Friday October 10th 2014

Elizabeth glared at Cesare as she pointed out a pivotal moment in the Hundred Years War. Giving her a helpless shrug, he ducked his head and went back to drawing up the designs for the claymores he had to make tonight.

His hand stilled as the hairs on his arm slowly stood up. A skittering corruption plucked at his nerves, skin tightening as etheric malice dimpled reality, distortions forming at the edge of sight. Without knowing why, Cesare's eyes jumped to the door, just in time to see it open. Her power flooded the room, submerging the class with its murderous intensity. Elizabeth stopped in mid-syllable, mouth snapping shut with a click.

Dark almond eyes swept the room from the doorway. Lady Kali had come.

At five feet on a good day, she was smaller than any kid in class. Artfully ripped black jeans showed off perfect legs of porcelain. A pink, skintight T-shirt sported black letters: “Kawaii on the streets, Senpai in the sheets”. Ink black hair cascaded in a waterfall down her back with two strands of purple framing dark eyes incandescent with power.

The students shrunk under her punishing eyes, sinking into chairs as they ducked their heads in submission. “Anastasia.” The girl stood at the myth's command, gathering her stuff with an impatient gesture for her harem to stay put. Caught flat-footed, the boy toys exchanged looks before settling into their seats like good dogs.

As a single body, the students slumped bonelessly with a sigh as the closed door cut the wash of brutal pressure from the room. Cesare’s eyes never left the door, his books finding their way into his bag by instinct. Elizabeth frantically wrote instructions on the board, filling it with line after line.

He was already half out of his chair when the door opened. Lady Kali’s power rushed into the room with the fury of vacuum stripping air. It was easier the second time around, at least for him. You can't break the broken, shattered souls own a strength you can't strip away. Grind him to powder, drown him in acid, strangle him with fear, nothing could change the void at his core.

“Cesare?” Lady Kali asked. Eyes whipped to him in shocked disgust.

“That's me.” Lady Kali's dark eyes traced his starved frame, duct tapped shoes and bowl cut brown hair, her eyebrows raised in doubt. Cesare had read a lot about the myth while designing Anastasia's training. Legends reaching back to misty times of gods and abominations spoke of her. Before humanity fed monstrous appetites, when towering myths walked the world and fleshy hungers of slaughter birthed genocides by the dozens, she was the feared apocalypse. She’d risen above the horrors who extinguished lesser races, killing her way to the top, holding her mantle of goddess through oceans of blood. She was a walking extinction event, the end done on an epic scale, a predator of races.

“Come with me, please.” The powerful can afford to be polite, gods don’t need to posture, and true power doesn’t need to threaten.

“Class, the review's up on the board. There will be a test tomorrow.” Elizabeth’s pointed glare killed the hopeful looks of the students.

Closing the door behind them, Lady Kali faced Elizabeth. “I didn't ask for you.”

“They're my students,” Elizabeth said, eyes darting to Cesare.

Lady Kali’s eyes followed Elizabeth’s, sharpening on Cesare. Overwhelmed by Lady Kali’s presence, he hadn’t noticed the others that crowded the hallway. Fit and trim, they moved with the grace of blades. These weren’t kids learning to fight. These were killers, cold-eyed and ruthless, trained to do anything needed to get the job done. Spread out down the hallway, they created overlapping fire zones, interlocking pieces of a murderous machine.

Sprinkled through them were the ones that were lethal in other ways. Lawyers, accountants, and influence peddlers; they ruined lives by the hundreds without cutting flesh. Each owned a specialized dangerous. Some fought with tooth and fang, others with words and paper. Stitched flesh to flesh, they were slaved to a singular soul of unending night.

Anastasia waited around the corner, falling in beside her mother with an anxious expression. “My daughters told me fantastic stories. Unbelievable fairy tales of your training,” Lady Kali stated. “I never would’ve agreed to this training if you hadn't gotten her that win …”

Cesare cut in. “She earned that win on her own. She’s the one that faced it with only fire and guts.” Lady Kali was Anastasia's mother and might be a goddess, but Anastasia was his friend. He wouldn't let anyone make light of what she'd done.

Lady Kali’s harem levelled dark looks leaden with menace at Cesare while a smile tugged at Lady Kali's lips. “You’re right, she earned it. I've never been prouder than when she won that fight.” Anastasia grinned down at her mom. “Still, a wendigo … as soon as I heard, I flew out to pull Anastasia from this deathtrap of a school. Instead of a grateful daughter,” She searched his face before continuing. “I find a woman demanding she fight.”

Cesare hadn’t been sure until now that Anastasia would do it. She’d trained to the bone but hadn’t made any promises. He’d have done the same, taking the full measure of the training before committing.

She met his eyes over her mom’s head, a knowing passing between them. She’d trained her ass off and tomorrow she’d either win and rise to incandecescent glory or fall in disgrace, because there was no way he would let her die out there.

“Eyes down here, Romeo.” Cesare blushed, snapping his eyes down and into the darkly dancing eyes of Lady Kali. “I've fought and killed a wendigo. You’ll need to show me something that makes me change my mind or I’ll shut this down before it starts.” Her tone wasn’t quite dismissive, but it wasn’t far from it.

“You've fought one?” Cesare asked, he’d needed information and gotten only legends.

Lady Kali quirked an eyebrow at his interest. “Yes, hundreds of years ago, and on another continent. It came into my domain to feed. They're immortal as long as they feed on living flesh but like dinosaurs, they can’t … adapt ... to the modern world.” Sadness—no, nothing that trite—it was sorrow that darkened her eyes. “It's not the first of the Umbrae Lunae to fall to times disease, and it won't be the last.” Sighing, she pushed the sorrow aside. “But the wendigo … no one will miss them when they return to the Darkness.”

“It could have been a male running from a female or a female looking to track down a male. It never mattered, it came onto my land and fed from my herd, its life was forfeit for the sin.” A feral smile crossed her features.

“Old, bitter, and murderous, it thought nothing could stand against it. In a way, it was right, nothing else was willing. The local werewolf pack left without a word. They don't like to fight young ones, let alone the elders. That was the last time I allowed a pack in my Imperium, but that's a story for another time. It got five of my cambion before I arrived to where they had tracked it. Torn open, the wendigo had eaten parts of their bellies, faces and guts, before leaving them to die.”

Lost in old memories, her voice lowered. “I chased it into a field. It was cold as old sin that day, winter hard on the land. Burned and blackened, it kept rising no matter how much fire I poured into it, cackling as its skin liquified under the Ebon Flame. I've never seen anything heal that fast …” She shook her head in disbelief. “I've killed everything under the sun, from angels to chupacabra, and nothing has healed like that. Eventually I pinned it down, drove stakes into its arms and legs and incinerated it to ash.” Lady Kali finished.

