A\N: A bit later than I hoped. Among other things that distracted me, there is this most excellent post-war Youjo Senki fic I found on AO3: Amor Enim Vult. Tanya x Visha romance, with some serious plot on how Tanya works in and influences the post-war Empire.

Chapter 10

April 28, 1926, New York

I could feel a throbbing ache on the side of my face. I could taste blood on my lips. Every breath sent a dull ache through my bruised ribs. Exhaustion was turning my arms and legs into lead weights, and I wanted nothing more than to fall to my knees and gasp for air. Circumstances were not so kind as to allow me such respite.

Before me stood a figure straight out of a slasher movie. Well over six feet of pure muscle clad in dark blue military fatigues. The figure wore a steel helmet and quality steel-knuckled gloves - punishing damage combined with manual dexterity, and no chance of leaving fingerprints when they were done. Their face was concealed by a balaclava and a jet black leather mask, the eyes two dark unfeeling pits. The man carried no weapons. He needed none. His every movement carried with it the promise of destruction most primitive and painful. As he moved, his steel-toed boots seemed to almost dance across the concrete floor. If my opponent had been a muscle-bound thug then I might have dealt with him already. But it was not his strength I feared - though he was much stronger than me no matter how much I reinforced myself. It was not his speed that was giving me so much difficulty - although it was completely unfair that a man that big could match me at my current fastest. What was really driving me to despair was our difference in skill. My sum total of close quarters ability amounted to a few weeks of basic training and few brutal but brief experiences. My opponent, on the other hand, was someone who had clearly dedicated a large portion of his life to the art of pulverizing his fellow human beings with his bare hands.

Early on, I had one advantage - my opponent was clearly trained in boxing and used to fighting full-grown men. My lack of height and his lack of low guard had given me a few openings. Unfortunately, he was a very fast learner. A couple of painful experiences was all it took for him to cover this weakness. At least I'd forced him into a more cautious approach, but all that meant was that he was dismantling me slowly instead of quickly. At least his boxing instincts meant he was slow to exploit grappling opportunities. If he'd been trained in wrestling as well as boxing? He would have already ended me.

The worst part was, I couldn't even blame Being X for my plight. It had been my idea to start a private security firm. To pit my military training and experience against the New York underworld. And this was the direct result. My current situation was even worse than back in the war. At least back then I and the 203rd had enjoyed an edge in individual ability, even if we were badly outnumbered. Now, I was both outgunned and outclassed. And unlike the war, retreat wasn't an option.

Well, at least having the odds stacked against me was a familiar feeling. A slight magical nudge took the edge off the pain and left me feeling the adrenaline high. Thus buoyed, I darted back into the fight. Painful experience had taught me not to allow my opponent the offensive - even if I dodged his fists, his superb footwork would see me cornered in no time.

I came in low, aiming for his legs. He responded with a straight kick. Not much power, but enough to fend me off - if it had hit. Instead it passed right through me. My parallel casting ability was the only thing keeping me in this fight, and I used it ruthlessly. Selling my opponent a decoy, I leaped into the air, aiming to knock his head off. Alas, once more my opponent's adaptability came into play. The first time I used a decoy he'd been flummoxed. Now, he didn't even hesitate. Even before the decoy faded, he'd predicted where I was going to be and snapped out a vicious jab. I twisted in midair so it only grazed my cheek instead of breaking my jaw. It still had enough force to knock me to the ground. Landing, I whipped out my leg in a strike aimed at the side of his knee, but a quick hop took him out of my reach. Then it was my turn to leap back as a counter punch almost flattened my nose. The final result - one more bruise to my face and one more hit to my failing stamina. Did I mention this bastard wasn't even breathing hard? Because he wasn't.

Then came the sweetest sound I had ever heard - Lena's dulcet tones calling out, "Time!"

It took every gram of will I possessed not to collapse in relief. Instead I did my best to control my breathing as I stood up straight, and nodded to my erstwhile opponent. "Well done, Agent. Fall in."

Then I took off my own leather mask as I diverted my magic to my disguise illusion, revealing a completely unblemished face. The face I revealed, however, was my own. The only difference was the red hair of my 'Jenny' personality and a few lines making me look older - my face was unfamiliar enough in America to get away with this, and it's not like anyone outside my employees would see it.

