Chapter 11: Signs of Cracking

Despite the rising summer sun, the temperature in front of Mike Radley’s home was downright cold. Members of the SoS and the Order huddled together by the command center in order to share body heat, casting wary glances toward the house. Cyrus, who had spent the night on a spare cot in the tent, stepped out into the chill and pulled his coat around him. Noticing the pained expressions on the faces of others, he feigned rubbing his arms for warmth. They needed false sympathy from him, not the knowledge that his coat had been enchanted for bad weather.

“What’s with this cold?” he asked a group of men standing away from the others, already knowing the answer. Yuki was fully responsible for the chill in the air. If it hadn’t been in the upper eighties the day before, he was convinced snow would be drifting from above already. Neither the SoS nor the Order had been prepared for the sudden dip in temperature, and cold weather gear was being rushed to them from a storage facility nearly six hours away.

“No idea,” said one of the men, and the group opened up to allow Cyrus to stand among them. “Don’t you guys know some spells to keep warm or something?”

“Sure do,” he replied, then stuck his hand in a pocket and pulled out a pair of rods. “You ever see these before? Tuck one in the back of your belt and it will keep you from freezing up. Here, let me show you how the enchantment works.”

The group huddled around Cyrus, blocking outsiders from seeing him. The mage reached deeper into his coat and handed over a few magazines full of bullets.

“You’ve got almost forty,” he whispered. He had managed to pull two other mages to help him with the project overnight, banking on their fear of the house and personal inability to question superiors. In less than a moment, the magazines disappeared, the rounds to be dispersed later.

“I’m sorry that I’ve only got the two of these,” he said, raising his voice for anyone listening. “So you’ll have to share. They last about twelve hours, but you can charge them up by putting them near something hot, or boiling them in water for ten minutes. Hmm. For you guys, this might work the best.” He tucked one of the rods into the collar of someone’s tactical vest to ensure airflow. “Don’t put them in your pockets, though. They might overheat in a disastrous way.”

“Damn.” The merc snorted, rubbing at his chest. “Feels like I’m standing by a fire already.”

Someone else snagged the remaining rod from Cyrus, and the men started making jabs at each other. One of them clapped Cyrus on the shoulder, and their eyes met.

“You’re a good one.” A hint of a smile lit the man’s eyes.

Cyrus nodded, but said nothing. He had essentially just signed their death warrants with those bullets. Moving away from the men and toward the house, he paused near the bottom of its stoop to look up at the roofline. Squinting in concentration, he noticed immediately that the house was different again. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what had changed. Had it always been this small? Was it the paint? He had a sudden urge to wander off, to go do anything but sit in the vicinity of this structure. If not for the discipline of the people behind him, how many would have left already?

Was the fact that the house was trying to push him away akin to the feelings of its denizens toward him? Or was it simply because he had never been invited in?

He heard the quiet mutterings of the men and women behind him go silent and dropped his gaze from the roofline. A dark figure stood on the porch. Death was holding a cup of tea in one hand and a paper-wrapped bundle in the other.

“I say, good morning!” the Reaper declared, silently padding down the stairs. “You all are looking quite dreadful. Perhaps you’re still tired from all that activity yesterday, breaking and entering can be quite the endeavor.”

“Fuck you, Pumpkin King.” One of the mercs stepped forward, racking the slide of his rifle. “How about I plant one right between your eye holes?”

Death paused, his eye flames burning intensely inside his skull. “I do believe consent is required before any type of penetration occurs. You certainly do not have mine.” The Reaper lifted the mug to his lips and a gunshot rang out. The mug exploded in the Reaper’s hands, showering him with tea and ceramic shards.

Cyrus had ducked out of instinct, but was already running. A couple of Order members saw this and reacted in kind, but the SoS stayed in position, including the idiot who had taken out Death’s mug with his pistol. He wasn’t entirely certain how Death would react, but the old man didn’t want to be at ground zero when it happened.

“I see.” Death shook the tea off his hand. “Well, my job was to come out here and try to make peace, but apparently—”

Another gunshot rang out. A step on the porch cracked as the round went straight through Death.

“See, I told you,” said another merc. “Incorporeal. He can’t do shit to us.”