“You said it was cold. Was there snow on the ground?” It was a theory he’d been working on, only a long shot, but if true …

Eyes hard with calculation, she watched him for a long second before answering, “I know the story that they heal faster in the cold. I can't honestly say if it’s true. I’ve only ever had to kill one of them but yes, there was snow on the ground and it did heal at a phenomenal rate … faster than a werewolf or vampire, almost ... godlike.”

“What did it look like when you burned it?” Cesare asked

She looked thoughtful at the question. “It was over a century ago and things aren’t what they once were. What are you asking?”

“Flesh chars and burns, tissue crumples and blackens, but was there any steam?” He was digging, even as he felt hope slip away.

Lady Kali's eyes went distant, delving into memories old before the Civil War. “I think ... that yes, there was steam. But it could have been the snow flash frying. Why?”

Cesare shrugged self-consciously. “I keep thinking about what I read, that it's a creature of ice and hunger. It would help if it was a creature of ice, or at least if part of it was.”

“You like to play your cards close to your chest, don't you?” Lady Kali asked.

“I like to win. You don’t win by showing your cards to the table.”

“You don't trust me?” Lady Kali questioned.

Cesare's eyes flickered over to Anastasia’s anxious face. “With her on the line, I don’t trust anyone.”

“You can trust my mom,” Anastasia said, embarrassed at Cesare’s flat refusal.

“I might trust your mom but I don't trust the people she trusts, and I won't take a chance with your life just to make someone feel good.”

Lady Kali glared up at him, dark eyes flaring with fury. It was a physical weight against his mind, a will that had survived thousands of years of slaughter. The etheric world bent around her, compressing against Cesare’s fragile human mind, an ant squirming under the boot of a god. But you couldn’t break the shattered. What was one more broken bone in the maimed thing he called a soul? It released with a twist of reality. Snapping back in focus, Lady Kali’s lips stretched in a half grin. “You're even more interesting than I thought. Let’s see if you have the stones to cash the checks your mouth's writing.”

Reaching the corridor of thorns, Cesare faced Lady Kali. “You’re welcome but not your toys.”

“Who are you to dictate to Lady Kali?” Black as obsidian, she was over seven feet of muscled fury. Long, tawny and sable striped hair ran down her back in a mane of dreads. Broad shoulders stretched the tailored suit, massive thighs bulged from under the thousand dollar threads threatening to burst the seams with each step. A wide chest of hardened muscle flowed into arms that formed hills and valleys with each clench of her fists. Her body was a threat, a machine of brutal butchery waiting for meat.

“This is my place, and you're not wanted here” She blurred, moving between blinks. Air hammered out of his lungs, wind roared around him, dirt surrounded him as he rolled across it until he slammed into a tree. He hadn’t seen her, couldn’t stop her, nothing but an uppity rat playing with a lioness.

She stalked toward him with a mad grin, hair falling around her crazed eyes. His bag had wrapped around him in the wild tumble, the strap digging into his shoulders and neck. He dug out the two-liter bottle he’d prepared last weekend.

Her laugh was low and dangerous. “You gonna carbonate me to death?”

Prone on the ground, Cesare threw the bottle at her. Her mad grin widened, exposing sharp canines. The liter bottle made a slow arc through the air. She snatched the plastic out of the air with feral grace. The egg inside the bottle broke on impact, air igniting white phosphorous on contact. Napalm exploded in sheets of liquid flame that sprayed across the woman, drenching suit, face, and hands. Tawny, black striped hair burst into curling flames.

She was a living bonfire of screams. Hands wreathed in fire ripped the blazing suit off. The sticky napalm coated the flesh underneath, clinging to flesh with its own mad hunger. Tearing the clothes off spread the viscous liquid directly onto her skin. She hit the ground rolling, screams rising high and agonized as her body charred under the flames grace.

She kneeled in the mockery of prayer, skin ripped down her back, wet meat exposed to the air, blood drenched sheets of rotting flesh hit the ground. The sweet, sickly smell of cooking meat saturated the air. She howled in pain, a wet, tortured sound that slid from animal to human and back again.

Blackened skin sloughed off in slabs, replaced by dark, leathery hide. Coarse hair sprouted over new flesh, bones broke with wet cracks, reshaped into something truer than human. The howl transformed into a high-pitched, gleeful cackling. Cesare reached for another canister, one he’d been saving for Blaez.

She stood in one fluid display of wildness, small patches of fur burned under the hunger of the napalm. But the change had stripped most of it from her body. Islands of flame dotted the ground around her, feeding on the pieces of what she’d been. Black stripes crisscrossed her tawny fur. She was a sculpture of dense muscle, a creature of pure physical power, a devotee to ancient gods of slaughter. This wasn’t a student playing at murder. This was a controlled and experienced operator, a killer.

The face was neither canine nor cat. A fey thing that took from both. Black lips peeled back from bone breaking jaws and yellowed teeth as it gave a mad cackle. The werehyena stalked forward, red, iridescent eyes lit with malicious glee. The cackle rose higher and higher, ratcheting up his fear with each second.

“Enough.” Lady Kali ordered. The quiet word silenced the horror, slicing through its madness with the power of a goddess. The small woman stepped between them before turning to face the psychopath. “You attack at my order and no other. Remember who holds your leash bouda. I command, and you obey.” Turning, she faced off with Cesare as the werehyena dropped its head in shame. “Never touch my property. They are mine to kill.”

Anger burned clear through him, cleansing him of fear. She was nothing but another person demanding he accept abuse. “Fuck that, and fuck you.” The words stilled the day, shock stealing the breath from lungs. Cold and cruel, the words snaked through the air, spite snapping from every syllable. “I'll kill the bitch that lays a hand on me. How about you check the whore, instead of getting pissy about me saving my fucking life.”

Lady Kali's harem fanned out behind her, forming a half circle of death. The werehyena rose onto the balls of her feet, fixing red eyes on him. Lady Kali raised her hand, stopping the fight before it could start. For a long minute the goddess studied him, anciently wise, savagely cunning and amoral, her eyes were windows into unleashed carnage. “You’re right.” Her words hardened, the anger on the harem's faces into hate. “Nzinga had no right to strike you, I apologize for my thrall’s actions. She will be disciplined.”

“Mother!”

“You don’t blame a dog for biting, you blame the owner. A harem’s failure is the failure of their mistress. We walk in a world of glass. Nzinga could've killed him without meaning to. There’s no excuse for her lapse or mine in letting it play out.” Lady Kali’s words bit deeper than the glare she shot her daughter.

Cesare walked past Anastasia and Elizabeth without a look. He needed to cool before he faced them. Furious rage churned through him in waves. Hot and pressurized, it begged for a target.

He took off his bag inside the safety of the training area. Without the bag he could see the blood stain on his shirt. Peeling up his shirt, he got a look at the cut. “You owe me a shirt. I'm not taking a hit because your girl got frisky,” Cesare said absently as he looked at the torn shirt in disgust.

“Of course. Are you alright?” Concern tightened Lady Kali’s voice.