Now, I knew this unblemished facade wouldn't fool anybody. They knew I used illusions and that I'd taken hits. I was just hoping the appearance of untouchability was still enough to reinforce my authority. And it needed reinforcement, since I'd been idiot enough to set up a demonstration spar against the single deadliest hand-to-hand fighter among my employees.

Well, to be fair, he was the only one of my employees that could actually keep up with me. That's why I'd picked him, because picking anyone else for this final demonstration would have been bullying. Better a hard fight against a known contender than an obviously easy beatdown.

The big man joined his companions to the side of the makeshift arena (really just an empty spot in a large warehouse). Taking a breath, I turned to face the men and women of Velvet Iron Protection (people kept dropping the 'and', so I did as well).

There were thirteen of them - ten men and three women.

First was Lena - company secretary, accountant, and CEO. She was dressed in sweat-stained loose-fitting clothing. It was my insistence that she join in at least for basic workouts, as that way the employees would respect her more. There may also have been a little bit of revenge involved for her earlier teasing.

The other twelve represented the first field company of V. I. P. All of them were dressed the same - dark blue combat fatigues, steel-reinforced gloves and boots, and a metal tag on the shoulder containing their company ID - 26 for the year, followed by a letter and two numbers, assigned randomly. My sparring partner, C92, had taken off his mask and helmet. None of the others were wearing theirs. Seven of the faces, including both women, bore the color of African descent. Four were Caucasian - two Slavs, two Irish, and one Hispanic.

These were far from the only applications I had received. The offer of $45 a week, raised to $65 after the first year, had proven attractive to many. These were simply the most disciplined.

Much of army training wasn't about the skills of soldiery. They were about discipline. About doing as you were told, when you were told. About not bothering locals or starting fights just because you were bored. About following orders, not matter how tedious or dangerous.

Sadly, I simply didn't have the time to train people up from scratch. I'd already entered an agreement with Brady. I needed warm bodies as fast as possible if I was to build up my operation into something sustainable. So, I focused on people that had a history of reliable work. A few ex-soldiers, but mostly dockhands with no obvious vices and good references that were looking for a change in their line of work. Then, I gathered about thirty of them and put them through a watered-down version of the 203rd's training. These twelve were the ones that were left.

First was my second-in-command, Blake. He'd been an infantry sergeant, very commendable for a black man in this time period, and he'd possessed pretty much all the skills that I might have asked for. It took a bit of doing to get him to take me seriously as his boss, but once I was over that hump, the rest fell into place. Both women had been hired by the same method. They were both tough and surly Amazons that had been working as dockworkers in spite of their gender, and had adjusted remarkably well to my training standards. One of them was even a mage.

Yes, I had been testing for mages. The testing method used by the hospitals was very expensive, partly because it was a method designed to be used by non-mages, and partly due to the precision which gave you a very exact idea as to how much power a mage could wield. My own method was more of a yes/no system using my spare orb, with an educated guess as to power levels using my own experience. At first, I'd contemplated the possibility of testing every single person ignored by the American system in order to build up my own company of mages. However, I'd realized that an undisciplined mage was much more dangerous than an undisciplined civilian. So, I'd only bothered testing people that made my shortlist of candidates. With as small as a pool I'd been working with, I'd been amazed when one of the women had tested as what I judged to be a C-rank mage.

If I had gotten just one mage out of my initial pool of recruits, I'd have considered myself incredibly lucky. Instead, I happened across Barrow.

Barrow was 26-C92, my recent sparring partner, and a B-rank mage at a minimum. The Empire would have snapped him up to their aerial mage battalions in a heartbeat. I'd discovered him at a boxing gym. I'd originally gone to the gym to interview a potential candidate that went nowhere. While I was there, though, something had caught my attention - a young African boxer beating the tar out of his sparring partner. I hadn't sensed any magic coming off him. Yet, after so much experience, I was very familiar with what it looked like when a person reinforced themselves with magic. His strikes were just a bit too smooth, his reflexes just a bit too sharp. The display was far from conclusive, but I was intrigued enough to give him my test, and I ended up snatching the orb out of his hand when he almost destroyed it.