“Well then. I guess I won’t be needing this.” Death tossed the paper wrapped bundle onto the ground. It burst open, revealing a massive Danish. Some members of the SoS aimed their guns at it. “You only get so many years to be alive. Clearly, you should spend what time you have left working on your manners.”

Another shot rang out, this time hitting a window. The glass cracked but didn’t break, the bullet passing cleanly through the pane.

“Well, if anyone would like to chat with me, I’ll be in my tea room.” Death, to his credit, didn’t look at Cyrus when he said this.

“Yo, fuck your tea room!” This came from one of the knights, who was suddenly emboldened.

“You are officially uninvited,” Death declared. “Don’t bother coming.”

The Reaper turned and walked back into the house, the door banging shut behind him. Cyrus came out from his hiding spot just around the corner of the tent. The men who had run alongside him now looked at him as if he were a fool, but he no longer cared. He stared at the window that had been shot. It was no longer damaged, but nobody else seemed to notice this.

“Fuck, when are we moving in?” he heard someone muttering.

“I hope it’s soon,” someone else replied. “The sooner we burn this shit to the ground, the better.”

Cyrus made himself scarce, moving to the edges of the mercenary camp before sliding over to the side of the property. It was a short walk to the backyard, which felt wrong to him. He had vague memories of long walks with both Mike and Death around the property, but couldn’t quite remember any details of the property.

“He’ll meet you in the back,” said Dana through his earpiece.

Cyrus cleared his throat and looked around. Nobody was nearby.

“Where’s the queen?” he asked.

“Sleeping,” Dana replied. “Eulalie was up all night trying to buy off the SoS, but they won’t budge on account of their reputation. When they turned down a payment of fifty million to just walk away, she actually threw a chair.”

Cyrus’ eyes bulged out of his head. “You all have fifty million?” he whispered.

“Eulalie does, but that’s a long story. After that, she tried to find another paramilitary group she could pay to fight the SoS, but apparently nobody will do it because we’re in the middle of a US city. She did manage to fuck up your supply chain, though. Don’t be surprised when the tactical winter gear is a no-show.”

Cyrus rubbed his eyes. “I’ll do my best,” he muttered. The back of the house came into view, and he marveled at the sight of a winter wonderland. Massive blocks of ice had been formed into barriers that surrounded the fountain along with the nearby tree. He was uncertain how to pass through until a slender figure emerged from the wall itself.

“It be a bit tricky,” said the gardener. “But naught more than an illusion. This way.” At first, it looked like he stepped back into the ice, but Cyrus realized that the wall had been cut at an angle and there was actually a slim passage there. He held his arms against his sides as he squeezed through, then emerged near the fountain. A young woman in a black leather dress stared up at him and growled, but the gardener put out his hand.

“Easy, lass,” he said. “Remember, this one is a friend.”

The goth girl sniffed the air loudly, but said nothing. The gardener gestured to Death’s tea house, and Cyrus thanked him before proceeding. Massive roots had wrapped themselves protectively around the base of the oak tree, and the terrain was difficult to navigate. He tripped a couple of times, then lost his balance and fell face first toward the ground. A mere moment before breaking his face, the foliage beneath him flexed and caught him by the shoulders, leaves caressing his face as he was pushed back into a standing position.

“Oh, um ... thank you.” He adjusted his coat and turned to the gardener. The man stood on the other side of the fountain, a bucket in one hand and scissors in the other.

“Wae’nt me,” he said with a sly grin. “But the gratitude is appreciated, I assure you.”

Cyrus nodded and continued toward the tea house. Upon entering, he saw Death sitting at the other end of the table with an apron wrapped around his waist and a platter stacked full of snacks in the middle of the table.

“Welcome, friend.” Death bared his smile at Cyrus. “Help yourself. I’m afraid we’re out of Danish.”

“So I’ve heard.” Cyrus sat down at the table and then leapt to his feet when he saw Jenny the doll sitting on the other side of the table from him. “Oh, shit, sorry. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I have come as well.” The soft, regal voice came from his left. For a moment, Cyrus felt like he was staring at a stuffed dog of some sort, but his vision blurred and the stuffed animal picked up a small sandwich with dexterous hands. Atop his head was a gold foil crown and he wore plastic glasses that looked like they had been stolen from a child’s toy. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Cyrus.”

