Home for Horny Monsters Ch. 099

He had texted Mike shortly after his meeting with Ingrid two nights ago. It had been easy enough to lie and say that his new life had a few strings he needed to snip to keep curious friends and neighbors away. The Order was no stranger to extracting someone from a double life, but Cyrus needed to be able to slip back into his new routine with minimal effort.

In truth, he had been afraid that Mike would accuse him of deception. His initial interest in the home had been cautious curiosity, which had slowly become academic. Soon, his weekly visits had become the highlights of his month, even though Mike didn't trust him to enter beyond the front door. There was a gentle camaraderie between him and the denizens of the home, and he felt a stronger connection to Mike, Lily, and Death than he had ever experienced with members of the Order.

Lily. He secretly hoped that the succubus believed him. Even if Mike doubted his intentions, it depressed him to think that she thought less of him. Maybe it was because she had spared his life, or perhaps it was because he secretly enjoyed when she dropped by to give him a hard time. How many times had the two of them stayed up late arguing about morality? Or what about all the times she had dropped by to talk about her hobby of hunting down human shit bags to feed on?

The driver, a brunette mage named Laurel, pulled a phone out of her inner pocket when it dinged. "Mike Radley is in the air," she said.

"Let's go." He watched the other two cars pull onto the road first before they followed. They didn't want Mike second guessing anything before he left, or at least that's what Cyrus had told the Director.

Cyrus hadn't been out of the game that long, but the Director had skyrocketed through the ranks as the older members had been picked off one at a time. Truthfully, he didn't know much about the man other than that he ordinarily wouldn't have been up for the position. Not only had he been too far down the ladder, but the Council rarely promoted outsiders who hadn't grown up inside the Order.

The men and women in the back rows said very little as they parked their cars just inside the boundary of the property. When they all disembarked, the grounds keeping staff maintaining the vegetation along the outer walls immediately wandered away. Cyrus found it interesting that it was nigh impossible to track them visually. Sometimes he would blink and that was enough for the man or woman to vanish from sight.

"So just a few reminders, people." Cyrus gathered everyone up in a circle. All together, there were sixteen of them. At least three of his people were rookies, so he had paired them with more experienced members.

"First of all, no hostile magic past this point." He moved next to the stone wall and pointed up at the lion above. "We don't fully understand the defensive mechanism of this home, but I have been assured that these lions are capable of ripping you in half. If someone does make that mistake, you are all under strict orders to not fight back."

A man on the side shook his head in disgust. "So if they attack us, we just have to sit there and take it?"

Cyrus scowled. "If one person fires a hostile spell, we have one dead mage or knight. If six of you come to their aid, we now have seven people dead. This isn't about bravery, proving a point, or fighting back. It's pure action-reaction."

The man seemed mollified, but Cyrus made a mental note to keep an eye on him. The last thing he needed was a troublemaker.

"We all have our primary mission, which is to protect this home from invaders." This wasn't true, but he said it for the sake of selling the act. "That means investigative procedures at all times. If you find an unsecured entry into the home, you are to report it to me immediately."

This got a collective nod from the group. Already, men and women were doing a final gear check. The team as a whole was carrying enough priceless magical artifacts that Cyrus knew there would be an audit after this was done.

"In regards to our secondary mission, we do not want to disturb the locals under any circumstance." For this statement, he made explicit eye contact with everybody. "You've all seen the dossier. If they decide we're hostile, we leave. This is their territory, and you absolutely will not survive an encounter, no matter how fast you think your blade is."

A few people looked away as if bored. Gods, where was their discipline? Had the Order fallen so far in only two years?

"Do you have any questions for me?" He scanned the group.

"I have one." Laurel raised her hand. "Do I have it correct that only the Caretaker can gain us entry?"

"You do."

"And everything we see here is an illusion?"

Cyrus nodded. "Yes. Unless the denizens interact with you in a way that disrupts the magic, you can't trust any of your senses, or even your memories."

"Okay." Laurel turned her attention to the house and studied it. Cyrus didn't like that look at all. She obviously had come up with an idea, and the fact she hadn't shared her thoughts meant he had at least one rogue operator on his hands. He would definitely keep an eye on her.

