Rotten To The Core

By the time Zakharius was dealt with though, it was too late. The Germanic warlord Odoacar had deposed Emperor Romulus Augustulus and humanity tumbled into a dark age. In the shadows, the followers of Martinius swore to guard humanity against the darkness, with or without outside assistance."

Laura was asleep before the narrator even finished the preface.

* * * *

Waylan Tucker sat at his desk, a triptych of monitors bathing him in pale light. The left-hand one showed a patchwork of news channels, the right-hand one a smattering of social media apps and mail feeds while the middle one, the large one, was taken up by a real-time stock exchange graph.

Waylan was multitasking, juggling his Japanese portfolio with one hand while he barked angry retorts into his mike, trying to make one of his contacts stop being so fucking polite and sell his assets at a sensible price. No matter how much he cajoled and postured, the Jap on the other end remained calm, collected and -- most infuriating at all -- sensible, offering to sell but at a price Waylan found horribly insulting.

"Fuck it, you piece of-"

Waylan stopped mid-insult. Something had derailed his train of thought. He blinked, releasing his mouse. No, there was no imminent catastrophe on the news, neither had there been a golden opportunity suddenly materializing on the center screen.

He dropped the headset and looked around. The office was as he remembered it -- expensive, low furniture and a singular, discreet monitor showing off his NFTs, while small, unobtrusive lights provided minimal illumination.

Soft, feminine laughter reached his ear. A whiff of perfume, somewhere between anti-freeze and pink bubblegum, tickled his nostrils

Waylan looked around once more. "Hello?" he asked. He should be alone in the building, maybe save for security on the ground floor. He was absolutely certain Candy had left after he was done pumping her ass full of about a week's worth of pent-up sperm. There had been a hint of daylight still when he had ushered her into the elevator, groping her pussy as she stumbled into the cabin. Thank God for hookers, he thought. The thought of his wife, looking like a curvy, androgynous float after a decade of plastic surgery, turned his stomach.

The laughter came again, now much closer. And from behind.

Waylan spun around in his chair. Nothing but the sparsely lit skyline of downtown Greenbury beyond the window. One couldn't even call it a skyline -- the blackness of the night swallowed the silhouettes of the mostly unlit buildings and the longer he stared, the more the few lit windows reminded him of fireflies, with their erratic movement.

"Waylan."

He jumped out of his chair and whirled around. The voice had been close enough that he could feel her breath on his neck!

But..

There was no one there! Unless 'she' sat right on his desk!

He swung around with his chair. The screens almost blinded him.

"What fuckery is this?" Waylan snarled. His hand went for the top drawer and pulled forth his gold-plated Smith&Wesson Type 66 revolver. With his free hand, he slapped the panic button hidden under the desktop. The doors locked, the shutters came down and the lights brightened until there was no shadow left in the room.

Waylan was alone, his wide-eyed mirror image on every window, his white hair disheveled, the gun shaking in a two-handed Weaver death grip.

He slowly spun around. If there was someone else in the room with him, he should see them reflected in the windows.

And suddenly she was there. A clawed arm lanced forward, swatting the gun from numb fingers. The second arm caught him by the throat, cutting off his air supply and any call for help he might've made. His feet frantically kicked the air but he might have tried to hit a shapeless mist. She simply carried him to the closest couch and slammed him onto it like a sheaf of paper.

"Hello Waylan," she whispered. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Her claw around his throat denied him any retort. Unperturbed, she slowly straddled him, settling down atop his crotch. She rolled her hips invitingly. "I really, really missed you," she whispered, finally releasing his neck.

Waylan screamed and bucked under her like a possessed bronco but he was old and weak, unable to dislodge his unwelcome guest. His fists bounced off her arms and chest with all the impact of wet tissues. Smiling horribly, she bent down and held his thrashing head with both hands.

The old man stopped fighting, his eyes about to pop from his skull, his mouth spouting spit and gibbering pleas for mercy in equal measure. She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his. There wasn't much life left but she took it anyway.

* * * *

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Laura groaned, rolling onto an elbow to face the door. "I'm awake."

The door creaked open and Doug poked his huge head in. "I was about to ask Eric for a Raise The Dead spell. Jenna is sitting on a mountain of waffles and pancakes and even my appetite is kinda sated."

Laura fell into the cushions. "What time is it?"