“You’re a rat.” Cyrus’ words lacked tact, but the creature’s sudden transformation had caught him off guard.

“Point in fact, I am the Rat King. My name is Reggie.” Reggie pointed up at his crown, then picked up a paper star cut from yellow construction paper. “I am also officially Jenny’s deputy.”

“Rat ... King?” Cyrus made a face and sat back on his cushion. “Does that mean that you and Eulalie...”

The rat shook his head. “Our regencies are unrelated. You are here today because we wanted to talk about strategy. According to Eulalie and Dana, your people are getting ready to make a move that will seriously impair their health.”

“You’re also here for tea,” said Death as he started pouring the amber liquid into teacups. “It has already been too long since last we shared a cup.”

Cyrus looked at Death, then turned his attention back toward the Rat King and Jenny. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Indeed.”

“If you have anything you can share that will increase the efficacy of our defenses or perhaps preserve the lives of the men and women who serve you, now would be the time to mention it. We do not wish ill upon you—” Reggie paused as the daylight coming through the paper windows somehow flickered. “Allow me to correct myself. I, personally, do not wish ill upon you or your people.”

“Noted.” Cyrus looked up to see Death holding out a cup of tea, which he took. “Are you not attempting tea ceremonies anymore?”

“I am not.” Death sighed and looked wistfully at the ceiling. “It was quite enjoyable at the time, but in order to better myself I made the mistake of turning to the internet. Were you aware that you can ask questions on something called a forum?”

“Of course.”

Death handed Reggie a tea cup. “I’m afraid I got into an argument with some of the people there. After detailing what I thought to be a lovely ceremony, I was chastised for being misinformed, problematic, and...” The tiny fires swirled in Death’s sockets. “Ah, that’s right. I was called a troll.”

“A troll?” Cyrus asked.

“We’re getting off-topic,” muttered Reggie.

“Indeed.” Death set an empty cup in front of Jenny and pretended to pour tea in it. “I do not wish to bore you with details about the conversation, but someone made a point of asking me what color my skin was. Naturally, I told them that I didn’t have any, and the conversation devolved from there.” The Reaper sighed again. “Yuki Radley assured me that my heart was in the right place, but I find myself wondering if I should take up a different hobby.”

When Death sat next to Cyrus, the mage patted the Reaper’s knee. “I’ve never been to a tea ceremony before, but I enjoyed the one you made for me.”

“You are too kind.” The swirling flames in Death’s skull steadied a bit. “But King Reggie is right, we are rather off-task. Our time is short and we must make the most of it.”

“Is anyone else coming?” asked Cyrus. “Or is it just us?”

“It’s just us old people today.” Reggie smirked, which Cyrus was ashamed to admit made him look adorable. “Everyone else is doing the jobs Sheriff Jenny handed out.”

WE’RE GOING TO PLAY ANOTHER GAME declared the doll in a psychic voice that penetrated Cyrus like a blade. The plates and cutlery on the table rattled as the temperature in the room dropped.

“Out of curiosity, what have you done with the missing people?” Cyrus sipped at his tea. “Is this chamomile?”

“A special blend,” replied Death.

“It’s very good.” Cyrus drank some more and smacked his lips. “So do you all have Mads locked up in your basement or something?”

Jenny made a hissing sound, but said nothing else. Reggie looked at the doll in confusion, then back at Cyrus. “We haven’t taken any of your people,” said the Rat King. “Or if we have, we’ve already given them back.”

Cyrus frowned. There were too many variables right now, but he had no reason to doubt the Rat King’s words. “You really didn’t take them?”

Reggie, to his credit, gave Jenny a hard look. “If you did something, Mike will find out later,” he said. When the doll didn’t respond, he shrugged. “It wasn’t us.”

“Huh.” Cyrus scratched at his beard. “I was just curious is all.” He reached across the table to the plate of snacks and picked up a butter cookie. “In that case, I think you’ve already answered all of the questions I had.”

“Is there nothing you would add, Master Cyrus?” Death put a biscuit on a plate and slid it over to Reggie. “What about your people?”

