Sama Rantha, the Hagchild

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                The gun came rolling up next to me with the window down. A short double barrel poked out of the window.

                The. Hell.

                I turned my head sideways, noting that there were no other pedestrians within thirty feet, and there was a brick wall directly behind me.

                Well, at least the bastards had chosen the right moment.

                The shotgun went boom-boom.

                The shots were right on target, clusters of heavy steel shot smacking me square in the hip and chest.

                I swayed just a little.

                The kinetic energy of the shots mostly vented out my plant foot, and the rest was taken care of by my ki. My hoodie was flattened against my skin for a second before bouncing back.

                I held the pellets against the cloth with my Vajra, turning fully to face the drive-by shooters even as the closest pedestrians who realized what was happening screamed and ran for some kind of cover.

                He had on shades and a baseball cap, a white guy, blond hair poking out of his skin. Decent tan, good looking behind the shades, and in really good shape.

                The driver was leaner and more raw-boned, hands quivering on the wheel and foot on the gas and brake. Curly dark hair, maybe Hispanic, my Tremble didn't give me his skin color.

                And there was a woman in the back seat, who had a pair of katars held in one hand, swearing as she saw me take the shots. Instead of doing the drive-by thing and driving away after the shots, the car braked to a halt as she tore the door open, almost sending it flying off its hinges, and came after me.

                Just shy of six feet tall. C cup. 36 24 36. Perfectly to spec, moving with the speed and energy of an inhumanly high strength to weight ratio.

                An Amazon. They were all built the same, easy to recognize if you knew what to look for, less then a 1% difference in body builds, regardless of appearance.

                This one, surprisingly, looked Oriental. Wonder why she picked katars, then almost hit myself. Amazons were hardwired to ancient Grecian armaments, so, yeah, katars instead of tiger claws.

                She moved like she knew what she was doing, and had an adrenalin-induced grin on her face. Amazons loved to fight, would happily start mixing it up on the drop of a hat. She flipped the second katar to her off hand, brought them up boxer style, and charged, leading with twelve inches of wedged razor steel.

                Her hands moved with the speed of a bantamweight and power a heavyweight would love to have, going for kill shots.

                I released the smudges of the shotgun blasts, and they fell down to the ground in a clatter. No more then a flick of her eyes - but enough for me to grab her wrist as I shifted a few inches and let her steel slide along my skin, again venting the excess force down into my feet.

                All that strength also has a drawback, because you are far stronger than you weigh. I locked my feet into place, and as she reflexively began to draw back her arm from the punch which hadn't even marked my skin, she instead found her wrist held in place and pulled herself towards me.

                That naturally threw off her next punch, which whistled by harmlessly over my shoulder, and that introduced her nose to my elbow.

                Cartilage flattened like paste, blood sprayed, her head snapped back as if she'd run into an I-beam as both of our strengths slammed her into my arm. Pure reflex made her jump backwards and twist her arm out of my grip, skin shredding as my nails sliced through her toughened skin like tofu, ripping the katar out of her grip as I made ribbons out of her hand. I also just happened to hook my foot behind her ankle and elevate as she moved backwards, with the result that she totally overbalanced, couldn't catch herself with her one foot, and smashed headfirst into the window of the car door she'd just come out of, shattering it and falling half into the car in a spray of safety glass.

                That made the driver panic and the shooter get right back into the car as he floored it. Tires burning rubber, he squealed away, an Amazon hanging half out of the back passenger window as he did.

                I flicked the blood and skin off my nails, letting it join the spatter on the ground, and picked up the katar she'd dropped.

                Meh, QL 20 stuff, barely Master's work, typical Amazon scutwork. It had a surprising weight to it for its size, if you weren’t aware the wielder was an Amazon.

                I dropped it into the pack on my back. I'd been heading to my current hole in the wall, but it looked like I'd be taking a detour.

                Ignoring all the people looking my way, I picked up my pace, skating along with the Wave-Skating Steps. From a normal quick walk, my speed quadrupled with no more effort on my part, looking like I was rollerblading along as I wove through the foot traffic towards my new destination.

--------------

                The Temple of the Sisterhood was a pantheist form of Church, as it doesn't emphasize any specific deity. Instead, it catered to worshippers of the main six non-evil goddesses, namely Amana, Flora, Sylune, Nuava, Aethra, and Eryl.