Not bothering to answer, he pulled supplies from his bag: ointment for infection, a sewing box, water, and finally a square cut from an old towel. The cut was long, about five inches along his ribs and down into the soft flesh of his waist. He washed it clean, fingers probing to check the depth. He sighed when he realized he wouldn’t need stitches.

“Cesare, let me …” Elizabeth's voice was close behind him.

“Don't … just don't.” The words tore the air, barbed with barely restrained anger.

His hands moved through the familiar routine quickly. After cleaning it, he applied the ointment and then the piece of towel. Finally, he wrapped it in a well-used compression bandage.

Raising his head, he met the eyes of the three watching him. Elizabeth was shrouded in sorrow, so much so that he felt a part of his heart reach out to her in comfort. That part was drowned under her betrayal. How could you watch a friend get beaten and not step in to help? You couldn't.

Anastasia looked around the clearing sadly, hair dull and still in the air. She’d stood aside and watched the werehyena go for his throat, and when it over, she’d defended her mother. Lady Kali switched between studying him and looking at the other women.

“You seem … practiced at that.” Lady Kali's words were more statement than question.

Cesare slapped a rock into Anastasia's hand. “We don't have your harem, so I'll play the wendigo part.” Anastasia's eyes widened, flickering to her mother. “Don't worry. After all the times you’ve beaten the shit out of me, I'm sure it won’t kill you to hit me with a rock.”

“You've what?” Lady Kali's power swirled, whipped up by her sudden anger.

Anastasia winced anxiously. “It's not like it sounds …”

“Really? Then tell me why you’re beating student’s unconscious?” Lady Kali demanded.

Swallowing, Anastasia looked briefly at Elizabeth. “I was told to discourage … students, from working with Miss Raven.” 

“You beat a student who was weaker than you to satisfy the prejudices of a belly crawling snake?” Lady Kali's condemnation brought a flush to Anastasia. “I told you not to join the Thagirion. I told you they were nothing more than bullies and thugs, worthless scions of the privileged. I told you that the only thing you'd learn was the filth of easy violence. Do you remember what you said to me? You said you could think for yourself. Is this how you think for yourself?” Lady Kali demanded. Anastasia kept her mouth shut and her face down. “Answer me, girl!” The words detonated with an explosion of power, a palatable force that blew over Cesare.

“Mom … you don't …” Anastasia tried weakly, unable to meet her mother’s eyes.

“You’d be dead without him ... or disgraced if I’d saved you. And that's how you met him? Standing over him, glorying in his pain? With his blood on your hands?” Lady Kali faced Cesare. “Do you know how Constantinople was conquered by the Ottoman Empire?

The strange question caught him by surprise. “Urban wanted to build a cannon foundry in the city of Constantinople but was turned down because it was too expensive. Sultan Mehmed, however, was more than glad to give him the startup money. Urban created a 27-foot-long cannon that launched 600 pound rocks. They used it to batter down the walls of Constantinople.”

As he talked, a smile grew across Lady Kali's face. She turned to her daughter. “That one thing didn't ensure victory for the Sultan but it sealed the city’s fate. By attacking Cesare, you almost lost an asset. Think on that. Where would you be without his help? All assets are used, if not by you, then by those hunting you.” Her face hardened. “I won’t tolerate stupidity or unchecked butchery in my blood.”

Anastasia nodded, never once raising her eyes from the ground. Shame gathered around her, that beautiful shining hair dull and listless. “I'm sorry, mother. I … don't have an excuse,” she whispered to the ground.
Wrapping her arms around the much taller Anastasia, Lady Kali comforted her daughter. Whatever whispered words were said between them, when they parted, Anastasia’s hair had regained its vibrant color even if shame and sadness shadowed her eyes.

“We've trained the parts all week, but we only put it together yesterday. First, she'll hit me with the rock, that's the stand in for the flash grenade,” Cesare said.

“If she gets a good hit with the rock, she’ll switch to the bag. The frisbees come after, no matter if the bag hits. Those should be placed in a triangle around me.” Questions piled up in Lady Kali’s eyes as Cesare turned away from her.

He walked out onto the field, body loose, without any sign of when he'd start the murder play. Suddenly, he ducked and turned, exploding into a sprint for Anastasia. Focused and ready, she watched as he zigzagged from side to side. His eyes darted to the ground, judging distance. A second later, the rock hit his chest, jarring his body.

The rule was that once he got hit, he had to close his eyes for fifteen seconds. His speed dropped to little more than a staggered walk. Two more steps and the bag hit him in the face, knocking him ass over tea kettle. Opening his eyes, he saw the three Frisbees land in their triangle pattern.

He’d come up with the tools and the plan, but Anastasia had worked her ass off to make it her own. The women watched him gather up the props. “That's it for today. You’re ready to fight. Any more training will only confuse things.”

“But with more practice …” Anastasia started.

Cesare smoothly cut her off. “More practice isn't always good. You got this. And I still have to finish your weapons for tomorrow.” He held his hand up to stop her. “I'm calling an end because you're ready, not because I have other things to do.”

Lady Kali spoke before Anastasia could. “So that's your plan. You realize a wendigo’s faster than you’ll ever be? What if she misses?”

“She'll have two flash bombs. If she misses with the first, which I don't think she will, she'll set off the second one while he’s closing in. The wendigo will be fixed on her, close enough to be blinded,” Cesare answered as he headed to his bag.

“And if your bag of tricks doesn't work?” Anger at talking to his back savaged the anger at knowing he wouldn't answer anything important.

“Then she'll set off the three Frisbees and start Plan B.” The plan was built around flexibility. After hours spent perfecting the parts, they were seared to flesh, eager to meet her needs.

“And if that doesn't work? What then?”

He turned to face the goddess, a plastic bag in his hand. “Then I'll go in and get her.” The words silenced Lady Kali as he passed her and headed to her daughter.

“It's the shirt and shorts I've been wearing this week for practice. You'll need to wear them under your clothes tomorrow.” Disgust filled her eyes as she held the bag at arm’s length.

“Really?” Disbelief warred with disgust.

“Really.” Cesare answered grimly. “It might throw off your scent, as long as you put on a lot of deodorant before you wear my stuff.” Nodding reluctantly, she agreed to the plan.

“You plan to use its senses against it. That's why you're blinding it,” Lady Kali said.

Cesare shrugged, still facing Anastasia. “I need your clothes before we go. I need to sew them onto the bag.”

Anastasia’s eyes drifted hesitantly to her mother. “Do you think we could … show her the other stuff we've worked on?” The pleading in her voice took the edge off his anger.

She’d been shamed by her mother, torn down and treated like a child. The mother she all but worshipped had condemned her. Tomorrow she’d fight for her life in the Sanguine Nativitate. This could be her last time to impress the one person who meant everything to her. Was his anger worth taking that from her? She’d never be his friend, never be a person who’d stand by him. He’d known that before today, but her standing aside had shoved the fact in his face and made him smell his failure.