I didn't have the equipment to gauge just how powerful he really was, but he was definitely aerial mage material. Of course, I didn't tell him that. Instead, I simply pointed out how mages of any stripe were not permitted to become professional boxers. Then, once he was done mourning the death of his hopes and dreams, I pointed him towards this new security company that would love to hire someone with his talent and discipline. After all, the best time to persuade someone is when they are mentally defenseless.

Thus, I gathered what would hopefully be the core of the new word in private security, Velvet Iron Protection. They all stood at attention. Looking them over, I said, "Congratulations, you have all just finished your basic training. Before we proceed further, please don your full kit."

I waited a few minutes as they sorted themselves out and lined up again. Now, they had gone from a group of intimidating men and women to a band of monsters. Really, it was the mask that did it. Those things had been bad enough in their original brown color. Once I had them tinted black, they were frightening enough to make me uncomfortable. Who knew American college sporting gear could be so macabre?

The intimidation factor was honestly a nice bonus. Forced as I was to admit, these men and women were rank amateurs. Even the ex-soldiers were mostly grunts. The few weeks I had was barely enough to impart to them the basics of hand-to-hand, knife handling, security protocols, and basic marksmanship. For most of them, the best I could say about their combat skills was that they were more dangerous to the enemy than themselves. In the Imperial Army, they would barely qualify as raw recruits. Thankfully, they would be up against criminals rather than trained soldiers. Their intimidating appearance combined with their gear would hopefully be enough.

Every member of the field company carried basic first aid materials, a hefty nightstick, a combat knife, a Colt M1911 semi-auto pistol and two spare magazines. The two mages also carried two American civilian orbs that I had purchased at considerable expense. Finally, and most vital, each of them carried my best attempt at a ballistic shield. This shield comprised of five sheets of hard steel riveted together to create a slab of quarter-inch-thick armor, with holes drilled through the upper half to act as eye-slits. It won't stop machine gun fire, but it will slow down just about any handgun or submachine-gun round enough to let my agents survive and keep fighting. I'd marketed V.I.P. as having agents that can take on multiple armed gangsters and win, and the only viable way to do that was to make them resistant to gunfire. Even if it meant toting around 50 pounds of steel. Honestly, I couldn't wait until someone invented Kevlar.

While the shield was a necessity to meet my marketing promise, the masks were a necessary evil. The fact was, I was arming people of color. The police in this racist day and age were bound to take a very dim view of that. In order to avoid the inevitable harassment, I had to hide the identity of the people walking around with all that hardware. I'd initially planned to go with balaclavas, but that would leave their face unprotected by anything but thin wool. Then I'd discovered that protective gear for American football included full-face leather helmets. I wondered what quirk of history had led to this world adopting such terrifying gear for amateur sporting events. Still, it was all to my benefit, as these helmets could be easily adapted to provide both facial protection and anonymity to my agents.

Of course, none of my agents would be particularly happy going around looking like horror movie rejects. Luckily, there was an 'official' reason for the masks that was more palatable than 'darkies with guns make cops nervous'.

"Gentlemen. And ladies. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your lives. Now, you are no longer dockworkers or laborers or soldiers or boxers. You. Are. Velvet. Iron! Protection!"

Taking a deep breath, I continued, "We are the last word in private security. When people hire us, they are not paying for rent-a-cops to scare off shoplifters. They are paying for top of the line protection. We are security providing machines! We have the training! We have the equipment! And, most of all, we have the masks!"

So saying, I put on my own leather mask, and continued speaking. "This mask is not an affectation. We don't wear it to look scary. We wear it to protect our clients - and ourselves. Think about your training. Your gear. Honestly, what crook in the country can possibly take you on? I'll tell you how. By not going after you. Remember, criminals have no honor. They have no morals. If they can't beat you by force, they'll go after your weak spots. Your friends. Your family."

The entire room tensed up at that. Good, now to drive it home. "When a criminal wants to attack another, they're not going to challenge them to a duel at high noon. That shit is for the movies. No, scum like that make a living preying on the weak. That is why we wear the mask. When you all are out working, you have no names. All you have is a number. All our clients know is a number. All the cops know is a number! All you are. Is. Your. Number. This is to protect yourself. To protect your friends and family. We are going to piss off a whole lot of scumbags, and we will not give them an inch! When the world sees you, they will not see a person. All they will see is Velvet Iron Protection. Remember what the good book says! As I walk through the valley in the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Because I. Am. Velvet. Iron. And I am the most terrifying thing in that god damned valley! Am I fucking clear?"

