Chapter 16-419: Fair Treatment of Guests (2/2)

“We know who you are. Good luck keeping your noses clean.” As they growled in fear and their fur stayed nice and stiff at the implications, I floated down in front of the Manitou, who had reclaimed most of his traditional Shaman attire with a wave of his hand. “And you Borea.” My eyes narrowed as I looked at them. “Get off this land. I’ll take care of the Throat and the Den within an hour, and I’ll make time to clear the Banes off the others. Get!”

And like whipped dogs, they turned and ran away, heads down and tails low in submission.

“Elder Strikes at Shadows, you ready?” I asked directly.

He blinked. “You know of me?” he answered slowly.

“I know all of you.” The werewolves all blanched. I put my hand on his shoulder, and snapped my fingers.

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I materialized next to Shvaughn, who was standing outside the Convention Center with Legion standing next to her. The scarlet and blonde Amazons looked like sisters, or mother and daughter, and since they were both in several ways, it wasn’t that surprising. Most people would just take Legion’s draconic frill as a hairpiece, after all.

I put my lips to Strikes at Shadows’ forehead, and the Blessing materialized there, to his surprise.

“You’re in the Markchat box assigned to all delegates. They are getting a tent ready for you on the roof. Have fun charting the future of civilization on the American Mother Land!”

He was more than astute enough to open the Door and peek around it, and I let him do it. He stared at me, I looked back, and firmly reached out my Will and shoved him back into his Markchat box.

“Y-yes, Great Lady,” he half-bowed, staring at me a little wide-eyed, sweeping looks at the two Amazons he could feel extremely powerful Pact Magic on.

“Darlin’, this bitch you sent after me an’ my brother is jes’ too good at her job,” Shvuaghn said in a man’s Texan drawl as we watched the werewolf head for the door of the convention with his back straight and thoughts racing.

“The two of you Freemason fanatics made her a few billion dollars richer, as I understand it. Congratulations on joining the Phoenix Group Foundation. You’re a world leader in charitable projects and discrete political manipulation of tyrannical foreign powers.”

She huffed. “Such lip on you. How could you be this woman’s Monarch?” her fine lips twisted.

“You do know she’s laughing at you as you say that, right? Because I couldn’t be her Monarch unless I am capable of being her Monarch. In other words, I am higher Level and more powerful than she is.” I made a dismissive gesture. “So flark off to your fate, you old bastards. You enjoy her hot legs and glam face and That Bust while she uses your money for whatever and helps run the world.”

The outrage on her face vanished a second later as she grinned nastily. “Those two are going t’ be tasty when I get to them,” she said in her normal vague Irish lilt.

“How’s the book coming?” I asked in return.

“I just had to spend the last couple days shifting between the forms of two old bastard Freemasons as I took everything they ever worked for and screwed over their families!” she protested. I just lifted an eyebrow, and she rolled her green eyes, opened up the vest emphasizing That Bust, and pulled out a thumb drive. “I downloaded the story to one of Gregorigori’s gnomes and he magitech’d it into print before sending it off to the Ivory Worshippers.”

I looked at Legion, who flicked out a ten and handed it over. I put it away smugly.

“You doubted me?” Shvaughn protested to Legion on seeing this.

“You left off digesting to compose,” Legion replied calmly. “Fifty-fifty chance!”

“They really wanted to see Lady Traveler in person. They blame her for all this radical shit taking over the country, foreign non-human bitch screwing up everything for righteous god-fearing proper Americans,” she finished in a native Texan drawl.

“White, ex-Christian, Bible-thumping, human males who have lots of money proper through their Freemason connections, Americans?” I inquired archly.

“You forgot geriatric.”

“My apologies, I stand corrected in front of the two-hundred-year-old Warlock.”

“Don’t ruin it for them. They are still so turned on that they are a sexy Amazon with a great body and accent.” She stretched out while barely moving, still enough to get the blood moving.

“How many others?” I asked neutrally.

“Sixteen!” she smiled cheerfully and very unapologetically. “Four assassins, their handler, two contacts, a couple informants, and then up the family’s loyal retainers.”

“Which is why you’re teasing the Camps with your awesomeness. They aren’t going to be happy when you eat them.”

“I only eat the parts that make ME happy,” she sniffed, making a dismissive gesture. “So, what are we doing?”

“We’re going to Siberia. You’re going to a Caernpoint called The Throat, guarded by the Borea Great Pack, where they’ve got a Bane sealed up. You’re hunting Mazed and everything they’re bringing to the fight, while Legion goes in and kills the Bane.” I flashed them both the details, although it turned out they both were passing familiar with the area via the memories of others, imagine that.

“And you’re-?”

“Going to do the same to the other one at Usarimak’s Den.”

She lifted an eyebrow at that, obviously knowing what that was. “I want popcorn seats!” she wheedled.

“Fine. Eyeball exchange.” We all blinked, and promptly had alternate viewing screens out of one another’s eyes. Shvaughn promptly checked her hair and moved her vest a half-inch, and shifted her hip just so for Legion to admire the curve better. I had to smirk, so she turned her leg and flashed her eyes at me too.

“Ready to go?” I palmed my Rod Spike and held it out. They stepped forward together to grasp it, and I spent some ki.