7:30 AM

"Can you believe this?" Bishop turned the page of the newspaper, Gina sitting across from him. His raspy singsong voice carried in scarcely more than a whisper across the low lit den, windows open, curtains drawn, and tied tightly shut. "......huh."

"I'm not asking you what."

"Well, since you asked. President Clinton's signed the Brady Handgun Violence Prevention Act. Waiting periods aren't going to stop people from doing stupid things."

Gina yawned, and took a slow sip of her coffee. "...Brady Bill? Like the Brady Bunch?"

"Who? What?"

She did not bother to smile. "Never mind. Where's the others?"

"They'll be here soon." Bishop read a while longer.

"...this is boring, Bishop. I haven't had a hunt."

"What is your urgency for bloodshed, I wonder? Still angry?"

Gina glared, and hoped he could feel it through the newspaper, the news paper he did not bother to lower for their conversation.

Cameron would have.

They would have argued, fought, and making up would be the best part of the whole ordeal. "I'm not angry, Bishop. Not at Cameron, anyway. I'm pissed because we've trained, and trained, and trained, and no matter my proficiency... nothing."

"Sometimes we kill them. Sometimes they kill us. Sometimes we enjoy breakfast, and a newspaper. Or we try, don't we?"

Gina was silent after that.

Bishop continued to read, though she hoped the ellipse that came in her silence delivered a clear enough message to Bishop at her displeasure.

"...ease up on the tension, Gina Guerrero. It's a feast day."

Gina turned away, trying not to sulk. Trying not to be such a girl as Cameron put it. Two men in her life, now. Two men creating complications, and questions; more questions than answers... and confusion. For the love of Cameron, or the... whatever... of Bane. Not even a man. A thing. A creature. A creature that still got her engine going, but a creature all the same. An abomination.

A monster.

A wave of heat rolled over her.

Enough of that.

Gina almost said it aloud, and was glad she kept it in her head where those thoughts belonged.

She heard a heavy thud upstairs, and the groan from his bedroom was audible down the hall, the stairs, and into the den where she sat wishing Cameron would come over an apologize already. He needed to apologize, so she could apologize, so they could at least be friends. After that night, he never returned, never called, never wrote, and made no attempts to contact her.

Any sidelong attempts she made to contact him failed.

Had he forgotten her?

The mood in her changed, and whatever heat she felt moments before at the thought of the inexorable green-eyed Bane, turned to anger, and now the only green-eyed monster was a jealousy burning in her heart. Jealousy over someone she was certain was out there, wooing her man, and keeping him from her. Someone she was certain at best was imaginary, born out of her guilt, and at worse, no one at all... that Cameron really let her go, and moved on.

She fought tears.

Gina followed Mark's clumsy, heavy morning plodding, and pretended she could see through the ceiling. Mark, struggling to his feet, and creeping along to the shower. When the water came on, the shrill muffled bellow from the shower let her know that he still had not figured out how to turn the hot water to his shower back on. The cold shower was a long one, all the same, and all the time, the entire time, she could hear him cursing from up stairs.

Bishop coughed. "Interesting editorial on Harriet Tubman. Remarkable woman. Remarkable. Did you know Harriet Tubman rose up out of slavery to become an armed scout, and a spy for the Union during the American Civil War? Remarkable. You should read this article..."

"...Bishop, I don't want to read the newspaper."

"...but Harriet Tubman. You know who would play her well in the cinema? That one actress. The one from that comedy with the nun, and the mob..."

"I don't care!" Gina was on her feet, fists tight at her side. "Put down the newspaper, and talk to me, Bishop! Why aren't you letting me out?"

"I'm not stopping you, Gina. You know where to find the door. Don't go hurting anyone, or getting yourself hurt."

"You know what I mean, Bishop. All I do is sit around, and do nothing."

"That's not true, dear. You work out, and you've nearly destroyed the heavy bag. You like hiking, don't you? There's some beautiful sights to see, if you take the time."

Gina pushed her palms into her face, suppressing a scream just as Mark came plodding down the stairs, his face red, eyes wide. "I need a fix."

Bishop lowered his newspaper and peered at Mark over the top. "What you need is breakfast, and a newspaper. There's a copy of The Journal sitting next to your plate in the kitchen."