The "Yes Ma'am!" was gratifyingly loud. Of course, that was just their training kicking in. Who knows what they actually thought of that silly speech. Hopefully they will at least take the need for anonymity seriously.

Over the next couple of months, my new company expanded its business with only a few minor incidents. In that time, the strength of our field agents went from twelve to seventy-two. None of the newcomers were mages, but we did get a relatively high proportion of ex-military.

I, of course, never stopped training my agents. I kept hauling the older batches of agents back for additional training whenever possible. After these two months, the initial batch of twelve had actually reached a level of skill that I considered minimal for our needs. Of course, my agency was supposed to operate in urban environments, and urban combat was an area where my knowledge was mostly theoretical outside of Arenne, but I figured we were at least better than gangbangers, and that's all that was needed.

As an aside, I also got my high school diploma. I no longer needed it, seeing as how I'd made my own employment, but it was nice to have.

I also experimented with expanding our equipment, but that didn't pan out very well. The infamous American Thompson 'tommy-gun' proved unsuited to our needs. While an adequate weapon, it was just too heavy to be fired one-handed while crouching behind a ballistic shield. The only people I ended up issuing it to were myself, Barrow, and the female mage Young. Only with magical reinforcement could one use such a weapon one-handed with any degree of accuracy. What would be ideal for our regular forces would be a tiny machine-pistol of some kind like a micro-Uzi, but such weapons were decades away, so they were stuck with the Colt M1911.

Not that my agents had to use their guns all that much. Thankfully, none of my agents had to deal with an entire squad of armed criminals like I did. There were a few attempts against the businesses under our protection, but a few shots fired from behind shields was enough to see them off. Our clients were more than happy to smooth things over with the cops in such cases, as well as dealing with any injured would-be criminals. There were a couple of attempts to ambush my agents, but again, they acquitted themselves well. Some of them did end up in the hospital, but I covered their medical expenses and then personally demonstrated my displeasure to those responsible, and there were no repeats.

The most remarkable incident during this period was this one Prohibition agent who kept disguising himself as an employee and trying to sneak in without a warrant into various businesses we were guarding, particularly Brady's. His disguises might have fooled others, but I am happy to say that after exposure to my ability with illusions none of my guards were taken in by him. And while I could commend this man's dedication, the law was on my side, and he was most certainly not getting in without a warrant. Last I heard, he'd turned his attention to other parts of the city, and was doing well prosecuting those who would break the American Prohibition against alcohol.

I wished him all the luck in the world, so long as he refrained from harassing my clients.

Our client list had also expanded greatly, stretching from Harlem all the way to Midtown, almost half of Manhattan Island. Some of our clients were like Brady, paying for individual protection. However, a major income source came from what amounted to small business cooperatives. These were basically entire streets of small shops that decided they wanted our protection, and pooled their resources to make it happen. As a result, I had agents patrolling the streets openly instead of hiding in the shadows guarding small businesses. Not that I minded. It might be riskier for my agents, but it was good publicity for the corporation.

Speaking of which, Velvet Iron Protection was now an officially incorporated Limited Liability Corporation, and a wholly owned subsidiary of Manpower Plus Inc., incorporated in Waldstatten.

This last came about due to the laws of establishing legitimate businesses. Doing so in America required all sorts of paperwork to fill. In Waldstatten? All that was needed was a lawyer, a banker, and twenty Wald Francs. Lena took a two-week vacation and went over to Waldstatten to set it all up. One of my fake adult ID's, Jasmine Smith, was registered in Waldstatten as sole owner of Manpower Plus. Manpower Plus, in turn, declared Velvet Iron Protection a wholly owned subsidiary. Being a foreign corporation investing into the US, it was subject to scrutiny that was easier to fool, meaning V.I.P. was incorporated with a minimum of fuss. Lena was officially re-affirmed as CEO. And my original name of Tanya von Degurechaff was registered on V.I.P.'s employee list as a senior consultant, with a salary to match - said salary also payable to a Wald bank account. Because, for whatever reason, the Americans had yet to issue an arrest warrant in my name, and until they did, V.I.P. was within its rights to employ me. Not that anyone would ever find out about it - as a completely privately owned corporation, everything about V.I.P. was confidential without a warrant.