                Normally a church like this would grow and get torn apart as its diverse worship base wanted to build churches of its own. However, this place was put up by Amazon servants of the goddesses, and they had no intentions of divvying themselves up among the temples. Since pulling out of the temple would lose them quick access to the muscle and protection of supportive Amazons, the other faiths all put up with having shared access to shrines and working in some form of cooperation.

                It was naturally made in the Grecian style, with a dome and round service area, marble pillars and a pediment, lovingly carved by those Amazons who happen to be good at working stone. Very classic, more low 20's QL work…good for a mundane building, but more scutwork in my eyes.

                Most Amazons weren't very high Level, after all, and Level was the big driver on skills, not monster Stat lines.

                The guards standing by the pillars outside weren't at all happy to see me, and the spears they had in hand snapped down on guard, lighting up with magical light. Warding Weapons, their magic enhanced on holy ground.

                "Hag! What are you doing here?!" snarled the older of the two, Nubian, flawless dark complexion, long black hair, a ravishing vision of violence ready to erupt.

                "Child," I replied dryly, pulling back my hoodie, and letting my hair spill out. Their faces scrunched up in confusion at the sight of my blond hair. Lots of it, too, spilling all the way down to my waist.

                "What are you talking about, Hag?" the other one, a stunning redhead, spit at me, giving a twitch to her Weapon that brought it within a foot of me down on the steps. A lot of heads were now turning my way.

                "Child," I corrected patiently. "That's hagCHILD, Amazon. Get it right. I'm the daughter of a Hag, not a Hag." I reached into the pack on my back and they tensed, ready to leap forwards and spit me…which would have been fatal to them, but wouldn't stop them from doing it anyways.

                I drew the katar out with two fingers, held it out to one side. Their eyes flashed to it despite themselves, and I saw recognition in their eyes.

                "This belonged to one of your new Sisters. She was probably new to her Pact and a bit too enthusiastic in starting a fresh murder spree. You tell her and her two boytoys that were driving her around because she forgot how to drive a car-," they both flushed at that, because they didn't know how to drive, either, "- that they've got until tomorrow night to get out of town, or I hunt them down and kill them for trying to murder me today."

                I let the katar drop from my fingers, clanging on the steps, turned around and walked away from the temple.

                "Do you think we are afraid of the words of a Hag?!" Generic Amazon #1 shouted at my backside.

                "Child!" I corrected over my shoulder, raising my finger and shaking it disapprovingly. "Such simple minds…" I noted to no one in particular, but everyone within fifty yards heard me quite clearly. I know they both flushed, and they tensed for a moment, probably deciding if they should charge after me or just throw their spears.

                Either move would have been fatal, and immediately raise a big stink when I self-defense killed them on their own temple steps after they tried to stab me in the back.

                I'd done my moral duty and warned the fuckers who tried to ambush me to get out of town or die. If they wanted to be foolishly brave and stupid, that was their decision. They had tried to murder me in open daylight, probably figuring their organizations would cover for them, and who was going to give a shit about a Hag dying?

                Did I expect them to take the warning to heart? If they thought they could kill me in broad daylight in front of witnesses, they weren't going to be afraid of me taking vengeance upon them.

                Some people are just really stupid that way.

=========================

                "H-hello?"

                I turned my eye twenty-odd feet below me, where an older black woman dressed in a long bathrobe and pajamas that had seen better days, and flipflops with ducks on them too embarrassed to ever be seen out of a bathroom, was waving up at me.

                Ah, the neighbor woman who had been watching me from behind the curtains the last few days as I worked on the roof here.

                "What do you want?" I asked over my shoulder, ki carrying my voice down to her perfectly.

                "Ah-ah," she seemed to be a bit nervous and having trouble talking, "I was wondering if you could give me a hand?"

                Well, that was unexpected. "Come again?" I asked, pausing in my laying of shingles on the steep roof. I was pressing the nails down in with my thumb, spitting them into place idly from the dozen or so in my mouth.

                "I've got an old washer downstairs I've been wanting to get out of there for years. I was wondering if you could get it out of there for me?"

                Huh. She had some brass even asking such a thing from me.

                "Sure, why not. Let me finish up this run and I'll be right down." She looked a little surprised I agreed to it.

                "I'll be right over on the porch waiting for you, dear!" she said with some spirit, looking vaguely excited. She marched back to her old, sagging porch, not giving a damn what the world thought of her attire.

