Affairs At Huddlestone: Pt. 01

She hefted another folder, much thicker than the others. From it, she took and sheet of paper and turned to show Dakota. A disturbing police artist's drawing of her—far too real for comfort—stared back.

"This is you." Dean Walter waggled the thick folder. "If I have to ask the authorities to find you and bring you back, I will be very unhappy. As a result, you will also be very unhappy, and I will certainly see you are significantly more unhappy than I. If you continue to run away, I will not hesitate to give this to the local FBI office. Now," her eyes changed back to their normal hazel but still held their ancient cast, "please read and sign the papers. It will be best for all concerned. Otherwise ..."

There was a brief instant where she felt she could get up and run out—the secretary wasn't all that tough—but Dakota also knew there was a time to stop fighting and start working on a different angle. This was the time. As calmly as she could she put out her hand. Dean Walter smiled. Dakota cringed inside.

As she took the folder, Dakota had a sudden realization. "Wait, Kathryn? Kat ... Lyons. The woman who ..."

Dean Walter waggled a finger at her. "Not until you have read and signed the agreements. Read them carefully, they are contractually binding, and we have an outstanding legal staff, as well as Diane. Use the table by the wall but, please, only sit on that chair." The woman sat behind her desk and ignored Dakota.

She moved the chair to the table and began looking through the folder, grateful most of the cum had dried and she was now just damp around her crotch. There were two unique documents, definitely not something a teacher would see, or so she thought. The first document stated at length that, as an employee of Huddlestone Academy, she agreed anything she learned or was told was to be 'held in strictest confidence for all perpetuity' even 'after such employment with Huddlestone Academy is terminated for any reason whatsoever.' She was obligated to 'never reveal the identities of any of the staff, students, or Board of Regents under any circumstances, no matter how extreme, to any person or persons not directly affiliated with Huddlestone Academy, except those known personally to the undersigned as authorized to receive such information and expressly introduced to the undersigned by the Dean or a member of the Board of Regents.' It had the ring of a bad spy novel. There was also a clause requiring her to 'submit any and all correspondence, whether related to the conduct of business at Huddlestone Academy or written as the result of a memoir, novel, editorial, or any other such document, to the Board of Regents for review and editing prior to release.'

The last document was shorter, only three pages of similar legalistic phrases, which obligated her to 'undertake certain, explicitly described extracurricular activities and tasks at the behest of the Dean or the Board of Regents, with the understanding that such tasks are not considered part of the undersigned's duties which contribute to tenure and are separately compensated.' It sounded interesting; odd, but interesting. What kind of task would anyone ask a PE instructor to do? Spy on a rival school before a field hockey game?

Dakota considered her situation. Kat had told them about her, she was sure of it. They'd been waiting for her, not surprised at all. And they'd still offered her a job. She could find a way to leave, free to do what she wanted, as before, living off the citizens she met. Or ... she could take a ... job, and agree to all the peculiar conditions for a wildly excessive amount of money. The weight of the past years fell on her like a dead body. All the lying, all the cheating, all the running. all the beatings when she wasn't as smart as she'd thought. This was a place to lie low until she worked her new angle. And get paid for it. A pen, elegant Swiss-made, lay on the desk. She picked it up and signed the documents. A strange feeling of calm surrounded her, as if she'd stepped from a violent storm into a warm, dry room. She sensed someone close by and turned to find Dean Walter standing behind her.

"All signed, I see. Well done. I think I know how hard this was for you, Dakota. But you have made the right choice, you'll see now. Coffee? Or something stronger?"

Dakota sat on the couch, a thick towel between her and the red leather, sipping at an old and excellent Armagnac. Dean Walter sat deep in the leather chair opposite, swirling the heady amber liquor in a slow rotation. There was a distinct atmosphere of anticipation.

"Do you like it?" asked the dean, holding out her snifter. "It's a 1926 Chateau de Laubade, brought by Tsar Alexi on his visit to the United States in 1948 to see President Roosevelt. Several cases made their way into our cellars as a result of our help in Franklin's reelections.