Anastasia gave him a dazzling smile, scarlet hair bright and gleeful as it rustled in a eldritch wind. Charm given calculating life, plucked at his heart, a fey creature twisting him into what she wanted him to be. Tendrils probed along the broken wreckage of his soul, illusions of towers and beauty springing up in the wasteland of its dead streets. He let it deceive him because the lie was better than any truth he owned. Twirling around, she presented her back to him in readiness for his hands.

He moved behind her with a barely heard laugh. Soft and warm, her hips filled his hands. Soaked in dried sweat after a week of hard work, her clothes smelled of long days and brutal training. Reaching for him with needy tendrils, crimson hair teased across his chest. It played over his shoulders and face, always careful to keep his mouth and eyes clear.

“Let’s show them what you can do, princess.” She took a deep, steadying breath at the nickname. “I want you to forget about them. It’s only me and you in this place and time. Just us, together and alone, like it was meant to be.” Anastasia's breathing deepened as he talked, body relaxing, tension bleeding out under the mindscape he wove.

“Feel the fire that rides your bones. The heat that burns, the devouring hunger that consumes. Call it up. Tease it out of your soul. Feel it race under your skin, desperation in every flicker of flame. It calls ... demanding to be let out, to feast on the world.” Heat radiated from her body as lethal flame filled her flesh to the cusp of rupturing skin. He waited for the tipping point where holding it became pain, when pressure turned to agony. “Now.” A whisper of a word, its weight too great to bear.

The blast was quicker than a blink. Black flame smashed into the bamboo man, exploding it into flaming splinters. A second blast followed. Not as fast as the first, but just as devastating. It destroyed another bamboo target, melting it into the ground, reducing it to a smoking, bubbling puddle. That was how far she’d come. She could fire two blasts in the space where she used to only fire one.

Anastasia whipped around, swarming into his arms with a squeal of joy. He held her close, the red hair moving over his face and down his back. His world was made up of her face and the waves of scarlet hair. Her dark eyes glowed with happiness, a joy that tore everything down before it. She’d never been more beautiful or him more lost in it.

Cesare pulled away, Anastasia's arms reluctantly letting him go. Anastasia's hair wove and tangled with his own, forlornly holding him, knowing he was going and unwilling to let him without a fight. She wasn’t his and would never be his. She had a boyfriend and no matter what he thought of the guy, Cesare wouldn’t cross that line.  She could never be the kind of person he’d want to be with, the kind that would stand by him through blood and fire.

“Serpent’s Flame …” The awed tone broke the spell between Cesare and Anastasia.

“Mother?” Anastasia questioned.

Lady Kali eyed them with shock. “It's a sacred skill. An advanced way, something you shouldn’t be able to learn until … much later. What kind of training are you doing?” It was a demand backed by a power that had existed for centuries.

Anastasia straightened with pride. She looked to Cesare, waiting for his nod before describing the training he’d put her through. As they talked, Lady Kali greedily dug into the answers.

“I wouldn’t have thought ... we don’t train initiates like this. It’s always been done in a … sacred way. Training the Ebon Flame is as much a spiritual journey as it is a honed ability. The times we’ve tried to apply human techniques to the training have always been disastrous. Still, it’s hard to argue with success. I want you to take notes on this ... training ... if we could train others this fast ...” She let the words trail off with a long look at Cesare.

“Well, I have work to do. Can I get those clothes?” Cesare turned around while Anastasia got undressed, taking the clothes she handed over before leaving without a word.

Cesare slowly added the Vaseline and wax into the gasoline while pouring in the powdered potassium chlorate. This was the last step in making the gelatin explosive he'd mold onto the top of the Frisbees.

The cottage door opened behind him. The soft sound of the steps wasn't anything Elizabeth made. With his hands covered in plastic explosives, it didn’t matter who it was.

“Are you going to pout or escort me to the reception?” Lady Kali asked as she came up beside him.

“I’m not pouting. And I don’t remember you going to the last one, so what’s special about this one?” Cesare said as he kneaded the gelatin.

“When you’re as old as I am, they start looking the same. Faces change, but the ocean of ass kissers stays the same. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to go to one or wanted a man to take me.” She stepped closer to look at what he was doing. “What’s got your panties in a wad?”

“They should have been there for me,” Cesare said, digging his fingers into the gelatin viciously.

“They should have.” His eyes darted over at her, suspicious at the easy agreement. “But they didn’t, and you'll have to deal with that. Stomping off is a child’s move, unless you plan to cut them out of your life. And you won't do that.”

“Why not?” Cesare asked.

“Because you love them.”

His fingers stilled in the gelatin at the brutal truth. He was a thousand years too young to fight someone like her. “When you want to cut a guy’s balls off, you don’t fuck around. You win. Let me finish and we’ll go.”

She grinned as she backed off. He was willing to take his lumps if it prevented more insights. He didn’t want the pathetic weakness that drove him, and he’d do a lot to keep her from digging them up.

“What are you making?” Lady Kali asked.

“Plastic explosives.” The flat reply sent her back with hasty steps.

“Should you really be doing that …” He grinned at the wariness in her voice, thrilled at getting a dig into the woman that had punked him so easily.

“Only if you want your daughter to have an exit plan if things go sideways.”  

He worked the doughy substance as the vent hood gave a low whine. Finishing it, he set it aside to dry. He had to wait for the liquid to evaporate off the gelatin before it would be ready for the next step.

“She’s sorry,” Lady Kali said casually, eyes never straying from Cesare.

“That and a dollar will get me a crappy cup of coffee.” There was only one person who’d be sorry for what happened today, Elizabeth. Anastasia was too self-involved to be sorry.

Laughing lightly, she continued, “When you get to be my age, you see more than others.” She sighed. “Are you going to throw her away?”

“No.” He was mad, not stupid.

“I've been around for a long time, Cesare. If you won't cut her from your life, then how much revenge do you need?” Lady Kali asked.

That's what it came down to. How long did he want to hurt her? How many pounds of flesh for not doing what he wanted? Cesare knew they had to talk, but he’d wanted to cool down before having that conversation. Was he waiting to cool down or trying to hurt her because he could?

“I have some clothes in the back. Give me 15?” Cesare said, making for the back door of the cottage.

He’d been using the cottage as his home for the past week. Cold water from a hose, a bar of soap, and a scratchy towel … it wasn’t much, but it was enough.

The harem surrounded them as they left the cottage. Unlike Anastasia’s walking dildos, these were professionals. Their eyes studied the darkness as they glided across the grass with the ease of a pack of lions, predators that depended on each other. Each commanded a killing ground, an angle that was all theirs. In that slice of land, they were god, deciding the life and death of anything that came under their eyes.

Lady Kali adjusted his arm so she could put hers through it. “This is how an escort holds his lady’s arm.”

“Yeah well, an escort should have something besides his school uniform to escort a lady in.” Cesare pulled self-consciously at his jacket while giving her an appraising look. She was still dressed in torn jeans, paired with a tight shirt. “Are you dressing down for me or yourself?”