                Hah.

                I slid down the roof place by place, completing the diagonal in a couple minutes. I could tell she was wondering how I was doing it, sitting up there in the splits, sliding down bit by bit without moving anything, dragging my pack of shingles with me as I did so.

                I got to the lower edge, and simply pushed off and fell over backwards, doing a backwards somersault as I cleared the gutters and fell to the ground two stories below.

                I landed on the cracked sidewalk, venting my momentum out sideways and not quite touching the aged cement with my bare feet. The grass didn't quite touch my feet either, as I glided towards the neighbor's house.

                The whole area was low-cost housing, populated by an eclectic mix of the poor, the dispossessed, the elderly, those who couldn't work, those who wouldn't work, mental cases, drug addicts, criminals, illegal immigrants, gangs, mobs, con artists, muggers, and thieves.

                Aru bless America.

                She was sitting in a rocker that was older than she was, got back to her feet as I approached her. She glanced at my bare feet once, but said nothing. Instead, she held out her hand. "Mildred Owano."

                "Sama Rantha," I returned politely, taking her hand and allowing her to give me a firm squeeze. At this close range, she looked at me through her glasses, taking the time to rove over all the harsh edges of my cheekbones, the chopped end of my nose, my almost absence of lips, a chin jutting out too far and sharply, my eyes were different sizes, and the fact it was not symmetrical and a nice bruised blue-black for that added bit of ewwww. Add in all the wrong angles, and yeah, most people thought I cracked mirrors when I looked in them.

                "Damn, girl. Who did that to you?"

                Despite myself, I smiled…which revealed my rather overlong double set of canines. "It was better then the alternative."

                Miss Owano was at least sixty and a hundred pounds overweight, hair going all gray and held up in a bun. She might have been something when younger, but now she was sagging and stretching and wrinkly in all the places, obviously had back problems, and had given up on caring about looking pretty.

                "That is definitely saying something. Follow me." She opened a thin screen door with a generous helping of fly-hole entrances in it.

                The living room was small and a bit crowded with old furniture and an accumulation of bric-a-brac that exuded the stuff of old memories. Plenty of photographs around, an older model flat screen TV, a box I was sure was part of an illegal tap, and a single old-fashioned record player sitting forlornly over in the corner… but dusted.

                My Tremble echoed out, and easily encompassed the whole building.

                I could see every room and the contents of them, make judgments and assessments while I did so.

                She lived alone, but obviously hadn't always done so. There was a closet of old men's clothes in the bedroom upstairs that hadn't been worn in at least twenty years. There was one bedroom that had been fixed up into some kind of guest room… and another one that had the belongings of a teenager, posters on the wall, clothes in drawers, bed neatly made, and a computer twenty years or more out of date on a small desk.

                Huh…photos said she had at least two kids, but didn't see anything for the son older than his teens, while that looked like a wedding photo for the daughter. No later photos for the man in the pictures…love'em and leave'em, or dead? Who knew?

                She at least kept things clean, looked like once a week based on the dust accumulation. No sign of anyone else living here by dish usage, but there were some boxes in the cabinets of cereals and soups I was pretty sure she didn't eat herself. One cat, currently dozing in the window, as overweight as his mistress.

                So, maybe she had family over. Looked like a couple grandkids in the newer frames…

                The downstairs wasn't visited much, and there was a newer washer in a room off the kitchen, meaning she didn't have to go up and down the stairs. She opened up the door leading downstairs off the side entry. "It's over in that corner, dear," she pointed. "I think they disconnected everything."

                "Prop open the side door there for me." I moved down the stairs with a rickety movement that probably looked almost boneless to her, not making a sound.

                The house was old, it had sunken around the floor, which had also shifted. The area around the head of the stairs was about seven feet high, but the far side of the room was down to a four-foot crouch.

                There was some old furniture down here, and the old washer/dryer set was easy to spot. The old chair and sofa was arranged around a TV and one of the newer gamer consoles, complete with old blankets and pillows. Obviously not for her.

                The appliances were at least forty years old, and rusting solid internally in places. They'd been unplugged and unhosed, and I grabbed them, popping a Bar as I did so.

                Hot white light burned through the first of the dark lines that had popped up on my forearms, and a thin light-shadow of a larger arm and hand formed around mine. My fingers closed on the lips of the two appliances, steel squealed in protest, and I lifted both of them, the TK component of Philosopher's Might completely ignoring something like center of gravity as I picked them both up off of the cement floor and headed back for the stairs.

