...lights, and sirens.

How the lights were so bright, facing out from Grifford's estate, washing Gina with blinding white.

How the sirens blared, her ears ringing and unable to adjust to the awful sound.

She could not see them coming, Grifford's guards. She could not hear their shouting.

She knew they were coming, though.

Gina was not trained in The Order, or its all too often direct style of combat. She was trained by Bishop, her ability to fight augmented by his lessons in fighting blind.

They were coming. She knelt to the driveway, her palms flat on the pavement. She could feel their heavy footfalls in the concrete, the vibration of hard soled, and heavy leather boots.

Gina closed her eyes and calmed herself.

They would be upon her soon, and not just his. By now there would have to be others on the way. Perhaps House Walker. God forbid Hutchinson. Karen would give even her a run for her money, had she any money.

Gina clenched her fists, the reinforced knuckles in her fingerless gloves tightening over her fists. She rose, thrusting her right fist upward, under the chin of the first of Grifford's guards. She felt his boots leave up, and off the ground. She hooked her left arm, and caught someone else's kick. She held it against her chest, and thrust her free fist down like a hammer and felt the guard's knee pop. She kept his leg trapped and rolled in toward him, and his leg bent sideways, tearing tendons and miniscus as it did. He howled in pain, and she heard it even above the sirens.

Suddenly, against the muted light of her closed eyelids, she saw stars. Something heavy, something hard, right between her eyes. She fell back, arched and landed on the palms of her hands, springing back onto her feet. It was a bad day for tennis shoes. No weight. No heft. None of that 'little extra' that could help her push through the ranks of Grifford's men.

She moved swiftly, blocked a series of attacks, their punches and kicks deflected in succession. Gina kept her eyes shut against the lights, her mind clear of questions, whether it was one, or five attacking her at once.

It was Bishop's way.

Bishop's way was hers now.

The goal was not to defeat one attacker at a time. The goal was to bring them down all at once. Gina felt a punch glance off her cheek, and ignored it. She caught her attacker's forearm, turned it over her shoulder and pulled against the resistance of his elbow until she felt it snap. He bellowed, but she kept her hold, and pulled him over her shoulder. She felt him topple into others, even as she kicked her heel backward into the low, soft parts of the attacker rushing her from behind.

✟ ☧ ✟

Gina pulled her blood soaked gloves as she ascended the half crescent stairway up to the veranda leading to Grifford's front door.

She turned from the door, and looked out over Grifford's courtyard. There were only twenty-two guards, some limping over to others, others helping the seriously injured guards - the ones with broken bones, or compound fractures - and some standing in the courtyard staring up past the light toward her. Gina pulled her sweat soaked hair back behind her ears. She wiped her palms off on her shirt and turned to face the door. Above it, a solitary camera with a red blinking light stared down at her.

"I'm getting in. You can open the door, or I can break it down."

✟ ☧ ✟

The double doors to Randall Grifford's office spring open, splintering around the jamb as one of Grifford's guards tumbled into his office and slid to a halt in the center of the room.

Gina followed behind him, her casual gate in contrast to her blood blood smeared fingerless gloves, and spattered clothes.

Grifford smiled politely at her, his eyes on the smear of red that ran from her brow down to the bottom of her chin.

"It's not mine." She stepped over the unconscious guard as she approached the judge's desk.

"Try not to touch any of my furniture if you can help it."

Gina cocked an eyebrow, and pulled the chair out from her side of Grifford's desk. She paid no mind to the red stained handprint on the leather bound chair, and sat down. "Your honor."

Grifford's sighed. "Gina Guerrero. To what do I owe this thrilling pleasure?"

"Where's Cameron?"

"Working."

Gina placed her right hand open palm down on his desk. Grifford's winced at the wet sound of the leather as she pressed her palm hard into his desk. "Where's Cameron?"

"Miss Guerrero, that's business of The Order's. You're not Order, are you?"

She smiled, mirroring his expression. "Good. We're being civil then. For now."

"For now, yes. Enjoy your short lived victory. Surely you know help is on the way."

Gina drew a pistol with her free hand, parrying Grifford as he lashed out with a dagger. She pushed the pistol forward until the barrel nuzzled up against Grifford's chest. "I could miss every organ in your body, and still spray your insides out all over your pretty, clean office."

"The maid would get it cleaned by morning."

She grimaced. "You wouldn't be here to enjoy the restoration."

"It's just an office. It's just my life. I'm prepared to go if it is necessary." Grifford offered her a genuine, warm smile.