“It’s been years since someone stood up to me. It makes me wonder why you’re not afraid?” She ignored his question with a verbal sidestep.

“Does it matter if I’m killed with a butter knife or a Muramasa Katana? Your daughter can kill me just as dead as you can,” Cesare said.

“That may be the sweetest compliment anyone’s had the balls to give me.” She winked up at him as she closed the distance between them. She was perfect in the way of small people, seeming made by the mad gods exacting hand more then born to flesh. Her heat seared through his clothes, the soft curves hidden under her shirt molding to the sharp angles of his body. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Cesare. And I do mean everywhere.”

He smiled down at her, the playful woman pressed close to him fighting against the image of the goddess of annihilation he knew she was. But even assholes and mass murderers fall in love and have friends.

“Being compared to a sword that cursed its wielder to murder and suicide gets you hot and bothered?” Cesare asked.

“A katana is lean, beautiful, deadly, and sharp. What’s not to like? The murder and psychotic tendencies are just bonuses.” Lady Kali reveled in her darkness with a laugh. She was a shark without limits, murder, death, and appetite ruled her life.

“Thank you …” Cesare said, wetting his lips he looked away from knowing eyes. “… for dressing down for me.”

She pulled him to a stop, turning into his body with only inches separating them. Searching his eyes, her voice was low. “I’m not my daughter, Cesare. You’re an ugly boy.” Lady Kali held him in place, killing any chance he had of pulling back. “Let me finish. You’re an ugly boy, but you’ll be a beautiful man.” She ran her fingers through his hair, the gentle pressure leading him down to soft, welcoming lips.

Practiced lips parted, her tongue tracing across his, asking for entrance. Deepening the kiss, her tongue explored his mouth as her fingers scratched over his scalp. His own tongue delved deep into her mouth, chasing her taste. Heat flooded his body with need. Driven by darkness, his hands caressed down her back, tucking her tight against him. Molding her body to his, she followed his lead, pressing into the hardness between them.

She pulled back just enough to part their lips, dark eyes swirling with desire. “I don’t want there to be any doubt about how I feel, Cesare. I like you and I want to see more of you. And I don’t mean I want to be friends.” She leaned forward, her tongue moving into his mouth, his own penetrating deep into her wet heat. Desperately, Cesare pulled her against his body. His need drove him to consume, to devour her flesh and make her his own.

She ground into his hardness, meeting his desire with her own towering need. Tongues fighting for dominance, they battled for control, sadistic hungers warping the air around them. She wanted, needed, to take him into herself, to subdue his strength with her own. For her softness to envelope him, to consume him into her body, owning him totally.

They separated, eyes flamed with the need to conquer. “This is getting out of hand.” She pressed hard against him, her eyes dark and wanton. “Not that I mind, but I’m thinking you want to work up to that.”

The invitation to take what he wanted, to bend her over in the grass and ravage her flesh. That she was giving him the choice where others had only taken, was more than he’d ever expected. No one had ever welcomed his touch like she had. No one had ever allowed him to dictate the pace.

Cesare swallowed, voice hoarse with desire. “Why?"

She laughed, pressing into his side. “Never ask a woman why she likes you. Certainly, never ask before you’ve bedded her, Cesare. Just count your blessings and enjoy it.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s not because of your ability. Your bond with my daughter's enough to bind you to me.”

Sex is a weapon. Its barbed chains wrap around the soul of man, hooks biting into the weak meat of the heart, collars of razor blades bleeding you out with every jerk of the leash. Woman command and men obey, slaves to their dicks they fall in line like owned meat.

The Cathedral Illumines was as overwhelming as last time. Statues of horrific monsters incandescent with light stared coldly down at the fleshy things below. Crystal doors opened out to the fey garden, the smell of exotic flowers drowned out by the overpowering perfumes of horrors. Streams of glittering gold and silver wound through the marble floors, a king’s fortune walked over by uncaring feet.

Silence fell in expanding ripples as Lady Kali stepped into the room. Her name was a whispered prayer spread in a fearful sussurration, everyone turning to greet her. Lady Kali’s power unfurled, shouldering aside the auras of the lesser things that shuddered under the touch of her dark glory. It emanated from her being in an ever-widening circle, saturating the air with lethal malevolence. Bowing deeply, the room submitted to the ebony sun that had graced them.

It had ceased to have meaning for her. She was used to the bowing and scraping, the servile comments and treacherous words. The terror her power invoked was woven into the fabric of her life, strangling words in throats, pressing down on fragile minds, etching fear into the souls of the weak. A world of stuttering fools who could barely hold their bladders with terror eating their guts.

No, what she cared about was how Cesare would react to her revealed essence. She burned in the ether, a black flame that charred the souls that dared to get close to her glory. Even this wasn’t her fullness, only a fragment of the power she kept in check by ruthless will. But it was more than enough to drive men into gibbering things of terrorized meat. The people at the front of the crowd were white faced, pushing back with fear’s hand wrapped around their throats.

Stealing herself, she looked up at the boy beside her. He stood tall, his arm firmly holding hers, even pulling her closer. He stood next to the furnace of her power without sweating. There was no trace of fear in his eyes, only pride as her escort. She’d been horribly wrong. He was no boy, but a man. A beautiful man.

She idly wondered how he’d handle her in the raw, without the protective barriers that preserved the worlds sanity. No one had ever held out against her truth. Each member of her harem was shattered by the singularity of her existence, crippled into disposable slaves. Worthless creations, the cast off things of her feedings, a line of forgotten faces that stretched back into times of myth. She’d created the harem for that reason. A herd of cows already butchered by her power, crippled into caricatures of who they’d been.

The crowd parted, opening a sphere of influence that was more than wide enough for the harem. Those that caught her eyes bowed in fear born respect. Cesare could only take it in. This is power, unassailable in its casual strength, stripped of pretension and threat.

They claimed the center of the room under the mural as their right. The harem stopped the servers from entering Lady Kali's sacred space, instead passing glasses of champagne to them. Elizabeth emerged from the crowd, walking across the no-man's-land between it and the harem without a shade of fear. She stepped past the slaves without a look, eyes on Cesare’s face.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” Elizabeth said without a look at Lady Kali.

“Kali was persuasive.” Elizabeth paled at his words. The harem whipped around, a handful of them making for him with hate in their eyes.

“No offense was taken.” Lady Kali’s mild words drained the blood from her harem’s face. “Only my family may call me Kali. It’s been centuries since I’ve allowed a person to use my name without first coming out of my womb.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know …”

“Don’t. If you have the balls to stand my anger and save my daughter’s life, then I think you’ve earned the right to use my name.” It was simple for her, but the stiff backs of the harem made it clear it wasn’t nothing to them.