                Technically, the old stairs shouldn't have supported this much weight, but since I wasn't actually stepping on them, they ignored me as I ignored them. Washer in front and dryer in back, I went up the stairs, shifted the former sideways as I worked it carefully around the tight corner and outside without even scratching the wall.

                Mildred's dark eyes did open a little bit when she saw my fingers buried in the metal of the washer, and then me handling the dryer just as easily behind me, not even looking back as I maneuvered it out in my wake as I stepped down the narrow cement steps of the side entry to her house, and onto the cracked driveway so old it was almost back to dirt.

                "I'll call Pedro. I'm sure he has a cousin who'll haul these away for the salvage, Miss Owano."

                "Well, bless you, girl." She had a big white smile on as I carried the heavy metal appliances like cardboard boxes. "You bein' that strong, that all part of the alternative you was talking about?" she asked curiously.

                "No. Anyone could get this strong, if they knew what to do." She blinked at me in shock. "Truth." I walked down the driveway, and cocked my ear at the telltale sound of a finely tuned motor with a lot of horsepower shooting down the road in our direction.

                A new model black SUV zoomed past and screeched to a halt in front of my house as Mildred and I watched it. Piling out of it came three Amazons in various assorted colors of skin and hair, moving like tigresses as they rushed towards the door of my house. Without even bothering to knock, they charged up the porch, blew right through the front door, and raced inside.

                "Well, huh." I looked at Mildred, who looked back at me. "Miss Owano, I'm afraid I have an Amazon infestation to take care of. I'm going to have to ask you to go back up to your porch for the moment."

                "You be careful now, dear." She gave my arm a pat as I set down my load, and turned around in a very unhurried manner to walk back up the driveway.

                The driver hadn't paid attention to us, all her attention on the house. Clearly not an experienced combat driver. I ignored the sounds of screaming Amazons dashing through my digs as I glided up behind the SUV, grabbed the bumper, and went to three Bars as I calmly flipped it over sideways.

                The driver had no time to react as she was unceremoniously turned over as easily as flipping a board, safety glass crunching and breaking as it took the weight of the vehicle in the wrong direction. I heard her cursing, and hitting the release on her belt, falling sprawling onto the roof awkwardly. I could see her draw a pistol as she pawed for the door release, and had to swivel around to kick it open as the wrenching of the frame had jammed it. She cursed again as she kicked it open, and then dove outwards, two hands on the pistol, looking in all directions -

                I plucked the pistol out of her grip as I kicked her in the temple unceremoniously. I disassembled the piece, noting the safety was off, and drove my nail through the exchange mechanism, ripping the metal apart. This was now a useless hunk of steel.

                Leaving the driver sprawled on the sidewalk, a normal human as Amazons couldn't drive for shit, I wondered how to play this as I tossed the ruined gun back inside the cab of the upside-down SUV. I smiled and went to grab the washer and dryer.

                They saw me coming back with them, shouted, and at least had the sense to call out to one another and come out together before charging at me, exclaiming at the sight of their driver laid out on the front lawn and their ride upside down next to her.

                I turned around to see them coming with their blades in hand, and lifted an eyebrow at them. The first one, a Hispanic with the requisite great looks, dark hair and eyes, lunged at me with a gleaming gladius, fast, strong, powerful.

                I slammed her with the washer, and introduced her to relative physics, KE = .5mv^2. She went airborne from the impact, and traveled quite some distance in doing so.

                And in midarc, the moving van smashed into the top half of her like, well, a truck, spinning her around and down to the street. I could just about hear everyone wince at the impact, and the wise driver of the rental didn't even slow down in this neighborhood.

                The second Amazon, a Caucasian with lovely brown hair and green eyes, snapped her eyes back to me, and received the dryer in her chest.

                It probably wouldn't have hurt her, except she also slammed into the front of the SUV, and got sandwiched between two examples of wrecked steel. The expression on her face, and the crunching of all those bones breaking, caused even more winces.

                The third Amazon screeched to a halt, mouth hanging open, and then the washer came down at her. She swore and jump-rolled to the side, feeling the impact as it slammed down with quite enough force to flatten her, came up with a snarl -

                Her jaw and all her front teeth went, nearly her neck as my foot came up, but I was nice enough not to kill her. She did make it over ten feet off the ground and pull a complete flip as she went up, her sword flying free, and came back down.