And even if they did find out? I still considered it necessary. The truth was Jasmine Smith, Moana Kane, whatever you call it, all these IDs were fake. All it would take was one careful investigation, and I would lose everything under those names. I needed something that belonged to the person I really was in this life. Waldstatten bank accounts were pretty much untouchable, so even if someone tracked me down and froze all my assets in V.I.P. and elsewhere, I would still have a nest egg built up to fall back on.

And speaking of overseas trips, Lena wasn't the only one crossing the Atlantic. It turned out, she had kept in touch with Murdoch. The gang war that had flared up after the skirmish on Solly Street had turned out to be a lot more complicated than expected, involving nobility of the Allied Kingdom. While Murdoch was still holding, his position had needed a little shoring up. I normally wouldn't have cared, but he was Lena's closest friend, and my old crew had all apparently fallen in with him. So, as a favor to Lena, I had Barrow and three others take a 2-month sojourn to Londinium to train Murdoch's men and act as security for Solly Street. Of course, it wasn't free, but in memory of old friendship I gave Murdoch a hefty discount.

Of course, as Being X would have it, my best warrior Barrow was barely two weeks away when trouble blew up with one of my clients. This particular client, Steven Yu, was a half-Qin half-Akinese who had inherited a 'massage parlor' in Qintown, an extremely successful one. So successful, in fact, that some of the locals didn't appreciate a half-breed taking over the business.

Now, it should be noted here that the Qin population in New York was fairly insular, and minded their own affairs. In the ordinary course of events, Yu should have been able to turn to either the On Leong or the Hip Sing, the two big syndicates catering to New York's Qin population. Unluckily for him, the more genteel On Leong were supporting his rivals, and the Hip Sing were a bunch of thugs that Yu himself objected to on general principle. Bereft of choice, he turned to us, and I, eager to break into a new market, approved of the contract.

Initially, the contract called for two agents. When trouble looked likely, my agents followed protocol and called in reinforcements. The On Leong in turn called in reinforcements of their own. Eventually, someone lost their temper, resulting in two of my agents in intensive care, and four On Leong bully-boys in the morgue, as well as minor damage to my client's establishment.

This was not a tenable state of affairs. If nothing else, the scrutiny from the law was getting uncomfortable. Thankfully, the Hip Sing saw the situation as an opportunity to mount a few raids on On Leong turf, alleviating the pressure on my client. Credit where it was due, Yu moved fast in trying to broker some sort of settlement. Finally, a big meeting was called, and Yu requested a representative from Velvet Iron to accompany him. By this time, the situation had grown convoluted enough that I decided to take a direct hand in the matter.

July 10, 1926, Qintown, New York

It was a hot and humid Saturday afternoon that saw me making my way to the designated meeting place. Since this was supposed to be a formal affair, I'd thrown on a floral kimono. I'd also dusted off my old Tatsumaki Kurosawa persona for my disguise, since I had no interest exposing either Moana or Jenny to the Qin mafia's scrutiny. I was, of course, armed to the teeth, but I did my best to look respectful while doing it.

The meeting place was, what else, but some manner of fancy tea-house. Yu, accompanied by one of my agents, was waiting for me outside. Once I reached them, my agent went back to his duty guarding the massage parlor and I accompanied Yu inside.

The minute I set foot past the threshold, I felt my hackles rise.

A threw out a hand to hold back my client as I looked around. Nothing, except a very confused waitress and some wary guards that had frozen at my unexpected movement. Yet, my instincts could not be denied. Someone was forming a magical formula in my vicinity. It was the oddest spell I had ever felt. The area of effect seemed to encompass the whole building, yet that was impossible since a spell like that would have rung every military scanner on the East Coast. It was almost as if someone had taken a spell worthy of the Type 95, then decided to feed it less energy than I could run through the civilian orb sitting under my clothes. And, instead of collapsing due to lack of power, the spell was continuing to operate, if at a level so low that only someone with my long experience with low-power spells would have picked up on it.

