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Chapter 11: The Master Plan

Fernandez

To get to the isolated, antique mansion that’s perched on a small hill, I proceed down the unpaved, dusty road. I hasten my pace as I near the gate of the house.

When I reach the iron bars of the gate, I take out my phone and dial a number. After dialing, I look up again and see a shining light coming from the roof of the house. I am sure it’s one of the guards watching me using some binoculars.

Ouma’s house is heavily guarded, which is common for the property of an elder. As much as we are hunters, oftentimes we made enemies and became the hunted.

Fighting evil comes with its set of dangers. Monsters that survived are always seeking revenge. The more we tried to kill them, the more they tried to do the same with us. We are a threat to their existence.

I hear a ringing on the other end of the line; once, twice, before a female voice picks up.

“It’s me. I’m at the gate,” I announce.

The phone line cuts and immediately the monstrous wrought-iron gate squeaks and swings open. I walk in and down the pebbled pavement toward the main entrance. I can see the guards eyeing me, but they don’t try to stop me. I am not exactly a stranger, so I don’t expect them to think of me as a threat to Ouma.

A young lady walks out of the front door to meet me. She bows as I approach, filling me with a sense of pride at the respect I'm being shown.

Not many people would think of me as worthy of a second glance. To most, all I am is a low-ranked hunter with no heroic accolades to my name. Unlike my late brother, George, I have never killed many monsters. The only thing I have ever slain was an injured goblin. A goblin was already thought to be a weak monster, thus killing an injured one was viewed as simple as if I’d stomped on a cockroach.

Although that kill never got me recognition, I am damn proud of that achievement.

However, while my brother had the muscles, slaying vampires, powerful witches and werewolves, I was the brains of the operation. No one gave me credit for how clever I was at planning the best formations for our attacks. Bullocks!

Pulling me out of my thoughts is a soft, delicate voice. “Greetings, Sir Jonathan,” the young woman says before leading me into the house. I follow her into the den.

I can’t help but watch the youthful sway of her hips. I can’t remember how long it has been since Margaret looked anywhere near this good. All she wears are baggy clothes and does nothing to look like the woman I fell in love with twenty-seven years ago. Bearing so many children hasn’t been too kind to her figure either. She really needs to stop getting pregnant.

And, no, that’s not my fault. Maggie is so fertile, I could just look at her and she will grow a baby bump.

Since Margaret has not been pleasing me for a longtime, I have found myself admiring my widowed sister-in-law at times. The way her work scrubs hug her curves makes my manhood jump in anticipation without the need for the little blue magic pill.

For a while, I had thought I was at the age that I required the aid of the blue diamond–aka the Charlie Sheen pleasure tablet–just to get it on with a woman.

Yet, I still remember the day I had ‘accidently’ spied on my late brother’s widow getting dressed; my wang had sprung up just like a jack in the box. I will get into those tight panties of hers one day. With my brother gone, she is free for the picking now. I chuckle at the thought.

The young lady turns to look at me. I feign a cough to cover my chortle and take my eyes off her perfectly molded behind.

“Madam Ouma will be with you shortly,” she says and leaves the room gracefully. I can’t help but follow her with my eyes as she departs. Damn, that ass was grandiose.

After she is gone, I take a seat on one of the couches and wait for Ouma. I take the time to drink in my surroundings. A heavy gold-encrusted vase catches my eye. It has crystal studs around its base, and I find myself wondering how much I could get for such a piece at a pawn shop. I wish I had brought a bag to slip it in before I leave. With the sale’s profits, I could have managed to accrue a bottle of the finest cognac, along with rolling tobacco.

The door to the den swings open and I watch as Ouma seemingly glides in. I stand up to welcome her.

Ouma has started donning a colorful headscarf to coordinate with whatever she is wearing that day. The gray roots of her hair have started to show and she still leaves a tiny fringe in the front that delicately sweeps across her flawless forehead. Ouma is a little older than I am, but every time I see her, she is stunning.