"Well, that's it for now. Alpha and Beta teams will establish a perimeter. Delta, you've got meal duty today. Gamma team?" He looked at the others then pointed at Laurel. The woman was far too competent to leave unsupervised. "Benson, I'm swapping you and Cole out for Laurel and Mads."

Benson shrugged, and walked over to take Laurel's place in Beta team. Cole, who was a rookie, followed close behind.

"Why are we shifting roles at the last second?" asked Laurel.

"A gut feeling," Cyrus replied. "I have over sixty years experience doing this. I'm a miserable grouch. I'm an asshole. Whatever excuse makes you happiest."

Mads, a bald thirty-year old who was Laurel's knight, snorted and wandered over. Laurel looked suspicious, but said nothing else.

Yeah, definitely something going on there. It occurred to him now that when he had left his apartment this morning, Laurel had insisted he ride with her. She was clearly a head above the rest, but by how far?

The teams spread out and Cyrus began his work in earnest. He kept his mind a clean slate as he wandered around the property, making certain to reconduct the tests that Mike had given him permission to do several times over the last year.

Most of what he had done on Mike's property had been for the Caretaker's own understanding of what was going on. Cyrus himself had been a subject for Mike's own experiments. Since Mike was inside the geas, he had no real idea what anything looked like to an outsider. One day, he had Cyrus describe a small parade of women who had wandered around the yard. At the end of the day, Cyrus learned that all of them had marched around in different stages of nudity, but the geas had clothed them to avoid rocking the boat.

Mike had also hinted that the geas was alive, but hadn't gone into much detail otherwise. Over a year ago, it had strengthened to the point that Cyrus had been forced to test anew, astounded that not only had the results changed, but so had his memories. He hated knowing that the geas could manipulate his mind without permission, but the more powerful the spell, the fewer rules it needed to follow.

Laurel silently did a few diagnostic tests of her own, then wandered around in an attempt to speak with the locals. The groundskeeping staff was very adept at disappearing at the last moment, but Laurel managed to corner a couple and chat with them. It was clear she was trying to be friendly, but Cyrus recognized the mask she wore all too well.

Friends today, foes tomorrow. He looked up from the diagnostic runes he had drawn into the dirt with a silver-tipped wand. The runes glowed and faded into the ground, sending up a wisp of smoke. He coughed, the smell clinging to his nostrils.

"What are you doing?" Laurel's voice surprised him and he immediately stood.

"Testing to see if the geas is causing space to bend." He handed her the wand. "It was supposed to measure GPS coordinates, but it stopped working about fifty feet away from the wall."

"Which suggests that the space is probably still folded." Laurel twirled the wand in her hand. "I've been digging through the records and have a suspicion that the home has recently undergone a massive expansion."

"Oh really?" She wasn't wrong, but he wanted to hear why.

"Just look at the rest of the neighborhood. The houses are a tenth the size. The neighbors here are older and have plenty of stories of things they think they've seen. But do you know what I figured out? The geas may be able to alter memories we already have, but it doesn't create new ones." She gestured toward the front yard. "I can guarantee kids would have snuck in there just to look around, especially when this place was abandoned. And yet there's not a single mention of it anywhere. It doesn't even show up on social media until Halloween a couple years back, as if it came out of nowhere."

"Huh." That was a surprisingly astute observation from the younger mage. Cyrus scratched at his chin, and looked up at the house. "So if a basketball court appeared tomorrow, we would think it had always been there. People would remember seeing it. As for actually interacting with it..."

"Yep." Laurel looked very pleased with herself. "I suppose you might get an anecdote from a neighbor about the time they crossed the court to retrieve a lost Frisbee, but never a story about a pickup game that happened."

"There you are." A dark figure loomed over both of them, and Laurel took a step back in fright, reaching for her wand. Mads stepped forward and drew his blade, but Death just stared at the knight with eyes that blazed with curiosity. He shifted his gaze toward Cyrus. "I was wondering when we would meet again."

"Um...uh..." Cyrus wasn't certain how to respond at the sudden appearance of the Grim Reaper.

"Meet again?" Laurel sounded out of breath and immediately suspicious. "We've never met before!"

"Why of course we have." Death sipped a cup of tea and turned his attention to Laurel. "How many times have you courted me, guided my hand, or even evaded my grasp? I have stood beside you in both your finest and darkest moments, and yet you all treat me as a stranger. For this reason alone, all of you can see me."

