Life as a New Hire Ch. 47

"So, you are the new guy?" Europa began the interrogation.

"Ah, yeah. Lennox Fitzgerald," he told them.

"Listen to Cáel," Lorraine spoke. "He's a total nut-job, but he knows what's really going on. Oh," she surprised me with a hug, giving me a face full of cleavage. Eeek! "Good luck on the hunt."

"Yeah," Europa added, "good luck. You'll need it. I hear Elsa, Rachel, Caprica and Tormé are all coming after you."

"Caprica from camp?" I worried. Europa nodded. "I've never heard of Tormé."

"She's a younger version of Pamela," Desiree enlightened me ~ 'cause it caused me pain.

"She's from House Maeve," Aya whispered to me. Ah, the 'Enslaver of Men'. "She's Aunt ... I mean, Katrina Epona's #1 killer." Of course she is. Why hadn't I heard of her before? Why would I have? I'd never asked and had I, I doubt Katrina would have told me who her top assassin was. I was a lousy spy.

"Who is Pamela?" Lennox was getting into the groove of things. If you didn't ask questions, you would never get any answers.

"She's his grandmother," Aya piped up. "Not really. She adopted him."

"She adopted the SRR guy too," I shrugged. "She's a one woman Welcome Wagon."

"I'm going to tell her you said that," Juanita griped.

"At least you are talking to me," I beamed happiness her way.

"No, I'm not," she snapped.

"O-kay," I shrugged ... then hugged Aya. She hugged me back.

"Take me to class?" Aya asked.

"Sure," I spoke (too soon). "If it is okay with Desiree. I'm just a tagalong today."

"Please," Aya begged Desiree. "It is a new teacher. He hasn't met her yet."

"Of course, Aya," Desiree agreed. "Lennox, go with him."

"Okay."

As we piled out of the car, I turned to the new Brit.

"So, ever had a three-way in a school custodial closet?" I inquired.

"Huh?" he gulped.

"Don't make me kill you," Juanita seethed.

"That's my Daddy!" Aya squeezed my hand.

"Is that an invitation?" Lorraine sidled up to us.

"No," I pointed a finger to the tip of Lorraine's nose. She tried to bite it. So Amazon of her. "Thanks Aya," I squeezed by buddy's hand back. Into the school we walked. Aya's class was on the ground floor this year. Her teacher was so young, fresh and new to the profession, she sparkled. She wasn't sure what to make of myself and Lennox.

"Ms. Carmichael, this is my custodian, Cáel Nyilas and his buddy, Lennox Fitzgerald. They are not gay," she tacked on. "They are just lonely and don't have many friends in the city."

Woot! Aya was hooking me/us up.

"Cáel," echoed a familiar voice behind me. Uh-oh, Ulyssa Reichmann, Aya's 3rd grade teacher had been keeping an eye out for me. "Nice to see you again."

"Ulyssa?" Ms. Carmichael wondered why another teacher was in her room, interfering with the two 'lonely' guys clearly in need of succor.

"Ms. Reichmann," I spun around. "How was your summer?"

"Lonely," she smirked. "So, do I call you Mr. Ruger, or Mr. Nyilas?"

"You can call me 'busted'," I gave my best 'ya caught me, but I have a good excuse' placating gesture. "Oh and this is Lennox. He's my replacement. I've been transferred to a position which promises to be a lot less fun." See, I was referring to my time with her as 'fun'. "How's Nadia?"

"Rather lonely too," Ulyssa kept teasing. "We were worried about you. After your kidnapping ... you sort of dropped off the map." Aka, I stopped returning her phone calls. I'm an idiot. "Then you got engaged ...", fuck TMZ and the New York Times Social Page, "to an heiress ..." and the Financial Times.

"You were kidnapped ... an heiress?" Ms. Carmichael was reeling.

"Ms. Reichmann, that's stuff Cáel can't talk about because of his job," Aya rose to my defense. "Yes, we were kidnapped over the summer," she extended her mangled hand for Ms. Carmichael's perusal. "Cáel saved me from a plane load of bad people, then again when we crashed in the Typhoon on a Pacific atoll. We were rescued by the Marines and some of the vânători de munte he led into battle in Romania. They came half way around the world to help find us."

"The 'who'?" Ms. Carmichael frowned in concentration.

"Mountain Huntsmen," I translated. "They are Romanian soldiers."

"They are elite Romanian soldiers," Lennox corrected me. "Kind of like their Special Forces ... hmmm ... akin to your US Army Rangers."

"Because you are 'not a spy'," Ulyssa studied me with renewed curiosity.

"Correct," I nodded. "I'm definitely not a spy. Neither is Lennox. He's just a new hire ... from England."