Elizabeth shook her head. Shocked that a fact that had stood for centuries was brushed aside like a bit of fluff. “I’m grateful you came.” She took a deep breath, tension drawing lines on her face. She had to do this now. Because another chance may never come. She’d been terrified when he’d left the clearing without a word. It had killed her to think she'd lost something she treasured. Just because she didn’t like him the way he wanted, didn’t mean he wasn’t the most important person in her life.

“I’m sorry about earlier. You have every right to be angry … I froze. The fall out of me stepping in, the price I’d pay, all the reasons I shouldn’t ... it overwhelmed me. By the time I was ready to do something, Lady Kali was already stopping it.” Shame shadowed her eyes. “But it wasn't because I wasn’t going to help, she just beat me to it. I'm not used to looking out for others.”

Elizabeth had been alone a long time. People had hurt her, torn her down, and broken her dreams. You don’t go from a life like that to giving a shit about others overnight. The last of his anger drained away

He hadn’t been fair. She’d supported him where she could, had cared enough to give him a safe place, beaten back the werewolves with the eyes of the faculty, protected him in her class with the fury of a storm. She’d done what she could, that it wasn’t everything he wanted was his problem.

“I was a shit going off on you like that after everything you’ve done for me,” Cesare said.

Elizabeth smiled in relief. “Next time, I won’t let you down.”

It was hard to pick out the other school. The Pozhiray T’ma were a globe spanning imperium. Their interests were woven through every continent, with treaties spanning centuries and assets hidden in a hundred different international companies. They were major players in the moon shadows with dominion over thousands of miles and millions of people. The school this time around was nothing but a kitten cutting its teeth in comparison. How they’d gotten the match was anyone’s guess.

Viktor’s muscled bulk slipped through the crowd with the grace of a born fighter. Faded jeans and a white wife beater were his only concessions to the formal ball. Men ducked their heads when his eyes settled on them, they had money, connections, and armies backing them, but no one wanted their asses kicked. Viktor wasn’t the kind you brought to parties, he was the guy you brought to war.

Nzinga met him when he was halfway across the no-man's-land between the party and the harem. The two faced off, a slow, taunting smile crossed Viktor’s face, blatantly accepting the challenge in Nzinga’s tense frame.

“Let him in, Nzinga,” Lady Kali said, muttering softly to herself. “I swear, they’re like children.”

He strutted into the circle, eyes drifting over Elizabeth and Cesare before settling on Lady Kali. “I thought you hated these things.”

Lady Kali pushed into Cesare’s side. “I found an escort to liven it up for me.”

Viktor nodded, eyes flicking briefly to Cesare before looking back at Lady Kali. “We still on for later?”

“I might be late, you going to be up?” Lady Kali asked.

His smile widened, heat igniting in his eyes. “I think I can stay up for you.”

Cesare kept his face blank as Viktor left, swagger firmly in place. The eyes of the women in the room tracked him as he made his way through the room. Lady Kali looked up at Cesare. “It’s not what you think.”

“Really? It looks like you’re going to hook up and have hot, sticky sex with Viktor after you get done with your business,” Cesare said. He was trying hard not to think about what had gone down between them earlier.

Lady Kali sighed. “Okay, maybe it’s what you’re thinking. You’ve read about me.” Legends of her power were only equaled by the tales of her insatiable appetite for sex. Male or female, Umbrae Lunae or human, it didn’t matter. She’s had them all thousands of times and come back for more.

“It was in the research for Anastasia.”

“It’s just sex, Cesare. It means nothing, not to me and not to Viktor. We’ve known each other for over a hundred years and when we’re in the same spot, we hook up and have fun.” Lady Kali's eyes tracked his face, words measured against the shifting tides of rage that twisted across his eyes.

Cesare stepped away from Lady Kali. “You can use a Ming Vase as a chamber pot but don’t expect me to clap you on the back for doing it, or agree to do it with you. I’m going to get some water.” He walked out of the circle without a backward look.

He’d known she was a sexual predator, a monster that glutted itself on the flesh of men and woman, born outside the rules that chained the civilized. But knowing and seeing were miles apart. Her earlier interest was nothing but the lazy hunger of a tiger with a full belly, interested only if the goat was stupid enough to get close.

Wearing his ill-fitting school uniform, Sampson stood out in the same way as Cesare. Neither fit in with the golden ones that glided past them with pitying eyes. Trash belonged in the streets, not staining the shoes of the rich. The boy's long legs carried him quickly across the room, raw boned body radiating a kinetic energy that promised violence with every angry step.

Despite the hate that flashed through his eyes at the pretty ones, his eyes were pulled to Alexandra. She shone in a dress of shimmering white that left her shoulders and arms bare. The color softened her, taking some of the hard edge from her face and body. But even it couldn’t hide her chiseled shoulders that bulged with raw power, or the sculpted arms deformed with dense muscle. She was beautiful in a way that set her apart from other woman. Wild and untamed, she was hard death on a short leash, a jaguar clothed in the skin of a kitten. She owned the purity of slaughter.

Cesare focused on the red, almost black wine in Sampson’s hand. Sliding through the crowd with the skill of the gutter born, he cut the distance between him and the threat. Stepping out in front of the gladiator, Cesare met the boy's feral rage.

“For fucks sake, you’re like a goddamn cockroach!” Sampson said. Cesare smiled at the furious whisper. Hard to kill, impossible to drown, and never welcome, cockroaches were hated for being true to who they were. He’d never minded when they skittered into his blankets, they were his brothers and sisters, discards of a world that hated the ugly.

“I don’t suppose you’d buy that I just want to talk to her.” Sampson asked with a half hopeful smile. “Didn’t think so. Well, shit.” Looking around the crowd, his shoulders dropped in defeat. “I noticed you came in with Lady Kali. You’re flying pretty high there, Icarus.”

“Too high.” Cesare agreed.

Sampson glared at the room with hate sharp enough to cut. “I don’t like you, Cesare, but we were born from the same smear of shit. My family’s going hungry so I can come here. These fucks will never understand you, not like I do. You think any of them know what it’s like to choose who eats and who starves? They’ve never heard their mother cry herself to sleep because she can’t feed her baby’s. Or stayed up rocking their sisters after a day of being humiliated for wearing cast off clothes more hole than thread. All the power and money in the world, and what do they do with it? Sit on their hands and play with themselves.”

“I don’t get you, Cesare. You play dog boy for a blood bitch that would gut you for kicks and a whore who's fucking everyone but you.”

“They’re my friends,” Cesare said.

Sampson snorted. “Some friends. You’re not a person to them, just a toy. I don’t know what they’re getting out of the deal, but they don’t give a damn about you. I’ve never seen either of them stand for you. They’ll never have your back. They’ll never understand how important that is. I do.”

“I sense a sales pitch coming,” Cesare said with a smile.

Sampson relaxed with a smile of his own. “Well, you’ve been a pain in the ass and if you can’t beat’um, join them. I come from nothing, I know what it’s like to bleed for everything you’ve taken. Cerberus took me in and showed me what it meant to belong. We’d have your back. Sign with us and we’ll make sure no one fucks with you.”