"This isn't possible," muttered Laurel.

"It is improbable, unlikely, far-fetched, or perhaps just difficult to believe. Inevitable, yes, but impossible? I think not." Death grinned at the three of them. "For you see, I eventually meet everyone."

"You're just a spirit," Mads declared. "Trying to screw with us."

Death chuckled. "Perhaps one more than the other. Or both. Maybe neither."

Cyrus bit his lip to hold back a laugh. It was definitely the latter of the two.

"What do you want with us?" demanded Laurel.

"I am to be your guide, your liaison with the denizens of the house." Death reached into his robe and pulled out a biscuit, which he dipped in his tea. "Mike Radley informed me that Master Cyrus was in charge and that he was old enough that he practically had one foot in the grave already."

"Hardly," Cyrus replied.

"What is he to you?" Laurel asked. "If you really are Death?"

The Grim Reaper loomed over the woman and then threw a glance at her partner. "Why, my dear child, he's my best friend, my bosom buddy, my ride or die. We are even friends on Facebook!"

"He doesn't have a Facebook account," replied Laurel. "Not an active one, anyway."

"Which is why I logged in with his phone and then accepted my own friend request." Death shook his head. "And you young people think you are so good with technology."

"C'mon, Laurel." Mads put away his blade and jerked his thumb toward the greenhouse. "This guy isn't worth your time."

"And yet one day, you will have all the time in the world for me." Death tossed the biscuit into his mouth and bit down, the confection vanishing from sight. "I'll see you all soon enough."

"Is that a threat?" Mads asked, his lip twitching.

Death contemplated the man then held up a finger. "You've just reminded me. We are almost out of chamomile."

"Bah." Mads stormed off and Laurel followed.

Once they were out of earshot, Cyrus turned to the figure.

"So you're my personal guide?"

"Indeed. We felt this was the safest way to establish open and honest communication, which is the cornerstone to--darn." Death stared at the biscuit he had just dropped, then knelt down and picked it up. With a bony digit, he flicked a chunk of dirt off the corner. "It is a good thing that it has been less than five seconds."

"I don't think that's how it works," Cyrus mumbled.

"And yet, I do not care." Death bit into the biscuit and made a face. "That is far grittier than I prefer them."

Cyrus rolled his eyes and turned to look at Laurel and Mads. "I'm not being scryed right now. That was Ingrid's trick and she can't penetrate the geas from outside. We had a whole chat about it last night and this morning. She can be rather intense."

"The woman from yesterday?" Death nodded knowingly. "She would see me clearer than most."

"So what do you have for me?"

"This." Death handed Cyrus a card. It was embossed with skulls surrounded by white flowers.

Curious, Cyrus opened the card and laughed. "It's an invitation for tea in the garden this evening."

"Indeed. Come." Death gestured for Cyrus to follow. The two of them walked together into the backyard and past the fountain. Down by the wrought iron gate, a small structure was being constructed. It looked like a fancy shed, but only the frame had been put up. A diminutive woman in a hard hat held a nail gun while Yuki braced a piece of wood using a pillar of ice for support. Cyrus had formally met the kitsune last spring when she had joined them all for tea and a game of bridge.

"Stupid fucking nail gun!" The woman in the hard hat adjusted her safety goggles, slapped the side of the device onto a nearby rock, then fired it a couple dozen times. Cyrus gaped in awe when he saw the nails had been evenly distributed to hold the panel in place.

"Looks like it isn't jammed anymore." Yuki turned her attention to Cyrus and studied him for a moment, as if sizing him up. It was eerie how easily she feigned this being their first meeting, but he expected no less from a fox demon. "Good morning. You must be Master Cyrus. My name is Yuki."

"A pleasure to meet you. What are you doing?"

"Building a tea house, what's it look like?" Yuki picked up another panel and tossed it toward the building. Pillars of ice pinned the piece of wood into place and the short woman fired her nail gun a few more times, locking it down.

"There will be a table set up later. You can bring the others if you wish. It won't be a problem."

Cyrus nodded, but could already think of someone who would demand to come. "I'll be here. Ten in the evening is rather late, though."