Gina glared.

Bishop raised his paper up, and she could hear that sharp grating sound from behind it.

"Laugh it up, Bishop."

"You know I will, Gina. You've no patience. No self control. No wonder why you're here, instead of out there, hunting. You're going to kill someone."

"That is what we do!"

"Mark Piepkorn, what is it that we do?" Bishop's voice carried into the kitchen.

Mark grunted a noncommittal.

Gina could hear him eating.

"See?"

"See what?" Bishop turned the page in the paper to the next article. "So he doesn't want to go round-robin with you on the same argument. You sound like a broken record. Go finish off the heavy bag after our morning meeting."

Gina pulled her hands away from her face, feeling -really feeling - their weight as her arms dropped to her sides. She felt defeated.

"You could always just call him." Mark shouted from the kitchen. "Maybe do us all a favor, and just pick up the phone. Maybe you'll stop bitching so much."

"He doesn't want to hear from me. Can we please get on with this meeting?"

Bishop folded his newspaper, and set it on the table beside him. He lifted his pipe, and began cleaning it. The den was silent. Mark was quiet from the kitchen, eating his breakfast. Gina sat back down in her chair, and played with her hair.

Bishop cleaned his pipe, and began packing it with his favorite blend: the blend he called gypsy, and considering where he bought it, it was well enough suited. Bishop lit the pipe, and took a deep drag from it. He released the smoke in a long, slow breath. "We're still waiting for Penelope."

"Oh for God sake, Bishop. Penelope Dogood? You're just letting anyone live here, now."

"I let you stay."

"I have talents to offer." Gina leaned forward from her chair, folding her arms over her lap.

"We all have talents in one way, or another, Gina Guerrero. Some of us fight, some of us act as administration, and some of us whine about what we're not getting. No one judges here."

"That sounded like a judgement."

Bishop took another slow drag from his pipe, an amused twinkle in his eyes under the low lit den. "Some of us always feel judged."

Gina heard a door open up stairs, and moments later a waif of a  girl, pallid almost as much as bishop, and young in the face, descended the stairwell gracefully. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

Her voice had a pretty quality to it. Her grace she owed to the ballet, from where Bishop acquired her. She was like Mark, a junkie. Penelope was tied up in anything that could be smoked, snorted, or shot into her body, and not below doing whatever was necessary to procure her fix.

"Good. You're all here." Bishop smiled.

"Is it still raining?"

"It's always raining, Penelope." Bishop kept his kind smile.

Penelope smiled and seemed to take comfort in the comment.

Bishop's raspy voice carried across the den, into the kitchen. "Mark, will you please join us in the den?"

Mark lumbered out of the kitchen, breakfast plate in hand, pancakes stacked high up on it.

"We assemble here on rare occasions. I trust I have been a good host to you all, keeping you well trained, well fed, and free to do as you will with respect to the boundaries of our home."

Gina, Mark, and Penelope - their newest - nodded.

"Good. I was - not but a few days ago - approached by Judge Randall Grifford. He's taken interest in us as of lately, and proposed an opportunity for us all. The good judge offers us entry into The Order if we agree to hunt down an enemy of theirs."

Gina turned a sharp expression toward Bishop, eyes narrowed. "Whoever it is, let's put them down."

"It's dangerous. Deadly, even. Some, or all of us may not survive it. Granted, should you all fall in the performance of your duties, you'll be given admittance posthumously, and your families taken care of."

Gina, Mark, and Penelope look between one another with uncertainty. Gina raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Gina?"

"What family?"

"Well, that's up to you. All of you. You need to know that once you're in The Order, that's it. You're under their law. Their rules."

Penelope coughed a long, bronchial cough. "You keep saying that. Once you're admitted. You need to know."

"Yes, well. You'll be admitted into The Order for your service."

Mark slid his hands into loose jeans and drew them out with his fingers bearing his brass knuckles. He flexed them twice, and stared at the knuckle dusters a moment, before locking eyes with Bishop. "He won't readmit you."

Bishop smiled, and shook his head once. "I had my time in the sun, so to speak. You should be afforded the same opportunities. It is only right."