                "DAMN!" said Mildred from her front porch, standing there watching all this. "That was a huge can of whoop-ass, Sama Rantha!"

                "Amazons are like cockroaches, ya gotta smack 'em hard or they keep on moving, Miss Omana!" I replied easily as I grabbed for my phone out of my Vest pocket.

                I flipped it open, and waited for the words to tell me what to do.

                If you want to make a call, press the green button and say the name of the person you want to call.

                Dutifully, I pressed the green button, making sure to keep my eyes on the instructions. "Pedro," I said.

                Calling Pedro Montoya.

                I put it to my ear, waiting as it rang my landlord and erstwhile employer. I worked on the house in lieu of rent, and he also paid me under the table a bit. I didn't need much, and I liked to keep busy, so it wasn't an issue. The fact that there was no freaking way he could afford someone as skilled as I was we both overlooked.

                He also knew I couldn't text him, I wasn't going to leave a message for him, and I didn't like to call him. If he didn't answer, I was also going to get pissed at him.

                It didn't matter that I was a renter. Pedro didn't want me mad at him.

                "Hey, Sama! What's up? Why the call?" his voice came back at me from the electronics.

                "Hey, Pedro. I got a couple things here. First, I helped the nice lady next door get an old washer and dryer out of her basement. You got someone willing to take 'em for salvage?"

                "Sure, sure, no problem!" There was always someone willing to make a buck or two around. "Anything else? Problems with the roof?"

                "Got a bit of an Amazon problem. Know anyone that wants a late model SUV that needs some body work? I'll destroy the tracker on it inna sec."

                Pedro wasn't slow. "My cousin works at a tow shop. He can see to it. What about the people?"

                Tow shop being a euphemism for advanced entrepreneurial automotive relocation facility. "You still got that friend with the pickup?"

                "Yeah, was gonna send him over for the washer and dryer."

                "Alright if I throw the Amazons in back and he tosses 'em out the back by the Temple?"

                "Sure. I'll tell him to mud up the license plate nice. He should be there in ten minutes."

                "It's cool. I ain't going nowhere. If the Amazons get up, I'll just kick 'em a bit."

                "I'll tell him to hurry."

                "Thanks!" I looked at the screen. Press the red button if you want to hang up. I dutifully pressed the red button, and the call ended.

                Ahh, custom models with eternal directions. So nice.

                Now, I had an Amazon to scrape off the road, I had to stack up the washer and dryer nice, and turn the SUV back over.

                And after I got rid of all of it, I had to go inside and tally up the damage they'd done to my house so I could overbill the Temple for repairs.

===================

                Pedro's cousin with the tow truck actually showed up first, zipping into place with the skill of a master repossessor. He was a bit shocked when I simply pushed the SUV up the ramp instead of waiting for the winch to do its thing, but was also quick to take advantage of it, giving me a thumbs-up before hastily securing the vehicle and zipping away. Yeah, the front was a mess, it needed a new paint job and new glass, but for a couple grand they'd basically get a 75k vehicle out of it. Nice engine in it, too.

                As for the personal possessions inside of it, those went into Julio's tool box. None of them were magical, and hey, they were raw metal and could all be smelted down. He didn't bat an eye as I tossed Amazons and drivers into the back next to the washer and dryer with no respect whatsoever, and trundled off with a tip of his hat. He'd toss 'em out on the ground across the street from the Temple, and their pet priests could all panic and oooh and aaaah when the Blooding stopped their healing magic from working. It was going to be a long, painful, and very normal period of recovery for them, nyar nyar.

                Mildred made some tuna sandwiches and milk. I sighed and had some of both, valiantly resisting my urge to puke at processed QL 10 food. I was so glad I didn't have to eat a lot, because there was so much shit I couldn't stand to eat.

                And so I got back to work putting the new roof on when the Chevy sedan pulled up in front of the yard. It was so obviously cop issue in this neighborhood, it should have been painted black and white.

                "Miss Sama Rantha?" the older of the two men who came out called up to me.

                "She's busy putting a roof on!" I replied irritably over my shoulder.

                He didn't know how to reply to that for a moment, and then looked at my front door. "You look like you've had a little excitement here, Miss Rantha!" the detective called up to me.

                "There was an Amazon problem, for which they will be suitably billed!" I shot back. "You want something, cop?"