"Now, to answer your burning question, yes, Kathryn Lyons is the woman who told us about you. She is a ... special friend of Huddlestone. We help each other occasionally. But more of that later, there are more significant things I have to tell you. A reminder, you have signed our agreements. What you will hear now is part of that agreement. Do you understand? I need to hear you say Yes."

"Yes. I understand." Dakota felt the warmth of the liquor as she sipped.

"Good. Huddlestone is a special place. Here, all our students receive the best possible education from the time they are sixteen until we deem them ready to mix in society. It may or may not come as a surprise that all of them, myself included, are hermaphrodites. We each have fully, erm, functional female and male sex organs. Something I believe you are familiar with. Yes?" The dean smiled knowingly.

"I didn't know, but it's hardly more strange than the rest of today," replied Dakota, thinking of Ingrid.

"And then, Dakota Grange, there is you. You are something of a ghost. We knew about you but were never able to determine who you actually were. Thanks to Kathryn's detailed description, we were able to put together information we had on your activities, but had little understanding of how they were related. The completed dossier caused anguish and anticipation within the Council. Your meeting with Kathryn was very fortunate for all concerned as it proved we were right, both about who you are and what you can do. Kathryn was pleasantly surprised at the result. She'd been troubling us for the last year; covering up her, uh, indiscretions was becoming tiresome and time consuming. Through good fortune and several indirect persuasions, we were able to put the two of you together. It ended most satisfactorily."

"It ended with me knocked out and beat to shit, pardon my German, how is that satisfactory?" Regardless of her usual caution, being told she had been manipulated into fighting and fucking Kat was disturbing. It showed how little control she really had over her life, despite what she'd believed for years.

"And look at you now, Miss Grange," Dean Walter was suddenly formal. "Where are the bruises, the cuts, the abrasions to your more tender parts? Gone, within hours of leaving Chicago, I'm told. How do you explain it? You can't. You've never been able to explain how you do things others can't. Would you like me to tell you the answer?"

Dakota sat up, her attention fully on the older woman. "What do you know about me? Where did I come from? Who are my parents? My real parents, not the foster ones. Who is we?"

"Your true origin is a great mystery, I'm afraid. We don't know either, but we do know what you are capable of. You have a talent, an ability unlike any we've ever seen. You, Dakota Grange, are a chameleon. You take on the characteristics of those you meet, you blend in, you seem like someone who understands the most intimate things to those you touch. And you use the ability, the incredible gift, to do what? Lie and cheat your way through life for a few coins, always looking over your shoulder, never able to stay in one place for long, one brief step ahead of a beating, except when you aren't." Dean Walter's expression became hard. "What an absolute waste." Her face softened. "But that's done with now. You are here and you can begin to use your ability to its full potential. As to who we are, that's another mystery, one you don't need to ask about."

"Work for you and ...? Like some kind of pawn? Is that what I signed my life away for?"

"No." Now the dean's voice was gentle. "Not at all. We need your special talents, true. But you need us, too, Dakota. Look inside, ask yourself, are you willing to run for the rest of your life?"

Part of her wanted to run, despite the definite and obvious threats. She could get far enough on what she had and disappear, make it hard to find her. But she'd been found already—when she was sure she was invisible—and herded to Kat. No. She could run, but not now. Later, when she had more time to plan a proper disappearance. She might even arrange to die—again. She sighed, not from desperation, but from relief.

"OK. You win, for now. I'll try something different for a change and stay here, as the PE instructor, God help me." She took a deep breath. "A job ... a citizen, for God's sake. Well, now that I'm part of the family, tell me about Kat."

"Ah, yes," said the dean thoughtfully, "the fallen gods."

Dakota's choked on the liquor, sputtering for a few seconds until she got her breath back. "Fallen what?" Dakota goggled at the older woman.

"Kathryn Lyons and Ingrid Freyasdotter are fallen gods, as in immortal beings. Don't stare, it happens occasionally. Given your talent, which you acknowledge and think nothing of, you now doubt what I say? Really." The dean shook her head. "A god either leaves her ethereal realm voluntarily or is thrown out. I think that's the best way of putting it. For Ingrid it was the former; for Kathryn, the latter. Either way, they are now here, in our world, and we take care of them, to make sure they don't get themselves into trouble. Kathryn in particular. You've had a taste of her rather odd desires. But it's not unusual considering she was a goddess of war."