Well, whatever it was, it didn't seem to be doing anything at the moment, so I waved Yu onward.

The negotiations were almost as convoluted as a traditional Japanese tea ceremony. If there was one thing I did not miss about my homeland, it was the excessive formality. I sat to one side, bored out of my mind, struggling to stay alert against treachery, while Yu negotiated a cessation to hostilities. My boredom was further worsened by the whole discussion taking place in Southern Qinese, of which I knew but a few words. Having nothing better to do, I turned my attention back to that strange magical effect I'd felt, and it was then I realized that the spell I'd sensed earlier had gone active.

It was an incredibly subtle thing. It also seemed to affect everyone in the room. Now that it was active, I could feel its structure. It was being powered by... statuary? No, not just statuary. Some statues around the room, yes, but also various charms hanging on the wall, some mirrors, patterns on the wall...

I was wrestling to understand what exactly I was sensing when the whole system flared, accompanied by raised voices in the room. It seemed a particularly acrimonious negotiating point had been reached and both sides seemed on the verge of employing excessive language. Then the spell's power increased, and both sides took a deep breath and stepped back from the brink. Someone suggested something conciliatory, and the discussion returned to its previously amicable tone.

Prima facie, this spell seemed to be promoting goodwill and cooperation. However, my past experience had made me extremely suspicious of any external magic that affected the mind. In this case, my responsibility was clear. My client was paying me to protect him from any threat. A magic influence that affected him without his permission, no matter how benign, was unacceptable. I slammed my palm down on the table, silencing the entire room.

One of the On Leong's representatives swelled up like a bullfrog, and started demanding an explanation. I cut him off with a cold, "My task here is to protect my client, in body and mind. While his body is safe, his mind is not. This entire building is saturated by a mind-affecting effect. Tell me, who is responsible for that, and that, and that..." As I spoke, I pointed accusing fingers at the objects in the room that seemed to carry the strongest concentrations of magic.

Everyone seemed utterly bewildered. That confirmed my suspicion that this was the doing of a third party. Finally, an answer came from the restaurant's proprietor, who had been also been acting as hostess. "Honored guest, I no understand. That is for harmony and..." she broke into a stream of Qinese I could make neither heads nor tails of, but I did pick up one phrase: 'Feng Shui'.

Feng Shui! I couldn't believe it, yet once I thought about it, I supposed it made some kind of sense. That discipline had been the epitome of Eastern superstition, on par with Western belief in magic. So, if magic existed in this world, why wouldn't Feng Shui also be effective?

Oh shit, if Feng Shui is real, then what about Voodoo? Shamanism? Tantric rituals?

I ruthlessly stamped down on my incipient panic. Even if they were real, judging by the current example they were hardly going to be able to compete with modern computation jewels. In the meantime, I had a ritual to disrupt and a room to pacify.

"Feng Shui?" I asked rhetorically, my voice as cold as I could make it. "A ritual designed to influence the mind towards peace, and you enacted in a place meant to hold a negotiation. This was meant to be neutral ground. Exactly what about a mind-affecting spell cast without permission makes this neutral?"

There was a long moment of silence, then one of the Leong spoke up in accented Albish, "Feng Shui, it is superstition. Surely you not believe it affect us?" The mockery in his tone was clear in spite of his accent. I returned him an equally mocking smile.

"How disappointing, that the brave sons of Qin would cast aside their heritage so easily. I am not even from your shores, yet even we Akitsushimani know better than to ignore the power behind a thousand years of tradition. Still, it matters not. This ritual is violating the sanctity of the mind of my client. I will now remove it." Having delivered a suitably portentous rejoinder, I turned my attention to the closest focusing point of the spell, a wall length mirror.

Placing a hand on the mirror surface, direct physical contact allowed me to confirm what I had already suspected - the various Feng Shui objects were acting as nodes for a very large, very crude spell focus. And if there's one thing I knew about foci, it was that the fastest way to disrupt one was to subject it to more power than it could handle. Turning back to the room, I said with a smile, "This will but take a moment." Then I focused, first to make sure my disguise spell stayed up, then to pour every bit of magic I could into the mirror.