"Really?" Ulyssa noticed him.

"Yes ... Ulyssa, is it?" he gave his own dazzling smile. "London, by way of the University of Cardiff and King's College. I have a BA in International Development. Wales is where I picked up my mountaineering lore, thus my knowledge of who the vânători de munte are."

"And now you are in New York ..." Ms. Carmichael stepped up.

"Yes Miss, with Havenstone Commercial Investments ... learning to be 'not a spy'," he rapidly adjusted.

"Executive Services to the uninitiated," I kept things moving along.

"You'll be working with Cáel?" Ulyssa pondered. Maybe she had a date for her sister now.

"Nope," I sighed. "I'm off to the Office of the President. Apparently I'm a tad too unreliable for Executive Services."

"I think he means they find him too valuable," Lennox played along, "along with unreliable. Today he simply wanted to make one last school run and I think I see why."

"Yup," I nodded my head, "ya got me."

"Does this mean you will be answering your phone?" Ulyssa teased.

"Yes Ma'am. I'll be maintaining a keen interest in Aya's education, even from my cubicle in Hell."

"On that note," Lennox tapped my arm, "we should be going before your bodyguard takes you up on that death threat."

"Too true," I grinned his way. I turned and knelt in front of Aya. "Love you, Duma," I smiled then hugged her.

"Will I see you before you have to go, Atta?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not," I moaned. She hugged me then let me go.

On the way out Lennox began chuckling.

"Just so I got this straight: you've had sex with Ms. Reichmann, Aya was setting either you, or I, up with her current teacher, Ms. Carmichael, and this happens enough so that virtually every women I've met so far isn't surprised by your disreputable behavior?"

"Precisely."

"I think I'm going to like this job," he chuckled.

"That's the spirit," I patted him on the back. "Now we just have to look after the other nineteen new hires. This place can be harsh, unforgiving and unfair. It compensates by offering plenty of adrenaline-pumping danger and sex."

"I trust you ... about the 'harsh, unforgiving and unfair' and the ' adrenaline-pumping danger and sex' ... not so much about anything else. Do you have any male friends?"

"Discounting our budding relationship, I have my gay roommate and the SRR guy previously mentioned plus an older FBI guy who likes me, although he knows not to let me to be alone with his daughters. I'm not the kind of friend you trust with your girl, or your sister, or mother for that matter," I shrugged.

"But you're straight?"

"Yep. Decidedly so."

"Good enough. I'm an only child, my Mother passed three years ago and my last relationship faded after she ambushed me with a strap-on, so we should be good," he confirmed. I had high hopes for Lennox.

[FAITH, DISTRUST AND BULLETS]

I was getting ready to walk into the conference room on the 17th floor when I recalled a vital life lesson. It is enough to know you're right. You don't always need to force others to acknowledge it. Case in point:

"Juanita, I apologize for sending you away yesterday without allowing you to bring in a replacement. I showed disrespect to your position. I was wrong," I looked at her glumly.

"Damn right, you were wrong," she glared. Not a hint she'd been hugely disrespectful, rude and beyond the Pale horrible to Theddy. I didn't expect anything else from her. I atoned because I knew Juanita would never bend, and beating her up for being a bitch was pointless. The apology cost me nothing while freeing up Juanita to let go of her anger ~ she was right and I'd admitted it ~ so she could do her job better.

"Are we okay?" I 'worried'. I wasn't worried. I was being manipulative.

"No, we are not okay. Are you going to repeat the mistake?" she glowered.

"It is a learning process for me, Juanita," I 'explained'. Translation: 'I was an irresponsible male, thus in need of a caretaker which validated her existence.

"Well, don't repeat this one, damn it," she looked away. Ta-daaa ..., I was forgiven. Trust me, she was shuffling her anger away because 'I needed her' and it was her job to protect me from myself as well as from external threats far too numerous to easily be named.

In we went. It was a nice wood-paneled room with a Maplewood table - ten chairs to a side with a chair at each end. Opposite me was Rayen Artio, Martial Commander of Amazon forces in North and Latin America and a frightening individual inside and out. The right side of her face was a mess. An eyepatch covered her missing right orb. Her left hand was missing three fingers as well. Beyond that, she had been a candidate for Golden Mare (she's been too Runner-friendly) and a grandmother several times over.

She had a bright-eyed, blonde-haired Amazon typing away on a laptop sitting on her left and a SD close to the wall behind her with an MP-7A. The PDW (Personal Defense Weapon) was overkill, which suggested my guests had been, or might have threatened to be, snappish. That made some sense, since to my right were the visitors from late last night and to my left was the crowd from noonish yesterday. The pagan Death Cult looked ready and willing to eviscerate the militant Catholics, until I stepped into the room.