                "Yes, we'd like to question you about some recent events that happened last night!" He was clearly a bit off put talking up at me like this, especially when he couldn't see anything. His partner started for the stairs.

                "I don't recall inviting you into my house, so stay the fuck out," I snarled down at him, without looking, and he paused almost at my porch. "If that foot comes down on my steps without my permission or a warrant, consider yourself sued by the honorable Miguela DiSangelo, who I understand your Department has managed to raise to a rather frightening level of wealth and competency by the lack of professionalism of your people."

                The foot retracted backwards. I put another shingle into place. "So, ask, cop."

                "Miss Rantha, I am Daniel White, an Investigator of Harse attached to the Bayland Police Department."

                I didn't even look down at the second guy. "And you just tried to take advantage of the law thinking I wouldn't know it. Smooth, Throner."

                His expression slipped just a bit. Harse was often nicknamed the King of the Porcelain Throne down here, not the Ivory Throne, and I'd basically just called him a toilet seat. "There were some murders last night, Miss Rantha, and we'd like to find the killer."

                "In Bayland? Murders? Really? How surprising." Said so flat you could have skid on the words.

                Investigator White cleared his throat meaningfully. "We believe the victims have a connection to you."

                "It might not surprise you, but I ain't got a lot of friends or associates, Mr. White. Of my small and insignificant circle, just who do I know that bit it last night?"

                "If you could come down and look at some pictures…"

                I leaned over way past my center of gravity, looking backwards and over the edge. Mr. White was a black guy, kinda sternly I-am-your-daddy good looking, too. The cop was an overweight white guy with hard eyes and harder lines on his face, put in his years and seen too much to be surprised by anything new.

                "Hold 'em up, I got good eyes."

                He hesitated. "We'd prefer you come down to the station…"

                "You got a warrant for my arrest?" I straightened back up and got back to work. There was silence. "Then piss off."

                My cooperation ratio had officially begun to plummet. "We have reason to believe these three individuals made an attempt on your life two days ago over on Gaines Street?"

                "The Chinazon and her two boytoys bit it?" I failed to keep the mirth out of my voice. "Well, that does save me the job of tracking them down and making them vanish. Thanks for the news."

                He hesitated. Obviously not quite the reaction he was hoping for from me. "So, you do have a measure of hostility towards the deceased?" the Investigator continued on gamely.

                "Do you have a measure of hostility towards those that attempt to murder you out of nowhere, Investigator?"

                "Perils of the job, Miss Rantha. I try to remain professional about it all," he quipped back, and he probably meant it, too.

                "Ah. Well, I tend to take it personally. I'll have you know that after I got done throwing this roof on, I was going to head out, get some information on those would-be murderers, and then they would have vanished from this world. I would have vivified them in some vacant lot somewhere, tossed their personal belongings in a furnace, and they would have evaporated into the nothingness of true death and being Fed to the Land.

                "So, if you have bodies, you can rest assured it wasn't me. I tend to be much more professional about my killing, and all." I mimicked his scholarly tone perfectly.

                "You are a professional killer, Miss Rantha?" he promptly asked.

                "No. I'm professional about my killing. Are you a professional killer, Investigator White?" Before he could reply, I did so for him. "Of course you are. You are paid to go out and kill things that dare to impede or as a result of your investigations. Very professional." I made an airy gesture. "I take attempts to murder me personally, and go about my killings professionally. Meaning with great efficiency, maximum lethality, and minimal muss and fuss. If I decide to kill someone, they are gone. It just takes some major irritation to get me to that level.

                "And in addition, I'm a Null Forsaken. That means, among other things, that you can't detect the truth or lies of whatever I'm saying. No magical resonance, see." In my Tremble, I saw his expression droop. He'd thought I had some powerful anti-div stuff, or I was flat out lying to him the whole time. "So, piss off or come back with a warrant. And it had better be airtight, or you're going to be feeding money to DiSangelo again."

                There was pretty much nothing they could do other then glare up at me as I worked on the last few rows of the roof. Eventually they got the hint and drove away to bug somebody else about something unimportant.

                Just my kinda day.

-------------------------

                "Cops and Amazons on the same day, Sama? Should I even be renting to you?" Pedro asked with a grin.