Gina stretched, and stood. "All fine and well, but what's your Judge Grifford proposing?"

"The exchange? That's easy. Kill the allegedly inexorable Bane, and you'll all be granted real position in The Order. I'm not talking about gun toting Zealots inciting discord in some foreign nation. I'm talking a station, and estate here in Driftwood. A House to rule over, should you ever have a house worth ruling." Bishop cleared his throat and glanced at Gina.

Gina - but not only Gina - was wide eyed. Mark, and Penelope looked sick, almost green. Gina frowned. "Hunt and kill the monster, and become a bonafide Witch Hunter for The Order, the Modern Inquisition."

Bishop nodded.

"I'm out."

Mark and Penelope exchanged glances, slack-jawed, and eyes wide. "What?"

"...and in unison, too." Gina smirked, keeping her eyes on the both of them. "You'll hunt down the one thing wiping out all the enemies of The Order - our enemies too - to get in good with The Order? I've seen The Order. I know The Order. If they want Bane dead, then they're scared."

Bishops grating laughter rolled subtly through the tension in the air. "Gina's been colluding with the monster."

Mark, and Penelope stared.

"She's a kind of bond with it as a person does with a bear."

Gina shrank back a bit. "Bane isn't what you think he is. He's not a monster. He's... not. He's something else."

"...and when the bear sees there's no more food, no more handouts, that relationship changes."

Gina felt her face flush. "How many of you have actually seen him? Been near him? Up close. Personal?"

"How personal?" Penelope's expression was a step short of a beating, were it up to Gina... but she was right. Which was likely more why Gina wanted to hurt her in the moment, than any other reason.

How personal was her relationship with Bane? They fought side-by-side once. She watched him kill her girlfriend - ex-girlfriend - and though she had no pride in that, it did do something to her. For her. She did not really know him, if there was such a thing as really knowing something like Bane.

What was she defending?

A friend?

A lover?

A fantasy gone completely out of control?

"Enough, Penelope Dogood!" Bishop's voice was decisive. "We are all in, or none of us."

"What?" Penelope stood, sweat beading on her forehead. "She could ruin it for us?"

"What us, girl? She was the first of you, is the best of you, and what if she doesn't want admittance into The Order?"

"Then she can sit on the fence while we take care of this!"

Bishop stared between them, and after a while, nodded his head. "I did not raise you up in The Order, none of you. I should not expect the kind of loyalty between you that comes with that kind of brotherhood, or sisterhood. Whatever my loyalties, or allegiances to it may be, I should not expect the same from any of you. Fine, Penelope Dogood. Mark Piepkorn. Go out, and find Bane. Take him down. You've the Rites and Blessings of any Hunter of The Order... but if you fall, remember it was your pride, not the monster that took you down."

✟ ☧ ✟

12:00 PM

"Goddamnit, doesn't ever stop raining anymore?" Gina stood at the bottom of Cameron's driveway, a long winding driveway that led to a lavish courtyard. She stared up at the estate, and suppressed an urge to scream. The driveway, the courtyard - the whole fucking estate - all of it.

None of this was Cameron. Not really.

Gina sighed, and cursed herself for her weakness. It should not be as difficult to ascend the driveway, and demand Cameron's attention. Especially Cameron... but... it was difficult. The weight of guilt was on her shoulders, and that weight made the journey up the driveway a long, reluctant one. By now, Cameron had to know she was there. Cameras at the gate - which was open - and security systems everywhere on the property. There was no way he was unaware of her arrival.

She did not have the strength to do this.

Gina felt heat in her cheeks.

Frustration, and maybe a little shame. He had to know she was there. If he did, his message was very clear. No red carpet. No greeting. Her own walk of shame, in reverse.

As she fought against her reluctance in each step, Gina spotted a parliament of owls gathered in the garden trees, pale tan and white feathers, their black eyes staring down at her - glaring down at her - on her approach.

Gina smelled the scent of predator in the air.

"Not this one. Never this one. This one is mine." She stared up at the owls as she passed through the courtyard garden, her voice hollow in her ears. The owls stared a moment longer, and with wings spread wide they scattered silently into the storming morning sky.