The Goddess Ītzpāpālōtl, aka the Obsidian Butterfly aka Obsidian, popped out of her chair the moment I became visible. She had a freshly fucked glow about her ~ freshly fucked by me, if there was any doubt. I guessed I'd left her with a good impression. Juanita began muscling me aside and interposing herself between us. While endearing and professional, it was also so very foolish. Yes, it was her job. Sadly, considering the monstrous entity coming at me, she had no hope of success.

In favor of Juanita's response, Obsidian was: A) dressed like a leather-clad fantasy hooker, B) eyeing me with a clear desire for some very energetic, mystically-potent, blood-letting laced sex play, and C) failing to conceal her inhumanity to the assembly. Off-handedly, I noticed she'd brought along an additional man and woman I hadn't seen yesterday who were a cut above her normal religiously feverish crowd and thus most likely messengers, the 'nuts and bolts' people of the 9 Clans' Cult of the Jaguar. Introducing them to Rayen was most likely her excuse for showing up here in Amazon Central this morning.

"Tehuatlcochitlehua," I passionately greeted her, simultaneously keeping Juanita from committing a diplomatic faux pau and fatal life choice. It sorta meant 'Angel of my Dreams' in the Olmec derivation of Obsidian's mother tongue.

"Tetonehualoyanōchin," she purred as her arms went over my shoulders, fingers linking behind my head. Huh? That meant ... I was her 'Inferno Rabbit'?

"Mmmmm ..." I mumbled around her lips and prehensile tongue. (Still trying to get used to that.) Her black leather hip-hugging pants laced up the front and barely covered her pubic mound. Her matching vest only had two of its five buttons doing duty and showed every inclination of coming undone at any moment. My first attempt to gently disengage failed, so I considered, then discarded a mistake (an audible slap to the ass) and finally snaked a hand between us to coax her kitty under her tight leather crotch.

That brought forth some definite alien sonic buzzing. She broke her lip-lock.

"I've got to work right now," I tilted my forehead forward so it and my nose kept our mouths apart. Out came the 'No mortal denies me', 'I hate being denied' and finally 'why are these other people necessary?' washing over her face. Had her eyes had pupils, a few others might have noticed her angry stares. The double-nictitating (up-down / left-right) membranes over her multi-faceted eyes ~ those gateways to the void - ugh.

"These," she pulled away, motioning to the two newcomers at her side of the table. "They are empowered to talk with you for us. When?" That was aimed my way.

"I am heading out on an ordeal which will culminate this weekend. When I get back, I will need two days to sort out my House and other allies. Then?"

"I will come for you," Obsidian announced. With that, she brushed passed me, nearly put Juanita through the wall and blitzed out the door. Her followers raced to catch up with her while her diplomatic contingent remained.

"Oh boy," I muttered. Looking at Rayen. "Here you go - as requested," I tossed my chin to indicate the remaining cultists were there in fact to meet with her, not me. Rayen had requested of me, as Chief Diplomat of the Host, an intelligence-sharing arrangement with the Cult of the Jaguar and I had delivered. Getting her arms and ammo shipments from the Khanate to North America was much more a JIKIT issue, though I was positive things were progressing along that front as well.

"Indeed," Rayden stood. "I'll leave you to the raging misogynists and pedophiles," she grinned wickedly. Note to self: Rayen was NOT a diplomat and resented me forcing her to act as one, even for a short time. She gathered up the two messengers and prepared to depart as well.

That left the Papal group. I was sure the Pope's guy had a mission in the same way I was sure him getting a glimpse of the real Obsidian Butterfly was causing him to re-assess the morality of his objective. The blanket Amazon hostility and Rayen's insults only stoked his fury.

"Katrina thought you might find this useful," Rayen pressed a tablet into my chest after she rounded the table. "Immediately useful."

"Thank you," I nodded. Rayen chuckled, shook her head and shut the door behind her. As the Catholics studied me, I studied the tablet. Three files. Hmmm ...

First off: Bishop Nicoló de Santis - Titular Bishop of Acmonia ... some vacant bishopric in western Anatolia aka Turkey. Posting in various places the Catholic Church wasn't liked, or had 'difficulties' aka civil disorder, gang strife, drug wars; Education - Pontificia Ecclesiastica Academia [2005-2007], Pontificium Collegium Germanicum et Hungaricum de Urbe [2001-2005], Caporal Chef in the 2e Régiment étranger de parachutistes [1989-2000]; Awards :{Légion d'honneur à titre militaire; Croix de guerre des théâtres d'opérations extérieurs; numerous other citations}.