                Pedro Montoya had dark curly hair, dark eyes, a lady killer smile, and a boy-next-doorness that got him laid a lot. He was a wheeler-dealer willing to bend the law a good long ways to make money, but he didn’t participate in violent crimes, and he stayed away from narcotics, prudently noticing that the lifespan of dealers was angled against him reaching his goal of sleeping with ten thousand beauties, or something. He knew a lot of people, and he put his fingers in a lot of pies, and mixed up his own, too.

                I was naturally immune to his charms and impervious to his attentions. The fact I could break him in two with one hand contributed nicely to his politeness in our relationship.

                "I'd sue you for ugly discrimination. Roof's done. Bitches cracked two of the stairs and pounded holes in three walls, fucked up some of the trim, and of course I have to replace the whole door and doorframe now." I handed over the bill to him. "Lucky there's no furniture, I guess."

                He looked at the dollar figure, his eyes widened a bit. "QL 23?" he asked hesitantly.

                "I told you, you can't afford me. Why don't you go and try to hire someone who does work at the same level I do. Here's a hint: you can't afford them, either."

                He looked at it, swallowed again. "You, you mind if I do a walk-through?" he asked softly.

                "It's your house. Tactile, feel it," I advised him, sitting down on the stool on the porch. I watched him wander inside in his nice white shirt and dark jacket, eying him in my Tremble as he went through the house. He traced the walls, molding, even bent down to touch the floor, peered at the ceilings, looked at the joins. Took his time, too.

                He came back outside about fifteen minutes later, looking a little sober. "I can't afford you," he told me with a sigh. "Damn, Sama, you know this is a house in basically the slums, right?"

                I shrugged. "I don't do half-ass jobs. Half-ass makes me irritable."

                "Yeah, but…" he waved at the kind of work I'd done. "That kind of stuff belongs in North End, or Ten-Town. Why aren't you working there?"

                "Why aren't you?" I shot back.

                "Cause you gots to be reeeeal careful messing with girls from up that way." I showed him teeth, which probably didn't help him out much. "Seriously, you said you were good with your hands, but that's the kind of work you see out of them seven figure homes up there."

                "Whatever."

=======================================

                I noted the engine stopping in front of the house again, and sighed. I was inside this time, however. If a bunch of Amazons came at me this time, waving blades around, I was going to kill them all.

                And then I'd have to charge the Temple for the clean-up. My expression perked up. Karma and money was a good combo. I got up out of my lotus and headed to the front door.

                It was getting dark out, not a good time to be wandering into the projects. Of course, anyone who did go wandering was either totally not worth the knifing or completely capable of taking care of themselves, so there was that.

                And I doubted anyone with half a brain would have the slightest inclination of going after Amazons and a few priestesses. Of course, there were plenty of people with less then half a brain in this neighborhood…

                I pushed the wrecked door open, and the Amazons there promptly tensed. Amused, I stepped outside, took a gliding pace forward to the front of the steps, and stood there with arms crossed.

                Crisp orders from the women in clerical garb held the Amazons back. I smirked despite myself. Let's see… bronze and white would be the Erylian, and the white and dove gray would be an Amanan. I shook my head. Two of the three Amazons were Erylians, the one in white and acting much less aggressive coming along with the White Hand. And a normal driver, this time, who was smart enough to get out of the vehicle and keep her eyes on me as this impromptu team walked up the lawn towards me waiting there on the porch.

                I just watched them, not saying anything. The Amazons had knives and short swords, but they were still sheathed at this moment. The White Hand had a healer's short staff, while the Erylian was ostentatiously carrying a spear for her staff, and armored under her white-and-bronze.

                My smile grew wider. I will note that I have a very wide and unnerving, lopsided smile. The double canines tend to do that.

                One of the Amazons made to set her foot on the step. One of the bars on my forearms lit up with hot white light as I didn't bother to look at her. Her foot paused, and then retracted as her eyes narrowed.

                I didn't say anything, watching the priestesses, particularly the Erylian. The Amanan was here as a peacemaker, although that didn't mean she couldn't take action if harm was about to befall others. But the senior Amazons were supposed to take care of any trouble that arose.

                And I could definitely be trouble, I had proven that.

                "Hagspawn Sama Rantha?!" demanded the Erylian priestess, spitting out the words.

                I blinked lazily. "No," I replied calmly, which made her blink. "Dildo Addict Camilla of the Sky Bitch?"

                Her mouth dropped at being addressed like that, and the Amazons weren't much better. The two Amanans, on the other hand, just looked scandalized.