The mage sighed and stared down at his hands. “They aren’t my people,” he said with sadness. “They have been guided down a dark path, I’m afraid. The Sons of Sin mean your family great harm, and the Order intends to see the deed finished. In the hours to come, there will come a point when the men and women of the Order will be forced to make a choice. If they refuse to fight, or perhaps even run away, I only ask that you allow them the chance to survive and learn from this experience. Maybe that will guide them toward a better tomorrow for everyone.”

“And what of those who fight?” Reggie’s dark eyes shimmered.

Cyrus looked over at the terrifying doll and raised his cup. “In that case, they’re all yours, Sheriff.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted, and he felt rather than heard cackling laughter. Even Reggie shivered, but the rat said nothing.

“That settles it.” Death shook his head. “I do feel bad for what is about to occur, but it cannot be helped.”

“I agree.” Cyrus set down his tea and looked at Jenny. Even though the doll lacked facial expressions, it felt like she was looking through him. “So would you like to hear the plan I came up with?”

By the time he finished sharing it, Jenny’s laughter echoed from every corner of the room.

Singing birds roused Mike from his slumber. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and sat up in bed to be greeted by the sight of jungle and a nearby bluff. It took a moment for him to remember where he was before he let out a yawn and stretched.

A thick mass gripped him by the calves, pulling so hard that he almost slid down the bed. Syrupy blue tendrils wrapped around his torso as Opal pulled her amorphous mass on top of him, her body thickening into place on his chest. Where her heart would be, he saw her crystalline vessel floating much like an organelle in a cell.

“Good morning.” He yawned again. Last night had been spent speaking at length with Pele and Di about the eggs. The eggs were elemental in nature, capable of recreating and sustaining the magical ecosystem of the world once they hatched. If he properly understood the ramifications, he could absolutely bring magic back to Earth in a way that hadn’t been seen for centuries. But that would also mean gathering the attention of the Others, which would result in his world getting eaten.

He wasn’t certain yet what he was supposed to do with the clutch, but at least they wouldn’t hatch on accident. They could only be hatched once the final egg was fertilized, the dragons immediately imprinting on whoever was present. In fact, Mike actually had the means to fertilize an egg back at his home, but doing so would mean a serious setback to Dana’s journey to undo her undead status.

Eventually, exhaustion had settled in and he started asking the same questions over and over. Di had declared him unfit for further conversation, and Pele had taken him and the others across the lake. Ingrid remained unconscious for the trip, which Mike had found worrying.

Once on land, Ratu had used her earth magic to carry them back to the top of the hill. Back at the cabana, a massive feast had been prepared for all of them, cooked and set by the spirits who obeyed Pele. Mike had eaten his fill, then crawled into bed with both Ratu and Quetzalli at his side and promptly lost consciousness.

I’m hungry, signed Opal.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of food left over,” he replied.

The slime girl leaned forward and emphasized the shape of her eyebrows before wiggling them lasciviously. While Opal was perfectly capable of eating human food, in a lot of ways, she was like Dana. She needed magic to sustain herself, and her favorite food was currently brewing inside Mike’s balls.

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me drink some water first?”

Opal shook her head with a grin, a pseudopod sliding free of her waist to push down the waist of his pants.

Mike chuckled. “Okay, I get it. But I want to remind you that I need to be functional today. You’re gonna have to go easy on me.”

Opal pouted in response, then flopped her head inside out so that she could watch his morning wood spring free of his shorts. The cool mountain air tickled a little, and he shivered in anticipation.

The slime girl rippled, then turned forward to face him. Grinning mischievously, she leaned forward, her suddenly massive breasts pressing into his chest and molding to his body. She started jerking him off with an elongated arm, her sticky hands now slippery. Her arm moved up and down, squeezing rhythmically with more than five fingers.

Mike groaned, lying back and allowing Opal to do all the work. She jerked him for a couple of minutes, then shifted the palm of her hand onto his glans. As she rubbed the head of his cock as if polishing a knob, he felt the crease of her hand thicken and then part like a labia.

“What are you doing?” he asked, lifting his head to look through her translucent body. In awe, he watched as his cock sank into her palm then into her forearm, magnified slightly by the refracting light of morning. Opal grinned at him, then sat up and fucked him with her hand-pussy.