This time, Dakota was careful not to sip at her drink. "War? Kat is the goddess of war?" Oh, fuck, she thought, I could have been killed. Or worse.

"A goddess, Egyptian to be precise, once known as Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess of war." The dean gazed at the ceiling. "She was found to be, uh, redundant, when that pantheon decided to become kinder and gentler. Rather than changing, she attempted a coup, for which she was expelled. It hasn't sat well with her, and she's taken to drink. The red of the wine reminds her of blood. She's always looking for a good fight, and we have had trouble in the past keeping her adventures from being noticed by the rest of the world. You turned out to be perfect for her, you assimilated her strength and her fierceness, even if only for a while, and became nearly her equal. She's quite satisfied and much more accommodating to us now. You did us a great and difficult service, though I'm told you enjoyed it as well." Here, the dean smirked, and the look didn't fit well with her face; it made her look cunning and dangerous.

It was true. Despite the danger, Dakota had enjoyed fighting and fucking Kat, though if she'd known she was fighting a god, even a fallen one, she might have had second thoughts. But then she'd never have been able to ... pleasant and intense memories of her time with Kat warmed her crotch and her cock began to stiffen. She forced herself to put the thoughts away for later, when she was alone.

"I can't believe this. It's insane. Fallen gods. It can't be real." She was beginning to think this whole episode was some sort of bad dream.

"Ah, well, there are more things in heaven and earth, Dakota Grange ..." The dean left the sentence unfinished but there was a lingering memory someone had said the same thing to her, long ago. No, it was just a form of déjà vu, like everything else so far, a false memory that couldn't be real.

"And Ingrid?" The thought was more troubling to Dakota, because she'd never experienced the intensity radiating from the blonde goddess—fallen goddess.

"A most unfortunate tale. Ingrid was—is—a Valkyrie, a minor goddess who became disenchanted with collecting fallen warriors from the battlefield, taking them to Valhalla, and then serving them as little more than a sex toy. She left of her own accord, but she's had difficulty adjusting to things here. She is insecure, wondering if she made the right choice, and depressed because she hasn't found a partner who shares her vigorous devotion to sex. Until today, that is."

"Oh, don't tell me you set that up, too, Dean." Dakota sighed again.

"Yes." The dean was matter-of-fact, as if it had been nothing out of the ordinary. "One of the conditions we set for you staying here was satisfying Ingrid. I think it all worked out very well, don't you? And now, if you've dried out a bit and can look reasonably presentable, why don't you get settled."

Dakota looked confused and the dean continued. "Sorry, I forgot to mention an apartment in the staff wing is part of your employment. Diane will show you to your new lodgings. I assume you brought everything with you, as you checked out of your hotel this morning."

That the dean even knew she'd planned to just drive south until she ran out of gas if the interview hadn't gone well was even more disconcerting.

"Is she ...?" Dakota jerked a thumb at the antechamber door.

"Diane? No, she's female, like most of the staff." The dean smiled slightly. "We pay them handsomely and have made it clear we have the means to make their lives a living hell if they are indiscreet about the school.

"Oh, we'll have someone drop off your rental car. Give the keys to Diane. You won't need a car for a while and, if you do, the school has several you can borrow. Good day, Miss Grange. Welcome to Huddlestone." Dakota offered her hand but Dean Walter shook her head. "No, you and I won't touch again. It took every ounce of concentration I have to keep you from getting anything from me earlier. I don't want to keep making the effort. You understand, of course. Oh, a question, just curiosity. Is Dakota your real name?"

"It's the name I was given," answered Dakota without thinking. "I'm told I didn't have name when I was found on Grange Street in St. Paul. So, because I look Sioux, they named me Dakota. I do have a faint memory of someone calling me Michael, but I don't know why."

"Are you sure it wasn't Mica?" asked the dean.

"No idea, why?"

"As I said, it's not important, I was just curious. But I am certain you are Lakota Sioux."

As the dean watched Dakota walk across the campus with her secretary, another woman entered through a side door. She was slightly taller than the dean and stockier but not fat. Her red hair showed traces of grey through the coloring, but her green eyes were sharp and her face was set into a deep frown.