Doug chuckled. "Around breakfast o'clock. Don't worry if you didn't make the 5:30 AM. roll call. You're not in Briou anymore and there have been no major demon sightings. Yet. Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee."

"Black?"

Laura sat up and pulled the thin sheet she had used to cover herself with up to her breasts. She'd almost forgotten she only wore a flimsy pair of panties. "Au lait if possible but I don't really care. I'll be down in a bit, okay?"

"Sure." Doug cleared his throat. "Before Jenna gets her paws on you, how about we do a short patrol, see the sights, meet the locals and all that?" He tried to whisper but his voice rumbled through her stomach up to her ears.

"Is that some code for a bit of alone time with the new girl?" Laura asked, mock suspicion in her voice. "Seriously though -- if I can pick between fighting a werebear and riding around on your Harley, the choice is easy."

"It would be cool if you could make the suggestion," Doug offered. "Makes it look less like I'm trying to spare you the initiation rite, ya'know?"

"I'll think about it. Now shoo before they get any funky ideas downstairs."

"Oh, I didn't want to imply-"

Laura tossed her pillow. Doug evaded it by ducking behind the door and closing it.

Grinning, she reclaimed her makeshift missile and hit the bathroom. Five minutes later, she was freshened up, dressed and ready to take Greenbury by the horns.

Breakfast was served on the back porch as well. Over night, the pet population seemed to have exploded. There were now three cats and two raccoons amicably sitting around a trio of feed bowls. Birds chirped in the trees overhead.

Besides Doug, Jenna was the only one left at the table, wearing running shorts and a sleeveless shirt. She looked horribly fit and awake.

"Ah, the new recruit arrives. Sleep well?"

Laura stretched, enjoying the sun on her skin. "If Doug hadn't threatened to break my door down, I'd still be snoozing," she said, claiming an empty mug. Her gaze found Doug. "Where's my coffee?"

"I advised him not to prepare it in advance. The last thing you want is a wasp down your throat," Jenna said mildly.

Laura poured herself some coffee, added some cream and a spoonful of sugar, then she looked over the breakfast on offer. "Waffles, pancakes, toast, ham and eggs -- who's supposed to eat all this?"

"Me," Jenna said cheerfully. "Believe me, doing my ten-mile run gets me hungry. Also, I thought you'd like a spread of what's good in my kitchen. This is your first American breakfast, right?"

Laura chuckled. "Sorry to be a spoilsport but my true first American breakfast was McD's idea of burgers and fries plus coffee at five AM yesterday."

"My condolences," Jenna said, placing thick layers of bacon between her pancakes before gleefully diving in.

One of the cats tried to steal some bacon but Doug intercepted it, gently steering the playful shorthair off the table. "Don't burn your tongue," the paladin rumbled. The cat complained but joined its companions back at the feeding bowls.

"Which ones are yours?" Laura asked, picking a bit of everything.

"All of them," Jenna said simply. "They know they're safe here. Word gets around. We have a rotating cast of visitors and they're all well behaved so far. Also, I make sure to give them their shots. Once things have quieted down a bit, I plan on putting my veterinary skills on offer to supplement the drizzle of funds Aachen sends us."

"What about that 'platinum credit card' Maria mentioned?" Laura asked.

"Even Mother Rachel's generosity has limits. Most of the cash went into renovating the house and building the 'hidden' facilities. We have a tidy reserve to cover the running costs for some time but sooner than later we need ways to supplement our income like every other branch."

"And you've got a veterinarian degree?"

Jenna grinned, baring her teeth. Her canines were larger than normal. Not quite vampire fang material but impressive nonetheless. "Who needs fancy papers when I can cast healing spells?"

"True." Laura said, attacking her breakfast. "These are delicious," she said, poking her waffles with her fork. "Horribly sweet though. A few weeks of this and I'll look like a doughnut myself."

"You probably won't," Doug said. "Not with Jenna's workout schedule. She seems to forget that not everyone here is blessed with a freaking grizzly bear's endurance. Or stomach."

"I just want to remind you that my workout has given you a pretty sweet six pack," Jenna purred, landing a smacking back hand against Doug's stomach. The half-orc didn't even flinch. "Besides, even a Paladin requires tight discipline and constant training to stay sharp."

"Speaking of which," Laura said. "Do you guys do local patrols?"