The head of his cock made it nearly to her elbow. When her arm had taken the full girth and length of his cock, she massaged his balls with her fingers. Using her whole arm as a piston, she jacked him off in this manner for a couple of minutes, then sank her hand down one more time and held still.

Through her translucent flesh, he watched the slime shimmer and turn pink as it began to swirl. Opal had created a tiny vortex inside her arm that swirled across his sensitive flesh, alternating direction every inch or so. When she lifted her arm again, a powerful suction pulled extra blood to his cock, and he groaned as he laid back on the bed.

“This is certainly new,” he muttered as Opal arm-fucked him for several minutes in this manner. Between the swirling, the suction, and the ball massage, he could feel a powerful orgasm building. However, the best was yet to come. The head of his cock tingled as slime teased the thin opening of his cock, a very thin pseudopod stretching down and sliding along his urethra. His hips jerked on their own in response to the stimulus, the sensations very similar to a small orgasm.

Down, down the pseudopod went, seeking out that which Opal desired most. While it had been no surprise that the slime girl was capable of utilizing his semen to prolong her own existence, it was her manner of acquiring it that was different. Opal didn’t just want his cum—she wanted it straight from the source.

Mike gasped as the pseudopod eventually reached the base of his shaft, then hummed. His whole cock vibrated from the inside as Opal continued her handjob, a big grin on her face. Her whole body was slowly turning pink now in reaction to his own arousal. Tiny sparks formed along his shaft that turned into motes of light that floated up her arm where they spread apart inside her body.

His eyes rolled back as the pseudopod reached the path that branched away from his urethra and to his seminal vesicle. A heavy feeling settled in his crotch as Opal teased him both inside and out. His magic continued to build up as if the slime girl was a massive capacitor, which he knew from experience she was about to become. It was the reason he had to take the whole day off if he allowed her to prolong things, because—

His back muscles tensed, followed by his midsection as Opal leaned forward and pressed into him. Her soft breasts melted around his torso, forcing his magic back into his skin. Mike’s cock flexed and he cried out, startling nearby birds into flight. His orgasm was heavy and plentiful as Opal coaxed long, pearly strands out of his body that traveled up her arm and toward her core. The magic reverberated back through Opal, turning her entire body pink as she opened her mouth in a silent cry of her own, her body bucking as pieces of her broke away and soaked the bed.

Mike held his breath as Opal continued pumping him, stretching his ejaculation out for nearly twenty seconds as she continued to milk him, but even she had her limits. Using just her hand, she got tired, and the pseudopod in his cock withdrew. Opal quivered for several seconds before melting into a goopy puddle on the sheets. Mike rolled out of the way and nearly fell out of bed with his shorts around his ankles.

“Hot damn,” he muttered as he lowered himself to the ground. Up above, he heard happy burbling sounds from Opal as she digested her meal. His legs shook when he tried to stand, and a hand appeared from nearby to help him up.

“Thanks,” he muttered as he stood, now facing Lily. “Oh! You made it!”

“And my timing was perfect,” she purred, her eyes looking past him at the bed. “If I had come a minute earlier, you would have been out for days after the two of us fought over you and took turns. You would have been completely useless for ages.”

Mike snorted. “Like you’re one to talk. I seem to recall someone needing to take some personal time off after she fell into Opal’s vat.”

Lily sighed. “If only you had been there. Not that I had any holes left to be penetrated. Maybe she would have shared?”

“Or drained us both dry.” Mike fumbled with his shorts. His hands were still trembling. “My fingers don’t work right now.”

“Let me.” Lily helped him button his pants, but not before copping a feel. “As much as I would love to indulge myself, it seems like there’s no shortage of work to do. The only reason I got to come was because the others are busy monitoring the Order and I sort of assigned myself the job while the cat watches our suite in Paradise. Such a well-oiled machine you’ve left running things while you’re gone.”

Mike nodded. “Where is the exit portal?” he asked.

“Inside the house. We didn’t want to risk the Order stumbling onto it. You’ve got a closet behind the laundry room that wasn’t being used.”

Mike frowned. “We don’t have a closet behind the laundry room.”

