He clutched a small piece of paper with a phone number, a date and a time. They had agreed to meet at the café again. He spent the next day drifting... through his work barely paying attention to the various cases that he dealt with. He couldn’t get her image out his mind. The date on the paper was the 12th of December three days from then. He didn’t know how he would last that long without hearing her voice. Two day later, he was in agony. He didn’t mind though it was the sort of glorious. "Who are you?" he asked."I am the Ambassador's daughter, Master," she replied, "I apologise that I am not a virgin, but one can be here in moments if that is my Master's wishes. The Ambassador thought the Master, may he live for ever, would want a young woman, but my mother also awaits any summons my Master may make."Clearly the lessons of the Emir's visit to London some three years earlier had not been forgotten."Call both of them in, please, your mother and the virgin," he said, more out of. I had already intervened enough at that juncture of the show, right?Meanwhile, Eric Kripke could bite me where the Sun doesn’t shine, at least on his more dumbass episodes. I liked the one where the angel prevented the wreck of the Titanic, mostly because it gave me the satisfaction of seeing someone else hate that stupid movie, too. The one where Lucifer blasted ancient, heathen Gods, well, that sucked big-time monkey balls, didn’t it? What kind of idiot would believe that angels were more. One of the men who held power in the Empire, warleaders were taught to work with shadows, the naga’s magic.“What?” Pyrriah asked as the warleader stopped, his orc slave also stopping. She had swarthy skin like Tharaka, her tits bigger. Soft and large. She was older with a motherly look to her face. “Who is it?”“Our mother,” Tharaka growled. “Rwaka. I thought she was dead. They killed her.”Solja growled.“It’s an illusion,” I said, giving them warning glances. “Remember. They know who she is to.