"...or no one has to die, and we can talk."

"You invaded my estate, Gina. I did not come looking for you. You came looking for me... so here I am, at the mercy of your gun. Speak."

"Last time. Where's Cameron Dean?"

Grifford raised a black gloved hand, and brushed the barrel of her Desert Eagle away from his chest. "I get it. You're strong. You're talented. You're all awash with love, and rage. I can't tell you where Cameron is. He's working."

"He's agreed to marry me. I've taken the rites and blessings. If there were trials, I just passed."

"If there were trials, indeed you would have. My men, did you kill any?"

"No. I used as much force as I needed to get to you."

"So we could talk."

Gina nodded.

"Did you bother to just pick up the phone? Call ahead?"

Gina shook her head, and holstered her pistol. "I had to show you what I can do."

"You fight like Bishop." Grifford noted her expression. "That is not a bad thing. Well, it would not be so bad were it not my guards you chose to use as your means to get my attention."

"I want into your Order."

"No."

"You promised Cameron. If I marry him, I'm in."

"No offense to your hardened sensibilities, but what in all creation makes you believe I would ever allow you into the Inquisition?"

"I'm already doing the job. Cameron and I will marry. All I want is legitimate recognition as part of your Order... and a pardon for Bishop. Whatever beef you had with him, it's over."

"If it were only so easy, yes?"

"I just laid out a small army of your best. I don't want anything from you, except Cameron, and a ticket into your order."

"...and what message will that send? Anyone can come kicking their way through the men and women of my estate, and bully me into submission?"

"Then lie."

"Lie?"

"You challenged me to get to you. I fought my way to your door as proof I'm worth your time."

Grifford shook his head. Gina could see headlights through his window behind him. "I don't know that you are worth my time. You break into my office making demands. You're asking a judge of The Order to lie on your behalf. This meeting is over."

"The hell it is!"

"Pine, or gold?" Grifford laughed.

"What?"

"A pine box, or a gold urn. How do you prefer your funeral arrangements? A gold urn is usually reserved for members of The Order, but given Cameron's fondness for you..."

Gina was on her feet, both pistols drawn and trained on Grifford. "Call them off."

"No."

"Then we'll both die right here, right now." She tightened her fingers on the triggers.

Grifford smiled. "Pine, or gold?"

"Open or closed casket, your honor?"

"Stop!"

The voice called from behind her, strong with a familiar authority. Gina switched her stance, a pistol trained on Grifford, and a pistol trained on the hunter standing in the office doorway.

He was broad-shouldered, his voice older, and calm. He had three others behind him, all in their faceless cowls. Gina kept her eyes on Grifford. "All of you then. We can all go together."

"Bartholomew Walker."

"...your honor?"

Grifford locked his narrowed, cold eyes on Gina's. "She passed."

"Judge?" Bart Walked relaxed, pulled his cowl free from his face, the long brimmed hat falling to his boots.

"...I challenged Gina Guerrero. If she could make it to my desk alive, I would consider granting her admission into The Order."

"A rogue?"

"The fiancee of our young Cameron Dean, Gerald's boy. He's working down in Collings."

"Shithole of an assignment." Bart Walker's shoulders stiffened. He sheathed his daggers, and the hunters behind him did the same.

"Sorry for the false alarm, Goodman. I needed witnesses."

"Your personal guard?"

Grifford lifted a thick white eyebrow at Gina.

Gina turned her attention to Bart Walker. Her heart raced in her chest. "They're alive. They'll be hurtin' for a good long while, but they're alive."

Grifford applauded slowly, his black leather gloves muffling the sound. "Young Gina here has already the rites and blessings. She can fight. Do you still need an assistant, Walker?"

"Until Karen and David return from Salem."

Grifford's feigned amusement faded, his hands falling to his sides, his expression, severe. "Very well. We will have to skip the celebration, given these special circumstances. Welcome to The Order Inquisition, Gina Guerrero."

"My oath of fealty?"

"You know the oath?" Both Grifford and Walker in unison.

"I have a good, and honest mentor."

Grifford nodded, and stood from his chair. He pushed it in, unsheathed both his daggers, and placed them next to a fountain pen on his desk. Grifford stepped around his desk, and Gina made small, cautious steps backward. She lowered her pistols and holstered them.

"Kneel."

Gina knelt at the boots of Judge Randall Grifford. He nodded, and stole a glance at Bartholomew Walker. Walker was unreadable. Grifford drew in a deep breath. "Recite the oath."