'Wait! The étranger de parachutists was the French Foreign Legion.'

Suspected to be of Hungarian birth. Reported birth date: March 6th, 1972 ... making him 42. From Alal's memories I figured out the Légion d'honneur à titre militaire normally got handed out to either brave dead people, or really old soldiers. His rank made sense ... because very rarely did non-Frenchmen get past the rank of 'Chief Corporal'. The odds of this guy having Condottieri ties were pretty high.

Contestant No. 2: Sister Rafaela Sophia of the Handmaidens of the Sacred Heart of Jesus {Latin: Ancillae Cordis Iesu} A.C.I. Major notation: Heavy indications someone had gone to great lengths to eradicate her previous history. A nun who needed her history scrubbed ~ the way Buffy's had? Like my life couldn't get more bizarre. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, yet her flinty eyes bespoke a terribly painful, dehumanizing existence devoid of hope prior to someone tossing her a lifeline. She was a fanatic and by her cut and stance, a well-trained one.

Contestant No. 3: Wachtmeister Mathias Bosshart of the Swiss Guard. That was a Sergeant - OR-5. Dual-citizenship. Clear, legitimate history. Swiss ... St. Gallen. Swiss Army, Grenadier training, Distaccamento d'esplorazione dell'esercito 10 ... which meant Army Reconnaissance Detachment 10 ... something which Alal didn't know about, which meant they were something new. Chaz would know.

Followed a centuries-long family tradition into Papal service. 31 years old. 31 might seem a bit old to be a mere OR-5, except the entire Swiss Guard only had 10 of them.

"Juanita?" I pointed to the Distaccamento d'esplorazione dell'esercito 10.

"What does it mean?" she'd whispered. She'd been reading around my side.

"Army Reconnaissance Detachment 10," I translated for her.

"That's the Swiss Army's elite counter-terrorism unit. Less than a hundred guys," she informed me.

"The Swiss have a counter-terrorism unit? Who the fuck picks on the Swiss?"

"They have money," Juanita reasoned. "And they are Europeans ... and nominally Christians. All qualify for some level of assholery and abuse in the world today."

"So," I finally initiated our belated conversation with the Pope's folks, "nice to see you all again and what brings you here today?" After all, I'd last seen them ... at 3:45-ish in the morning as Hana was ushering them out the door - this morning - yet here they were again.

"What was that ... creature?"

"Please be more specific," I tried to act innocent. This guy had to make one mean confessor.

"The woman-seeming 'thing' who put her tongue down your throat ... when you should be devoting yourself to your fiancée," he chastised me. I didn't like his use of the word 'thing'. It was condescending. Worse, it was foolish. Shit like Obsidian had really good hearing.

"Why on Earth would I tell you?" I replied with my own simmering disapproval.

"Your soul appears to be in mortal peril, Mr. Nyilas," his eyes tried to pierce my emotional vortex. 'Good luck with that, Buddy'.

"I fought her off. My soul's just fine. Now, why are you here?" I deflected his approach. After all, I doubted he was here hunting pagan cultists. If he had been, I doubted he would have let Havenstone disarm him and his two pals. Sure, his firepower would have ultimately been useless, but he would have momentarily felt safer ... until he discovered he was using flyswatters against a living tornado.

"Would you consider confirming her inhuman nature?" he tried again.

"Sure. She's not human. She's a pre-Columbian horror walking around in a poor facsimile of a human suit mainly because she finds me amusing. Normally she's more careful about her appearance, so you wouldn't detect her, or the others like her, until it's too late. Now, please tell me why you are here, at my place of business, Bishop de Santis ... if that is even your real name."

"Okay." Pause. "Very well. I came to inform you the Prince Primate of Hungary, His Eminence Cardinal Erdő, has agreed to go forward with your plans to marry at the Székesfehérvár Basilica. In a concurrent matter, His Eminence, Cardinal Parolin, is extending an offer to assist in the humanitarian efforts of JIKIT."

I'd been through this before. 'Here, let me give you something nebulous and presently valueless because it can be taken away at a whim. Then let me bring up the real reason I've shown up to rain on your day'.

"Who is the second guy - Cardinal Parolin?" I grinned wearily.

"He is the Secretary of State for the Holy See," was his cordially reply. Wow! How could this possibly go wrong? Rome - Italy - the Condos? A secondary source for the Illuminati/Alal?

"Sure," I stepped forward, extending my right hand while pressing my left hand (with the tablet) back to Juanita. "Come on. Let me introduce you to the team."

Not what they were expecting at all. Nope. The Bishop was expecting evasion. I had slithered from reprobate to villain in his eyes by swapping spit with a demoness, so evasion was the expected response.