess had shorn her hair and died in shame, confessing her treason to her People in this irrevocable act of submission to her heart and the will of the Seven Martial Goddesses and the Fifty-three Amazon Houses. A crude epitaph might be 'She took the Bitches with her' because she'd done just that.

Hayden had done more in the act of dying to snuff out the resistance to the New Directive than any living act could have accomplished. This was more than executing old Heads of House so that their apprentices could rise up and take over the reins of their defiance. It was fairly practical to expect the Councilwomen's hand-picked successors would pursue their elder's agenda. It was also contrary to every instinct in the Amazon collective psyche.

Hayden had proclaimed that nothing short of death could extirpate the shame of her actions and those of her 'co-conspirators' then perished before anyone could challenge that ruling. To Amazon eyes, that wasn't spite, or petty vengeance. No, to the Amazons, Hayden had died before she could be proven 'Right' – that she and those on the list she'd given St. Marie were traitors.

For the apprentices turned Head of Houses, to pursue the policy of traitors was madness. That didn't mean they would embrace men and 'Runners'. There was still deeply embedded prejudice. What it meant was that to organize against the 'Runners' and the New Directive was a gross betrayal of their duties as leaders of the Amazon race. Hayden had made that clear seconds ago.

Buffy got my attention with a furtive hand motion. I looked to her, she was staring the other way so I followed her gaze all the way to Sydney's eyes. Sydney had cried much of last night and she was crying now. She gave me a curt nod. Hayden had passed beyond the Sunlit Realm and was now waiting on me.

'No.'

'We've had this discussion. I'm not listening.'

"Hayden St. James, you are dead," I sniffled. She had saved me when I needed it most. I shoved the paper deep into the glowing shards of burnt fragrances.

My finger blistered, my skin started to brown then blacken. The paper refused to catch fire.

"No," I grunted.

"No," Sydney groaned.

"NO!" Marilynn howled her denial of what lay before us.

'No.'

"Fine," I muttered. I stood up, drew my trusty (I hoped) Glock. I popped out the clip and handed it to Buffy. There was no sense in wasting even a single bullet this close to a bloody conflict.

"Cáel?" Buffy's voice trembled. "Cáel Ishara..." What could I say? I stepped past her then past Tiger Lily who unfortunately stood guard at the compass point I chose to take. She didn't stop me either though I could see the horror dawning on her face. See, I had a gun with a bullet in the chamber. I had a weapon.

Like most skyscrapers, Havenstone Commercial Investments had two barriers to save me from my madness. The two meter tall chain link fence was the first obstacle. I was sure it would be an embarrassing impediment to my reckless defiance to the decision of my ancestors and my goddess. That might inspire someone to commit sacrilege by hindering me. I would not be stopped. I also shouldn't have worried. Pamela would never let them get close to me. The wire ties holding the links to the closest pole snapped.

With three good kick/stomps the fence had failed in its purpose. I moved over it and to the second barrier, a 'meter plus a smidge' trench that, besides stopping someone from rolling off the roof, collected roof rubbish for easy removal. I jumped it. The view from this perch was breath taking, made all the more thrilling by the winds plucking and pulling at me.

Where the gusts trying to yank me off, or pushed me back? Maybe it was Hepit, Goddess of the Winds, weighing my selfless intensions against my abysmal judgment. No time for her. I had a funeral to attend. I pulled out my knife with my left hand. I really contemplated my action plan and it was really trying to suggest that my sisters should never have unstrapped me from that hospital bed.

"I, Cáel Ishara, cannot live with the shame my Ancestors and Goddess have heaped upon me," I cried out. Yes, I was making my Death Pledge. I extended my right arm out until it was level with my shoulder, gun pointing off to the Chase Building. I wouldn't shoot at them. That would render my pistol no longer a weapon and that just wouldn't do.

"I swore to Hayden, in front of the Golden Mare and the Keeper of Records that I would bear her spirit into the halls of our Ancestors. To deny me this is to put a weight upon me that only an eternity of loneliness can bring." I desperately willed my right thumb and fingers to unclench. My hand didn't want to. It, like most organism, wanted to keep on living.

My digits twitched. My suicidal brain was winning.

"I shall shear my hair before I hit bottom, dying without a House and dooming myself to search for Hayden in the afterlife even if it takes until the end of time." The words were coming to me easier now. I was on the precipice in more than one way. The winds tried to lift me off the lip of the gutter.

I still had a weapon to drop, sealing my pledge and confirming my displeasure.

"I die denying you so that MY HOUSE does not have to lift up my shame when one of them steps up to replace me. Good..." I nearly lost it. My fingers finally gave enough that I could feel the metal of the grip begin to slide down.

"Cáel!" Helena screamed with every ounce of her being. "IT BURNS!" Whoops. Almost died there. My heart felt victorious. I had honored my word to...no, I hadn't won a thing. They had. They hadn't doomed Hayden. I had. Not with my denouncing of her by dropping the axe on her desk. That had been unavoidable.

My failure was way before that and it came down to one little word.

My.

My House. My House Ishara. That was what my ancestors and my Dot Ishara – Eeeekk! Almost got sucked off there.

I pushed off the lip with my feet and calves, propelling myself backwards over the trench. Two sets of hands grappled with me and unceremoniously dragged my stumbling form over the now well-trodden fence. I had to face up to the fact that I was an Amazon and I was appointed by them to lead my house after torturous centuries of waiting.

My House. I was the heir of Vranus, son of Ishara and, as the old adage goes, I could not let this cup pass from my lips. Neither Rachel, nor Tiger Lily – my rescuers – said a word.

"There is something I need to take care of," I told them through a forced smile. Hayden was waiting and she had waited long enough for me to come around to her way of thinking ... long enough.

I was a leader of the Host. I had better start acting more like one.