Epilogue
Christian Monroe Jacksonsat at table two wondering if the direction his life was taking seemed like a fast track to Hell.When the invitation had arrived in the mail, he’d looked at it with great apprehension, absolutely dumbfounded why he was being invited to a wedding for two people he didn’t know.Seeing the Technician handle and the reference to the Technician family had made him pick up his phone and press 1.As fate would have it, his handler Moloch had received one as well.
“I didn’t know Technicians got married,” Christian said softly.
“They don’t, but the Directions have done something new, and it seems to be working in favor of the agents,” Moloch said, “since having a reason to come home at night limits acts of stupidity.”
“I like my house and coming home to it alone, but it’s mine,” Christian said.“You going to this thing?”
“Yeah, I think all the Archangels were invited including Jesús,” Moloch said.“The hotel is really nice, got a pool, a spa, and a couple of bars.Should be a good time to decompress, connect with other Technicians, maybe share war stories.”
“Maybe,” he replied.“Any other trees invited to this affair?”
“Not sure.I’m not sure why I was invited, but it’s a party, a sit-down dinner, and an open bar.Plus, again, it is a really nice hotel,” Moloch said.“Can’t hurt you to get away for a few days and sit in the sunlight.Trees do well with lots of sunshine.”
“Hmph.Elm out,” Christian said to his Moloch, ending the call.He RSVP’d out of sheer curiosity and went about his life.
Fast forward two months later, and he found himself at a table with five people he didn’t know with a placard on the table that read Stray Bullets.He didn’t like the connotation, and the people at the table made him wary, especially the fair complected man with the grey eyes.A woman, with hair entirely too blond for her facial features, reminded him of a girl he had dated in college that didn’t want people to know she was of a mixed race.This girl had the same vibe.
Before they were seated, the same woman called over the bride to ask questions.He held his tongue when the woman, named The Cranberry, informed them all they were siblings via Michael Kurtzwilde, his father, who would be joining them later.The Cranberry knew his handle and evidently his name since that was the name on the invitation.She also knew what he did for his civilian job, evidently courtesy of their father.
Siblings.
He knew Kurtzwilde had children with his dumb wife, who had procreated three dumb replicas of herself, but this − this was something different.These children were all adults, up in age, from various women of diverse ethnicities.Two sisters and two brothers, and he was curious where he fell among the flock.
A doctor.An Olympic show jumper.A West Point Ring Knocker who was a helicopter pilot, and he was a three lettered arborist.The last one was simply labeled as a badass.Christian imagined him pulling the wings off flies and skinning bunnies in the back yard.
The Cranberry, who had made one of his sisters a bridesmaid, passed out a hug and left them to it.He took a seat once his sisters and the wife of the Certified Bad Ass did as well, waiting for the awkward to begin.His armpits were growing sweaty as he looked at the door.He didn’t particularly like the quarterly visits from his father, but the man was always a part of his life, however brief his visits to make payments on whatever activity he was taking part in, along with his expensive college education.
“Hey,” the one with the weird coloring started.“I am the medical doctor for the Fruits of the Great Lakes.My home state is Illinois; the handle is Passion Fruit.”
Morgan, he thought she said her name was, the show jumper, went next.“I am a Thoroughbred of the Western Crew.I roam freely in Montana, making visits, having tea, and collecting information from unsuspecting bad guys.My handle is Morgan.”
“Nice horse,” the dark man who was the pilot said.“Are you a femme fatale?”
“Brother, I am a thoroughbred as I said; discern from that what you shall,” Morgan replied.“And you, military officer?”