The results were suitably dramatic. The mirror cracked from side to side, a statue of a rooster exploded into shards, an ornamental plant wilted rapidly, and a curtain curled up at the edges as if singed, and one could hear other faint sounds of destruction coming from elsewhere in the building. I wasn't really paying attention. Instead, what had caught my eye was the reaction of one of the two waitresses that had accompanied the hostess. While everyone else was craning their necks to observe the carnage, she had briefly clutched her head and swayed in her spot. Well, I do believe I've just found my mage.

Before I could act on my newfound knowledge, an enormous, long, booming sound echoed throughout the building. It definitely came from outside, and whatever it was, it had enough power to send vibrations through the entire room. Maybe the entire city. Shit, was the damn ritual connected to a gas main or something? I could feel the eyes of the entire room on me. Not having the slightest clue what had caused the explosive sound, I gave the room my haughtiest stare. "The ritual has been ended. Neutrality is restored. Please submit all claims for damages to those who would enact such rituals on neutral ground without permission."

Oh, there were definitely some hard stares aimed at the proprietor at that. Some flunkies ran out to find what had exploded, and the negotiations resumed, though none of the participants seemed very enthusiastic.

In the end, the peace agreement was made in fairly short order with no further interruptions. I got the distinct feeling everyone had other places to be, and I could sympathize - I was intensely curious as to what had caused that sound as well. Still, I had one more issue to address.

As all the guests left the room, I hung back. Then, once I had attention of the waitress who had caught my eye, I announced: "Her. She is to come to our office tomorrow."

The way the proprietor and the waitress' faces paled, it seemed they both knew why. When the younger woman asked the question, I raised an eyebrow and said, "Why do you think?"

Of course, the real reason was that I wanted to grill her on her spellcasting techniques to see if there was anything I could use, but I couldn't come out and say that, so I kept it vague.

Judging the pleading tone and torrent of broken Albish and Qin the proprietor hurled at me, it seemed the girl was actually someone important to her. How could I get her to understand that I meant the girl no harm?

"Our leader want to talk to her. Will take good care of her. She come, no harm at all. If not..." at this point I was stuck on explaining how if she continued to experiment with magic without properly understanding it, she might cause a great deal of harm. Seeing no other way, I waved a hand at the various destroyed pieces of furniture. Judging by the way their faces paled, they got the message.

"Tomorrow. Here. 11 morning. You come, no harm." I said, smiling, as I passed them a card with my company's office address. Seeing understanding in their eyes, I decided not to waste any more time talking like a tourist. Instead, I headed out to satisfy my own curiosity on what, exactly, had blown up.

It wasn't until next morning that I learned what the explosion had been. Apparently, the Picatinny Arsenal in New Jersey had exploded, killing dozens and damaging property for miles. Exact cause unknown, but the current official theory was a lightning strike on an ammunition stockpile.

But was it natural lightning? Had my disrupting of the Feng Shui ritual caused an explosion in the stockpile, or the lightning strike? The idea seemed absurd, the Arsenal was twenty miles from Qintown, yet I knew too little about Feng Shui to say for certain. And I now remembered that there was a room full of Qin mobsters who believed me responsible. If they blabbed... no, no way would the police believe that. But such wild tales might still draw the wrong kind of attention. Damn it, at this point I could believe Being X had done it just to mess with me.

As a further complication, the waitress, whose name was Changying Lin, showed up at my company office at the appointed time - with full bag, baggage, and luggage. Apparently, she had somehow taken my invitation to an interview as some sort of permanent relationship. The exact relationship she seemed too embarrassed to explain, as she should be, seeing as how her Albish was actually passable and she had no excuse for making such a mistake.

Still, I was loath to send her back, now that I had a chance to pick her brain to my heart's content. Since she was here, I might as well put her on the payroll. Not that I would be getting my money back any time soon. While she might objectively be young and pretty - nineteen years old, very nice skin and hair, symmetrical features - she was also very plainly and obviously an urban civilian. If she was to do what Velvet Iron did, those soft curves would have to be replaced by hard muscle. I could already tell this was going to be a long-term project.

There would be one upside though. There was always a chance she was here as some sort of spy for the On Leong. I would keep her under close observation for the months it would take to get her combat ready. That should be enough time to get to know if she was a traitor or not. And who knows, something might actually come of this Feng Shui nonsense.