“And what about the Thagirion? You going to stand up to them too?”

“We have an … understanding with the Thagirion.” He said absently as he looked out over the glittering ball.

Sampson tensed, his eyes narrowed as he watched a boy slice through the crowd. Wearing a charcoal gray suit that hugged his lean frame, the boy brushed his blonde hair off his shoulder. He was more than dangerous; he was degradation and agony, torment that shattered the soul. Faces paled as the mass jerked away from the boy in terror. Women clutched their dates, unable to take their eyes off the abomination cutting through the crowd.

“I’m out,” Sampson said. They knew in the way of the hunted that the wendigo was coming for Cesare.

“Coward,” Cesare said without anger. Wise prey knows it doesn’t have to be the fastest, it just can’t be the slowest.

“Against that thing? Believe it.” Sampson shot the last of his wine with a gulp, already putting distance between them.

The wendigo was a little under six feet, broad shoulders fitting its narrow waist, with a flowing walk more nightmare than human. Limp blonde hair framed a starved face of angles. He was shocking in his normalness, easily dismissed as a kid who’d missed a few too many meals.

All that was swept aside when it locked eyes with him. They were dead, a void where life used to flicker and dance, the one thing that makes us more than meat, gone as it had never been. It was brithed wrong, a grotesque thing with a crippled soul.

“You’re the Master of Arms. The one that got her the win.” Something born without a soul, a monster shit out of evil’s womb, shouldn’t sound like any other student.

“She earned it.” The only thing keeping Cesare alive was that he hadn’t tried to run.

The thing smiled, the dead smile of a doll. “No, she didn’t. You can spout that shit, but we both know the Drekavac would have split her from pussy to crown if you hadn’t helped.”

“She’s the one that faced it. I just evened the odds.” His balance shifted, readying himself for his last stand.

“She’s a puppet, with your hand up her ass. Cut the hand off, and the puppet falls.”

Cesare backed away, the wendigo matching him step for step, stalking him down. A cat cornering a mouse, stoking the prey’s fear until its heart beat fast enough to split its chest open. Wallowing in Cesare’s fear, its eyes heated with lust.

“After I gut you, we’ll see what the red haired bitch comes up with.” If he wasn’t there to finish the weapons tonight, Anastasia would go into the fight worse off than if he’d never helped her. Changing the plan now would cripple her.

“They’d never let you get away with it,” Cesare said, center of balance lowering in readiness. Cesare would be dead before his scream hit the air if it changed shape, but if it stayed in the lie, he might have the chance to get to the door.

It shook its head, center of gravity shifting. “They’ll lose their shit, but they won't stop the fights for one little piss-ant no one likes.”

Snake quick, the wendigo lunged for Cesare. Silver-gray fur sprouted across its face. Bracing himself, Cesare shifted his balance. He waited for the hand to land, preparing to grab it, lock the arm and throw it off. It might buy him a handful of seconds.

Holding the wendigo’s hand in mid-lunge, Alexandra froze it in place. Head cocked to the side, she studied the wendigo with corpse eyes. It matched Alexandra’s calculating look, grey hair sucking back into pale flesh. Something passed between them—an understanding, a kinship even.

She stepped in front of Cesare as she let the thing go. “He’s mine.”

The wendigo relaxed. “He’s meat.”

“He’s mine,” Alexandra said again.

Understanding flooded the wendigo’s eyes at the simple words. “I see.” It turned and cut through the crowd without a backward look.

“What the fuck was that?” Cesare asked.

Alexandra stared at Cesare with eyes stripped of anger, love, or compassion, they were alien in their simple, savage glory. It was the person behind the human husk, the howling horror behind the vampire’s mask, a truth the sane recoiled from. An abomination of psychotic killing need and madness, a pure thing of towering, incandescent butchery.

It was eerily like looking into the eyes of the wendigo. The wendigo was a grotesque mockery of a soul, perversion born from the sewer of degradation's womb. In Alexandra those qualities were beautiful, a tigers amoral wonder given human form.

“He’s like me.” She left him with that. He could see the moment the mask fell back into place, her steps changing from graceful death to a socialite at a school function.

Cesare walked back to the cottage in silence with Lady Kali and Elizabeth. The quiet seethed with barbs, traps lurking behind every sound, a poisoned ground no one dared step onto. It was clear he was nothing but another dick to Lady Kali. And no matter what he’d said, it still hurt that Elizabeth hadn’t been there to help him with the hyena bitch.

He grimaced as the women followed him into the cottage. He had work to do and had been looking forward to getting lost in it. Walking away from them, he stripped off his jacket and dress shirt, leaving him in only a stained undershirt.

“Why are you helping her? After what she’s done, I'd think you'd be cheering for the wendigo. Instead, you’re busting your ass to give her a chance. If she win’s she’ll be a legend. I can name on one hand those who’ve killed a wendigo on their own,” Lady Kali asked from behind him.

“Anastasia needs someone. Sure, I'd like to see her get the shit kicked out of her. But that's not this, I won't stand aside and watch the world break her like it broke me.”

“Good reasons. But what do you get out of it?” Lady Kali asked.

“She’s not my friend, she’s proven that, but I’m still her friend and I won’t see the world fuck with her. But you’re right, I have another reason. The only way I won’t be fucked by those in power is to make sure I put them there.” Cesare let the words rest in the air.

“Without a diploma, I’m stuck on the streets. Some people can make a GED work, I'm not one of them. With a GED, I'm looking at fast food jobs if I'm lucky. With a high school diploma, I can get a construction job. It’s a hard living, but it’s still a living.” The room went quiet behind him.

“I need to make it the full three years and the Thagirion won’t let that happen. Abraxas, Blaez, and Pantagruel are worthless to me. I’ll gut the dead weight and have Anastasia take the leadership of the Thagirion. She'll protect an asset that keeps her on top in a way she never would me.”

Checking the plastic explosive, he worked on the thermate as the gasoline hadn’t evaporated from the mixture yet. “So, what does an akatharton queen do with her spare time?” A dangerous stillness took the room at his question, but as busy as he was, he didn’t notice.

“I have thousands of Umbrae Lunae under my rule. I control a financial empire that stretches onto every continent with businesses in hundreds of portfolios, with a focus on entertainment. There are board meetings, treaties, polices, contracts, small and large wars with the occasional assassination mixed in.” Light interest sprinkled with false cheer, it was cotton candy, all air with no substance.

“Sounds lonely,” Cesare said absently.

“I’m never alone.” Kali's voice was sharp enough to warn anyone else.

“On the street, there are people always around but its not real. Norms don’t see you, they edit you from reality. Only the vultures notice the dead, the ones that need something, food, shelter, money. You’re not a person, just meat waiting for the butcher. Like a whore on the curb, tits, ass, and pussy, not a daughter, wife, or mother.” He talked as he measured, disregarding the pregnant silence behind him.