"It'll all make sense tonight." Death handed Cyrus a biscuit and started to walk away, then turned back around and held out another piece of paper. "Though I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"What do you need?" Cyrus took the paper and unfolded it.

"Biscuits. We're out." With that, Death left him behind and walked into the house.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Ingrid stood at attention and waited for the Director to turn around. The man sat in front of a bank of monitors, examining footage of Mike Radley entering the building on at least three of them. Two of the monitors had gone blank, and a small one displayed a map of the resort with five colored dots. It was the group from the Radley house, each of them labeled with a letter. Mike and Ratu were currently sharing a room while Quetzalli and Beth were busy checking out the infinity pool on the balcony. Lily was in her room, probably sleeping off all the booze she had consumed.

The Director stood next to the map, tapping his index finger on Mike as if lost in thought. Ingrid waited one minute, then two. Wondering if the man hadn't heard her, she cleared her throat. "Sir?"

"It's disgusting, isn't it? Consorting outside your own species. I see the appeal, but..." The Director turned around and sighed, then gestured for Ingrid to sit. "I read your report regarding the flight and must say I'm rather disappointed."

"Sir?" Ingrid took her chair and felt suddenly small in the man's presence. He had a magical aura that was almost tangible, the pressure pushing her into her seat.

"Not in you, no." He waved dismissively in her direction. "Your report was impeccable, I'm referring to...this." He spun in his chair and pointed at the looped footage of Mike entering the resort. "These women, they adore him. We had suspicions, but it would seem his actions on the plane confirm them. The man has a nymph's magic, meaning that he will slake his thirst for flesh. Based on his psych profile, he desires control, consistency, and stability. Where better to find it than with women who rely on him?"

With a few more button presses, the ladies in Mike's entourage got their own screens. One at a time, the Director gestured at the women. "His attorney. The intern. His spiritual advisor. And..." he stopped to double-check his files when he got to Quetzalli's picture. "His life coach?"

"I have yet to catch the man in a lie." Ingrid bit her lip. "I'm paranoid that he knows something is up and I'm getting half truths." The truth stone in her pocket was only capable of operating in a true-false manner. It was a great tool as long as the target didn't know how to bend the truth.

"Indeed." The Director clicked a button and all but Ratu's picture disappeared. "If they were all human, I could chalk it up to basic greed. But money means nothing to the naga, who can summon gems and gold from the earth itself. Their loyalty troubles me."

"You think he's controlling them?" Ingrid's nails dug into the arms of her chair.

"Control comes in degrees. Do I think they are locked inside their bodies, screaming for freedom? No. The Order wouldn't tolerate such behavior. We definitely don't want a repeat of the Black Palace incident." The Director sighed and leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together as if in prayer. "But that is a puzzle for another time. The merfolk want to meet him."

"I see." Ingrid bit her lip and looked up at the screens. Lily had left her room and was wandering toward the pool in a sarong and strappy sandals that came up to her knees. "Are you afraid of a diplomatic incident?"

The Director shrugged. "It can't be much worse than letting a couple hundred of their people get boiled alive. The meeting will be during high tide in the Cove. I'm guessing he'll bring his...entourage." He spoke the word in disgust.

Ingrid nodded. "I'll make sure he's there. Do you want me to dissuade him from bringing the others?"

"No. For now, we play nice. I don't want him to have any reason to believe we are anything but genuine. If things work the way I hope they do, he won't learn about our deception until he gets home. Our team at the house has made some interesting discoveries already." The Director made a face. "Though we did hit a snag. Mike set up a liaison for us at the house, a spirit claiming to be The Grim Reaper."

"Sounds like a scare tactic," replied Ingrid.

"Most likely. See if you can squeeze anything out of Mike about it tomorrow." The Director gestured at the door. "You're excused, Sister Ingrid."

"Director." Ingrid rose and left the room, then let out a sigh of relief once outside. Though the man's behavior was cordial, even borderline friendly, there had been a cold fury beneath the mask. In all the times she had met with him directly, she had yet to feel such anger.

It was late, so she wandered out to the beach bar to grab a meal. Feeling rattled by her meeting with the Director, she was grateful that her work was done for the day and she could officially take part in the VIP treatment as well. She sat at the counter and put in an order for a burger and fries, then turned to watch the sunset.