Jenna chuckled. "Vigilance at all times, Laura. Even if I grab some snacks from GobCo, I keep my eyes peeled for things which might require the Order's attention. Besides, it's much too late for you to start training today. Call me old-fashioned but I still get up every morning at five-thirty and do the old Briou routine. Cleansing of the body, cleansing of the mind and then a bit of exercise before the day starts. I can't force you to do anything but I'd like to encourage you to join me."

"Fine with me. I was shocked to see bright daylight when Doug woke me and expected Miss Sanchez to drag me to class in my undies."

"I'll cut you some slack for the next few days until you've got your bearings," Jenna said, smiling warmly. "Ol' Deathstares still the terror of the night?"

"You bet. She always claims to be nothing more than a former vampire thrall but I'm convinced that woman is the devil incarnate," Laura said softly. "She even managed to find Carlos when he tried to use his Shadow Walk to sneak into his girlfriend's dorm room."

Jenna laughed. "First, you can speak up. I'm pretty certain Miss Sanchez can't hear you across the damn Atlantic. I hope. As for her uncanny knack for finding students? Reginald-... I mean Headmaster Aulin probably had a permanent Detect Magic charm made for her. She even found Sélunia Hralvin, naked and hovering outside the boy's dorm. She thought she could hide from Miss Sanchez by diving out of the window. In January. I tell you, she had icicles going down her thighs when Ol'Deathstares dragged her back inside."

Doug chuckled. "Sounds like a really wild place you've been to," he said.

"You haven't been to Briou for your training." Laura said, refilling her coffee.

Doug shook his head. "That's right. Fell through the Barrier when I was a kid and ended up in Wyoming. Nearly got run over by a car. The driver was kind enough to take pity on me, despite him nearly losing his mind when he found out what I really was. Dad was sharp as a tack though and he found the Order eventually. The L.A. branch trained me to be a paladin. Well, they explained the weird glowy stuff I could do with my hands and taught me how to fight," he corrected himself. "I'll show you around if you still want to do that patrol."

"I'd love to!" Laura said, digging into her pancakes. "By the way, where are Eric and Maria?"

"Down in the dungeon, sparring," Jenna said. "I hope."

"Maria didn't strike me as someone who'd do anything halfheartedly," Laura said. "And I think she's not into boys."

"Oh, I know," Jenna chuckled. "For a half-elf, she rather unsubtly tried to get into my pants. I was referring more to Eric. He thinks he can skip training and play video games instead. One would think having his face eaten off by a pack of ghouls would instill a sense of duty and the will to avoid another near-death experience."

"Give the kid some rest, Jen," Doug said. "Having to pay off a Life Debt to the Order isn't something a guy his age should have to deal with."

Laura perked up. "A Life Debt?"

"The cleric who patched him up, Mama Louise, died from the strain. I'm not sure what kind of Voodoo spell she used to bring him back from the brink. All I know is that he's now blessed with the powers of a veteran cleric and he's goofing off in front of his Xbox instead of learning how to defend himself to prevent the same shit from happening again!" Dark fur had sprouted on Jenna's arms and was pouring down from her neck over her breasts.

"Hey, down girl," Doug rumbled, patting Jenna's back. "No need to rip his throat out, yeah?"

"Don't try to calm me down," Jenna snarled. There was a spine-curdling sound of teeth elongating. Her body was in flux, the shape unsteady and indistinct, somewhere between her already tall human form and something much bigger.

"Goddamn it," Doug growled. He lashed out and slapped Jenna across the face.

As suddenly as the transformation had begun, it stopped. Jenna shook herself as if doused with a bucket of ice water. "Ow," she said, rubbing her cheek.

"I thought natural werebeasts could control their change," Laura said carefully. And Arach would spank my ass blood red for leaving my weapons in my room, she thought.

"That's usually the case, yes," Jenna said softly, breathing deeply in between words. "I'm kinda stressed at the moment, you know? I never wanted this kind of responsibility thrust upon me."

"You're doing a great job," Doug said. "I'd probably mess up half the things you do between getting up and eating lunch."

"Still, if I could, I'd kick Mother Rachel's ass from here to Alaska for making me a chapter head," Jenna growled. "See ya later." She downed the rest of her coffee and trotted back inside.

"Will she be alright?" Laura asked. "And more importantly, will Eric and- oh, hey, good morning!" She waved as Maria and Eric, both sweat-drenched but grinning, came onto the back porch. "You just missed Jenna."

"Uh, yeah, no thanks," Eric muttered. "She just flitted past. Did somebody die or something?"