                She spluttered, and the two Amazons with her made to start forwards.

                Another bar on my arms lit up, hot and ready for fun. I still didn't look at either one of them, staying focused on the Erylian.

                "Ahem," the Amanan interrupted what might have just exploded into a fight. Her stick came out and brushed the two warrior women back effortlessly. "I apologize for that introduction. I am Mother Lily of Amana." She put her hand on her chest and actually gave me a short bow. "May I know your name?"

                "Sama Rantha, Mother Lily," I replied courteously. The faces of the Erylians twisted at the snub despite themselves.

                She hesitated a moment, eying my face, which was certainly interesting to look at, if unsightly. "My apologies, but the information we have on you indicates you are Hag-blooded?" she asked, very politely.

                "I was Hagborn, Mother Lily. I beat the Curse of the Hag. I'm technically a Hagchild, but the only way to beat the Curse of the Hag is to give up magic entirely, and become a Null Forsaken. If you like, I can pull out my genecard which proves I'm more human then any of you." She blinked in astonishment, staring at me. I flashed my nails and indicated my face. "These are the leavings of the Curse. They no more make me a Hag then applying a torch to your face and melting it to wax makes you Fireborn."

                "I…" she trailed off, not knowing what to say. They were all Powered, either by Patron or by Pact, technically no longer purely human, able to channel the power of the Divine. A Null Forsaken was about as hard a core human that could exist anywhere. Even the Amazons looked a little stunned. "I apologize again for our misconceptions." She glanced at my forearms significantly, lifting an eyebrow.

                I ignored the hint. "My ability to crack the mirrors I look into is not something that makes me money, Mother Lily," I replied easily.

                "Your strength is not human!" one of the Erylian Amazons, the honey-tressed blond, blurted out angrily, suspiciously.

                I totally ignored her, saying nothing. She clenched her jaw and started to take a step forwards, and my eyes snapped over to her foot as bloodthirsty glee started to spread across my face.

                Her foot froze. Mother Lily reached out with her short staff and very pointedly pushed the Amazon back two steps back again. "Stay back and shut up," she ordered in a soft voice. The Amazon glared, but said nothing as Mother Lily turned back to look at me.

                I let my disappointment show. "You should just let the clones get all smashed up, Mother Lily. It's all they are good for." The Amazons all grit their teeth.

                "The lack of self-control of some Amazons from overconfidence is a well-known failing in their training," she replied, dumping ice water on the Amazons with her gentle voice. All three of them flushed with shame, glared at me, but left off the intimidating posturing. It didn't impress me anyways. "Is that not an example of Soul Magic?" she asked carefully.

                "No, it's an example of Soul Tattoos, which are powered by one's soul. If I was actually capable of wielding Soul Magic, I wouldn't need Tats now, would I? And contrary to the beliefs of many Powered, people without magic do indeed have souls that can power magical items."

                She took the correction gracefully, but I saw her eyes flash. The ability to make Soul Tats was not a common skill. I knew, because I'd made inquiries. It was a form of bioartifice, that also worked with the soul. Not a common combination of skills for most people.

                "Is Soul Magic the reason why we cannot heal the sisters you injured here earlier today?" she asked respectfully.

                "No. I've a Blooding enchantment on my Weapon, which is harmonically bound to my Vajra. It's at an effective Sixteen against your trio of vandals and hooligans, so good fucking luck getting together a Ritual to fix them up. Guess they'll have to go all the pain and agony of healing up like normal folks, tch." The uglier side of my mouth twerked up in an unsightly half-smile.

                "Sixteen?" she repeated faintly. "How did you manifest a Blooding at Sixteen?"

                "That would be proprietary information, Mother Lily. Now, if you'd like to remain there a moment, I'll get a copy of the repair billing for the vandalism of your idiot clones, and I'm sure the police will be by in the morning to take the three would-be murderers into custody. After all, invading someone's home, damaging it, and promptly assaulting the tenant with lethal intent are big no-no's in the day of security cameras. As I understand it, the footage already has over a hundred thousand views."

                Now their eyes got really big in disbelief. After all, this was a Powered thing, the laws of mundanes generally didn't want to get involved in this stuff.

                Except that I was a Null Forsaken and not a Powered at all, of course. Under the law, I was just a well-equipped civilian, horribly scarred by magic. The fact I could toss around Amazons notwithstanding.

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