Today she wears a red, skin-tight knee-length dress. Ouma is not as shapely as Eunice, but despite her age, her body still holds a youthful allure to it. On her feet are a pair of matching red heels that all but emphasize her already elevated stature. Gods, she is captivating.

“Fernandez,” she says as she stretches her hands toward me in salutation. Distracted by her features, I grab her waist instead and plant kisses on both sides of her cheeks…the ones on her face, although I wouldn’t mind planting a sloppy smooch on her other set of cheeks.

Inhaling the smell of jasmine coming from her, I feel something swell in the lower regions of my body. I clear my throat and try to ignore my throbbing manhood. “Ouma, so nice to see you.”

“Likewise,” she says as she motions with her hand for me to sit down.

Just as we both make ourselves comfortable, a server brings in some drinks on a tray. He places the tray on the table before bowing and exiting. I can’t wait to be a member of the elite social circle of elders. I’ve worked my whole life for this.

My excitement doubles, as the information I have might just be my ticket to get a seat at the table of a-listers.

“I have good news…well, maybe not so good, but it’s an ‘I told you so’ moment. Remember my suspicions about Thelma?” I start enthusiastically.

Ouma frowns, “Who?”

“Thelma, George’s daughter. I was right about her all along. My suspicions were confirmed,” I continue without missing a beat. This is my moment to shine and show my prowess at foreseeing things.

“What do you mean? How can you be so sure?” Ouma asks.

“She turned twenty-one two days ago and started exhibiting the signs,” I reply.

Ouma inches forward in her seat as I speak, her dress riding up as she scooches forward. I can tell that I have gotten her attention and this just motivates me. I am finally getting hard…ahem, being heard.

“What have you noticed?” she asks.

“She burnt a man’s hand. Also, she flew…she bloody shot off the ground like a rocket and hovered! Now tell me I was wrong, huh? I knew it and I told you all. Wait till the other elders find out. I will be hailed a hero. I will definitely be considered for that position now,” I say with hubris.

I wink seductively at Ouma and reach over to grab one of the beverage glasses from the tray and gulp down the contents. I belch loudly as I replace the glass. Maggie always tells me when I belch, I sound so macho, so I do it often. I hope Ouma finds it just as endearing as Maggie does. I think I glimpse a quick frown on her face, but as quickly as it appears, it disappears, and she smiles at me.

“Slow down, Fernandez. We don’t have to act so rashly. If what you are saying is true, you might want to hold off on telling the rest of the elders,” she adds.

I feel my bubble deflate, but it doesn’t fully burst just yet. “Ouma, you promised me a seat in the elder’s council ages ago. I have warmed up your inner thighs for ages, in hopes of getting that promise fulfilled, but it never happened. Now, I have something that is a sure way to catapult me right into that cushy chair amongst the greats, and you want me to keep it quiet?!” I ask, irately.

Ouma laughs softly and then narrows her eyes at me. “Darling Fernandez, you are a hunter by name, and name only. You need a great accomplishment, an honorable badge, to get that seat. That’s why I say don’t be rash. Do you think announcing to the elders that your niece is a witch will magically get you a seat? It will just get a target on your back. You harbored a witch in your household for years, a very powerful witch for that matter. You will be thrown in the fire alongside this Telsa niece of yours.”

I feel the bile rise in my chest. Damn, the sweet soda I had just downed, drowned my excitement and enjoyment; my body isn’t one to pump with so much sugar and acid. I know Ouma makes a valid point, but I don’t know how the council wouldn’t hail me a hero for bringing a witch over to them.

“Thelma…h—her name is Thelma.” I want to shake my head, but restrain myself. “You’re not one to go in without a plan, Ouma. What is it that you suggest?”

Ouma stands up and gracefully strides toward me. She sits beside me and places a palm on my knee before moving it upwards, teasingly. The gesture causes my pants to tighten, and I wonder if this is the right time to be doing this during such an important discussion.

Her hand slowly massages my inner thigh, and as it nears my manhood, it stops.

“You bring them someone better, my darling,” Ouma declares in a soft moan.

“Who?” I ask.

“The one no one can ever kill; bring them Kwaad’s lifeless head in a bloody sack.”

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