"I think she was about to check if you're still training," Doug said. "Going by your smell, you were. Seriously, hit the showers already."

"Of course we were," Maria said. "Eric and I made a pact. I'll stop beating his ass in Call Of Duty the moment he's able to beat me on the mat."

"And today I managed a straight three-in-five!" Eric whooped, pumping his fist. "Bare-handed, training swords and staves!"

Maria blew Laura a kiss then turned to leave. "Well, I'll take a shower. Afterwards, Eric, you may beat me in CoD. Once. And tomorrow, we'll start all over again."

"Whaaat?" Eric raced to catch up with Maria. "I thought once would be enough?"

The half-elf's laughter pearled into the garden.

"The more I see of her, the more I like her," Laura murmured, draining her mug. She fixed Doug with a feisty smile. "All right. Let me gear up then I'm all yours."

* * * *

"That's... a Harley?" Laura asked, staring in wonder at the two-wheeled monster in front of her. It had more sheet metal on its chassis than some city compacts! A large cowl with a curved windscreen covered the handlebars and the rear wheel disappeared between large, chrome-trimmed saddlebags and an upper trunk behind the pillion seat. It was painted white, with golden wings adorning the tank and saddlebags. A blonde, bare-breasted goddess smiled at her from the front cowl.

"It sure is," Doug said, opening the upper trunk. "My 1994 Electra-Glide. That thing is older than I am." He handed Laura a helmet and an ear piece before putting on his own. "Considering how much time I spent going from chapter to chapter, I needed a pair of wheels which didn't kill me on long highway trips. Gimme your sword."

"Where are you going to stash it? The saddlebags look roomy but not bastard sword roomy."

Doug flipped open one compartment and reached inside. He retrieved a large kite shield. "Saddlebags of Holding. A gift from an ex of mine. Big enough for her two-handed battleaxe. Or both our arsenals combined." He let the shield drop back and placed both his and Laura's swords into it.

"Interesting paint job." Laura donned the ear piece followed by the helmet.

"Most people won't see anything but another sexy biker livery," Doug said, helping her onto the pillion seat. "Every mile I drive is another prayer to Mother Mercy. Alright, let's get rollin'."

The half-orc swung his leg over the saddle and fired up the bike. The machine growled like some hellish beast. Much like its owner most of its 'voice' could be felt rather than heard.

"Can you hear me?" Doug asked, his voice coming through the ear piece.

"Yes. I was wondering what the earbud was for."

"Intercom." Doug kicked the stand back and turned up the gas. The engine climbed up half an octave and the vibrations going through Laura's thighs intensified. "The bike may be close to thirty years old but why not add a little bit of modern tech to make it even better? I chucked the radio and replaced it with a decent satnav and while I was at it, I screwed in the bluetooth intercom. Aren't you glad I did?"

They rolled off Black Lake Road and headed downtown.

"How come you roamed so much? My parents told me once you're part of a chapter, you stay with it until you retire or die."

Doug laughed. "There are far fewer Order branches in the US when compared to Europe and our specialist roster is more limited. We have a lot of clerics, druids, rogues and fighters but spell-slingers and paladins are rare. So we get shuffled around to suit the situation."

"Oh. I didn't know that," Laura said. "Where are we going?"

"Before we do anything else, let's swing by the GPD and have your weapons registered. Massachusetts doesn't kid around when it comes to slapping harsh fines and jail time on anyone caught without their FID or -- Mercy help you -- using unregistered weapons."

"And here I was, thinking that most of the US still was like the Old West. All the guns, all the time."

"You'd be surprised. Gun laws are always quite the hot topic and the days of lugging assault rifles and heavy machine guns around with impunity are long past. At least they didn't nix the Inquisitorial Appendix to state law yet."

"Maria said something about that last night, how I should mention it when registering my weapons."

"After the witch trials in Salem certain exceptions to state law were put in place to make the apprehension and elimination of witches easier for people of the faith. In effect, it tells the cops to keep it cool when they see us bringing swords to a gunfight."

"So we do have loopholes over here too," Laura rejoiced. "Fantastic."

"It's not nearly as generous as the leeway you guys have over in Europe, with Rome covering your backs. We simply won't get punished for carrying illegal weapons. Let's avoid unnecessary killing sprees, you hear?" Doug slowed down in front of Greenbury's police station. Two patrol cruisers were parked in front of it.

"I'd never do that!" Laura protested, sliding off the bike.