“You do now.” Lily shrugged. “Don’t take my word for it. You’ll see it when you stop by. The others are eager to see you, you know?”

“I bet.” Before going to bed last night, Mike had taken pictures of the cabana with his phone and handed it off to the fairy girls. The three of them had flown down the volcano in Maui until his phone had picked up a signal, at which time his pending messages to Eulalie were finally sent. “How bad is it at home?”

Lily sighed. “Honestly, Romeo? It’s hard to say. If we wanted to, it would be pretty easy to just go out and exterminate everybody. But that would complicate things here, wouldn’t it?”

Mike nodded. “There’s something in the ocean,” he explained. “The merfolk were never the target. I hate this term, but they were absolutely collateral damage.”

The succubus groaned. “Ugh, of course. So, what, we just need to pound the crap out of a kaiju and we can be done here?”

“Something like that. But I suspect Captain Dickhead is involved. I would have to be pretty dense to think otherwise. And the Order is clearly in on it.”

“Actually, they aren’t.” Lily frowned and leaned against the wall of the cabana. Mike couldn’t help but notice the cute tank top she wore over a bikini. It was surprisingly modest for her. “See, shit has gone down a bit back at Paradise so I’ve been snooping around. The Director absolutely has a raging hard on for you, but I really don’t think that he and Francois are working together.”

That was surprising, but he believed her. Mike leaned against the wall next to Lily and she tilted her head onto his shoulder. He felt like he was missing something, a piece that would tie the whole puzzle together. Making gross assumptions, the beast from the deep was likely working for Captain Francois, and the target was the eggs. If Francois was controlling giant sea monsters, it was no leap to assume that he wanted the eggs for himself. And it wasn’t like Mike could casually move the eggs. The volcano was acting as an incubator to keep them alive, the tremendous heat actually powering an array of runes that ensured each of the eggs was being provided the elemental magic it needed.

“What does the Director want?” Mike turned his face toward Lily, the scent of her hair tickling his nostrils. “I mean, I know he thinks the house has something, but this feels oddly personal.”

“I’m still working on that. Other than seeing him at breakfast with Beth, the man has remained locked in his office. I can’t even get in. The place is heavily warded. If I could just get a drop of his blood, or something to track him by, I could go to him in his dreams and dig around his head.”

“I see.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, then paused when Opal emitted a giant raspberry that broke the silence. Her surface was bubbling like thick soup in a pot, which Mike had long ago learned was how she expressed post-coital contentment.

“You’re disgusting,” said Lily. The pool of pink slime on the bed was already turning blue again, and a single hand formed above the puddle, fingers curling up into a rude gesture. “By the way, Death says hi and that he misses you.”

The rude gesture vanished, replaced by a slew of hand signs.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him hi back. No, I won’t hug him for you.” Lily was about to say something else when Ratu stepped around the corner of the cabana. She was in a white dress, much like the one Pele wore. In her hands was a wicker tray with some food.

“I see we have company.” She smiled demurely and looked at the mess on the bed. “I’m grateful to see she left you intact. We have much work to do today. I brought breakfast. Pele needs to speak with you right away at the guest cabin.”

“This place has a guest cabin?” Lily looked around the corner of the cabana. “Just so you know, Romeo, if you ever come here with me, I sleep in that bed with you, okay? Minus the cum stain over there.”

This time, both of Opal’s hands appeared, middle fingers raised.

“The people that once took care of this place lived here with their families,” Mike explained as he grabbed a sweetroll off the tray. “The guest cabin is just what we are calling the home where Ingrid slept last night.”

“I see. And how is our little narc doing this morning?” Lily leaned over and took a bite of Mike’s pastry before he could.

“I’m afraid that’s what Pele wishes to discuss with you.” Ratu’s features darkened. “She still hasn’t woken up.”

“Shit.” Mike stuffed the rest of the roll into his mouth before Lily could steal anymore. It tasted of guava and starfruit. “Leath teh wa.”

Ratu frowned at his slurred speech and turned away. Mike was distracted with thoughts of Ingrid and missed what Lily said to Opal, but a third hand had appeared from the gelatinous mess to give her the finger again, so he figured it wasn’t important.