"Are you sure this is wise, Georgia?" said the woman. "We know nothing of this woman, this girl. She could be dangerous, very dangerous."

"Girl? She's far older than both of us put together. Which is why it's better for us to have her here. I share your concern, Corine, but until we know more, Dakota Grange stays right where I can watch her. Besides, I think she may be very useful—in more than one way."

"I hope you're right, Georgia, for all our sakes. Too much rides on this for me to feel comfortable at all."

The rooms were much better than Dakota expected. Three in all: living room with couch, chairs, and bookcases, radio but no TV; galley kitchen with a dining table to seat four; and bedroom with a large bed, wardrobe, and night stand. There was also a separate bath with combined shower and tub. Her apartment was one of two on the ground floor, a set of French doors opening onto to a small walled garden. Doors from the other apartment opened out onto the same space. The apartments on the first and second floors had balconies. Diane told her there was also a communal roof garden. Dakota opened a door to what she thought was a closet in the living room to find another door, shut, with no knob.

"The door leads to the other apartment. I've no idea why they put those things there, no one uses them." Diane was all business, spoke only minimally, and didn't seem at all happy about showing the new PE instructor about.

"Who has the other apartment?" asked Dakota.

"Freyasdotter, more's the pity for you." The secretary's face soured. "The woman is a basket case, moping about, moaning at all hours. It's a good thing the walls and floors are sound-proof, otherwise, no one else would get any sleep. If she knocks on that connecting door, I wouldn't answer."

The front door opened after a sharp rap. The porter, a short, stout woman with a visible mustache and hair pulled severely back into a small bun, waddled in carrying four large paper bags of groceries. She heaved them onto the kitchen counter and wiped a bit of sweat from her brow. "This lot is coming off your first month's wages. We make weekly trips to the market, so's you know." She strode off but turned as she went through the door. "Oh, your car's been returned, someone will be back with the receipt. It'll be in the office." Then she was gone.

"Seems pleasant enough," offered Dakota, wondering how long she was going to have to make small talk with the secretary.

"Mean as a snake, more like it." snapped Diane. It was obvious Dakota had walked into the middle of an internecine squabble, so she remained silent. Seeing she was getting no reaction, the secretary handed over the apartment keys and a calendar of events and left without another word. There was about a week before classes began and several faculty meetings filled the time. As it was Friday, there was nothing planned until the following Monday. Dakota had most of three days to settle into her new life.

She took off her coat—with the torn sleeve, and her vest—with the missing buttons, and hung them in the wardrobe in the bedroom. Maybe she could find a tailor who wouldn't charge too much. She stopped and laughed to herself. With what she was making she could buy a whole new set of clothes. Not that she would, she'd become attached to the ones she had, they helped get her a job. She hung the rest of her clothes in the wardrobe, the ones Kat had given her, and put her underwear, socks, and miscellaneous things in a drawer. She dropped her travel kit in the bathroom. She'd need to get more toiletries in the next day or so. She kicked off her loafers and put them and her socks in the wardrobe with the fancy sneakers she'd stolen on the off chance she got the job. Then, barefoot, she padded back to the kitchen to put the groceries away.

Ten minutes later, the radio playing some jazz by a piano trio, she was stretched out on the couch when the connecting to Ingrid's apartment opened, she'd left her own door open, and the blonde Valkyrie stepped in, tentative, cautious. Dakota stood, far more quickly than she'd planned.

"The Dean told me you were hired and you were living with me ... next to me." She stuck out her hand awkwardly. "Welcome. I'm glad we, our, uh, that it, uh, didn't affect your job interview. I don't know what came over me."

Dakota took the offered hand, prepared for the rush of emotion, but it was far more intense than before, and she stumbled at the onslaught. Ingrid caught her, which only made the feelings stronger. Forcing herself to stand and look the blonde in the eye, Dakota replied as steadily as she could manage, "I'm the one who should be sorry, Ingrid, it was totally inappropriate of me. It won't happen again."

"Oh." Ingrid looked crestfallen. "Are you all unpacked? Is there anything I can help you with?"