Cameron's door looked unwelcome, at least as unwelcome as any door could look. She stood, staring at the heavy black stained oak door with its hand forged iron fittings. It had a bleak elegance, the kind afforded in the castles of the middle ages. Gina stared above the door, into the security camera.

"Goddamnit, Cameron. I know you know I'm here. Please come to the door." Gina gripped the intricate Wolf Head door knocker and lifted it. It was heavy. She knocked it three times, emphasizing the last as hard as she could. "I'll wait here as long as I have to, Cam."

"What do you want, Gina? I'm busy." His voice sounded distorted, and metallic out of the call box beside the door.

"You're being stupid. Open the door, or I swear to God in heaven I will kick it in."

"Come back later."

"I'm not leaving. Cam, open the door, or I'll break it down. I'm obviously not here on a social call. Please."

Silence.

Gina suppressed an urge to scream, pushing her fingernails into the palms of her hands. Gritting her teeth, she reached for the heavy door knocker again. She heard the sound of the deadbolt. Gina reached for the lever, when she heard another, and another. The door opened slowly, parted the length of a heavy chain. She saw Cameron's face in shadow, his features hidden from sight.

"Cameron, let me in."

"Gina, you need to come back later."

Gina pushed forward, her palm against the grainy iron riveted wood. Cameron pushed back, and she heard the chain straining between them. "Cameron, I'm not fucking around. Things are getting ugly."

Cameron sighed. "Take your hand off the door, Gina."

"No."

"Do you want to come in? Without breaking my door jamb?"

Gina took a step back, and Cameron shut the door. There was a moment of quiet where she thought for sure he was going to lock her out. Then she heard a heavy pin slide, and the jingle of chain link against the jamb. Cameron opened the door wide enough to let her in.

Gina took a step past the threshold, and collapsed immediately onto the hardwood floors sobbing. "You stupid son of a bitch."

Cameron stared at her wide eyed, and had to fight himself not to rush to her side. He knelt down and pulled her inside by her jacket, stood and shut the door, locking each of the seven deadbolts in place. He replaced the chain, and then lowered a bar across the door. Cameron sighed, and turned his attention back to Gina. "Get up, girl."

She shook in her sobs, and coughed. "God, I'm so sorry, Cam."

"Don't call me Cam, Gina. That ship's long sailed. Why are you here?"

"Help me up." She pushed herself up onto her palms.

Cameron stood, and stared. "Help yourself, Rites and Blessings."

Gina sobbed a while longer, and slowly regained control over herself. "I'm - I'm sorry. God, Cam. They're going to die."

"Get up, Gina. Please." Cameron offered her his hand. "Who is going to die?"

"Mark and Penelope."

"Who?"

Gina pushed herself onto her knees, staring up at Cameron with wet eyes, tears on her cheeks. She took her hands, and struggled onto shaking legs. "The big lug with brass knuckles. Penelope's new..."

"No, why are they going to die?"

Gina shoved him. "Your judge Grifford!"

"I'd know if Griff was putting hits out on rogues, G. Gina."

"No, you ass! He didn't do that. He offered Bishop a deal."

Cameron bit his lip, and took a breath. "What kind of deal?"

"Bishop's rogues will be inducted into your order."

"That doesn't sound like a deal, it sounds like a big win for your people."

"...if we kill Bane."

Cameron closed his eyes, and dropped his head. "Please say you didn't accept, G."

Gina kept his hand in hers, and pulled herself close to him, dropping her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about your father."

Cameron did not push her off him. He sucked in a deep breathe, and exhaled slowly. "If Griff's put the rogues up to this, either he wants them to fail..."

Gina swallowed, and wiped her face on Cameron's shirt sleeve. "...or he's afraid. Afraid of Bane. Afraid of Coven. Afraid of that black glass, and what a war may mean."

Cameron shook his head. "No, no, no. Sometimes they kill us. Sometimes we kill them. Sometimes they kill us. Sometimes we kill us."

"I wasn't going to kill you. Just hurt you."

Cameron looked to Gina at his shoulder with a grim smirk. "I meant Bane."

Gina rubbed her eyes. "He's not one of us. Not one of you, either."

"He's