“My harem’s always with me.” The coldness of her voice drew an unconscious shiver down Cesare’s spine.

“I’ve seen how that works with Anastasia. They don't see her, they see a goddess. You’re not a person who shits and cries, who needs comfort when you’re hurt, or needs a hug. What happens when they realize the truth? How does that feel to be under those expectations all day, every day, knowing it’s only a matter of time before they see the truth? No, I think that being with your harem is when you 're most alone. Surrounded by people who hate who you are, that only love the lie they've birthed.” Having gotten the iron oxide right, Cesare set it aside and took out the aluminum oxide.

“My dates ...” The words came quickly, the last defense of someone who’d never been challenged.

“Oh, I bet they wine and dine you but, they’re not so far from the streets. They just hide it better. The streets are full of buyers and sellers. You’re not a person to them, just a need. They only want to rent parts of your body, you just happen to be attached. They want Lady Kali, the goddess, the maker of dreams. How many would stay in and spend time with you? How many just want to say they fucked the myth?” He cut the words as he realized what he’d been saying.

“I like to watch anime when I have time to myself,” Lady Kali said, moving to his side. “What are you doing?”

“It’s thermate. Its selling point is that it’s more focused and burns hotter than thermite. But you need to get the proportions right and add barium nitrate. I'm measuring it out before I add the binder and prepare the carrier. So, anime, huh? That's from Japan, right? Like cartoons and stuff?”

“Anime’s more than a cartoon. That’s like calling a Rembrandt just a painting. Movies live and die by the actors. Story is second to looks, skill, and popularity, an afterthought put in between explosions. Anime is all story, it's born in the mind, a child of the soul. You’ve never seen one?” 

“Not really an option on the streets. If you’re lucky, you might pop a squat outside a store that plays an episode but you won't see much before they move you along. If I was lucky, I might get a half hour. Slice of life is pretty self-explanatory but what’s harem?” Busy with the mixture, he didn’t have the time to watch her.

“One clueless guy who somehow gets all the girls to chase after him. It's a niche market for derpy nerd boys. Since the anime market's driven by men and boys, it makes a profit even if it’s mostly fan service. I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is the way animes end. Stoicism’s prized in Japan. The ability to suffer in silence and push on is a cultural identity. They have this obsession with star-crossed lovers. I don't know how many I’ve watched were the guy or girl dies in the end” Her words came out in a low growl, as if the idea personally offended her.

“The guy should always get the girl,” Cesare agreed flatly.

“I know, right? Life’s shitty enough without it being pushed in our faces when we’re trying to escape for an hour. Why the fuck would I want to watch a sad show?” Lady Kali said.

“I never got that. I get all the sad I need without looking for it.”

“The Greeks loved tragedy. It’s a cultural thing. America’s always had an optimisim, a desire to believe everything will work out. I’ve heard people say Americans plan and hope for the best, while the Japanese plan and expect the worst. I don't know, but it's not for me.” She’d moved close to watch him work.

“It's easy to take people apart and damn hard to put them back together. I think people default to easy. Tragedy’s easy but happiness and laughter, those are hard. If I were smarter, I’d go into medicine,” Cesare said as he added the binder to the mix.

“You’re not stupid.” The sharp reply came from behind, Elizabeth having crept up on him.

“You've seen my grades for this week.”

“That's because you've been training until dark with Anastasia, then coming here and working the night away until you can’t see straight.” She’d blown her top when she’d found him sleeping here the first day. After that, she’d settled into a steady nagging.

“It’s got to get done. This stuff takes time and you can't rush it. Without that training, she wouldn’t have the smooth transition between steps. Everything I can do has to be done. If it shaves the odds, then it's worth it.” If there wasn’t a deadline, he’d never have pushed this hard. Slow was fast in cooking, speed only lead to seven fingered men.

The women moved to the table to start a game of chess as he worked, their soft words fading into background noise. He filled the bag with the 15 pounds of thermate and sewn shut. Taking Anastasia's sports bra and shorts apart with a pair of scissors, he stitched them onto the bag.

The gas had evaporated out of the plastic explosive mix and was ready to be put on the Frisbees by the time he'd put the last stitch down. Taking clumps, he smoothed it across the flat discs like putty. He had to preserve the basic flight pattern. Each layer of plastic explosive was molded onto the disc with that in mind. Once it was thick enough, he embedded the flechettes.

Cesare sighed as the last claymore was set aside. It was past two and quickly moving to three, but he’d done it. Anastasia had the best he could offer. 

“You done?” Lady Kali ran a finger across a flechette's barbs. “What are these?” They looked like nails with sharpened fines on them.

“Flechettes. When Anastasia detonates the bombs, the blast waves will be threaded with hundreds of these little beauties.” Lady Kali’s face paled. “Each claymore has more than a hundred embedded into the plastic explosive. Wendigo’s might heal quick, but even god would slow down after getting hit by three simultaneous blast waves with hundreds of flechettes ripping through his body.” He motioned to the three two-liter bottles duct taped together and blacked out with spray paint. “Those are chlorine gas. Once she detonates the bombs, she’ll set those off. It’s not the best stuff for this kind of operation, but anything deadlier would kill the students in the bleachers. The gas will burn the wendigo's lungs, nose, and any sensitive membranes it reaches. It should blind him and the more he moves, the better it works.” Exhaustion made him stupid, letting him talk about things he should have kept to himself. But hey, the fight was in twelve hours. What could go wrong in just twelve hours?

“You need sleep,” Elizabeth said.

“Yeah.” The women watched as he took out the blankets and pillows he’d stolen from the dorm. The potting soil was a little hard but nothing like concrete. He’d grown to like the smell of the clean earth that filled the sacks, something in the smell making him think of Elizabeth.

Elizabeth scowled at the makeshift bed. “I wish you’d let me open the Serpens Lacum for you.”

“I need to be close to the work and I don’t mind sleeping here. I have other things to get ready in the morning. This way, I don’t have to worry about wasting time getting ready and walking over.” Their scowls deepened at his words. He loosened up the dirt with a few well placed hits, smoothing out the lumps. “Besides, I’m the same guy whether I sleep here or at the dorm … still a smelly homeless kid.”

Elizabeth turned a hot glare on him. “I hate it when you degrade yourself.”

He slid his shoes off as he shrugged. “It's true. I’m homeless and I’m stinky.” He looked at the two women. No matter how angry Elizabeth got, it didn’t change the facts of Cesare’s life. “Nothing’s changed. This is nice and all, but it won't last. One day, I'll leave Primrose, and when I do, I’ll be back on the streets. I’ll have exactly what I came to this school with … nothing.” It was something he never let go of. This wasn’t his life, it was only a vacation.

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Special thanks to the eternally vigilant and kind Soundion! Appreciate you like an umbrella on a winters day in Seattle. Thanks to Xtriter for the follow and kind words. Thanks for sticking with me. I see you Belblade. I know you. To all the silent freaks and geeks reading, hope this hits the spot.

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