Bao rose early. Her wise daughter Hu had packed for her, and she smiled at the care Hu had taken. She checked her husband’s bag, and found the same exquisite care. She sighed. She didn’t want to leave her beautiful children, but Italy called to her. This would be her last airline trip while pregnant. The girls were going away on a special camping trip with the horses. Jie and Hu had no interest in romantic Italy, and Grace looked forward to the camping trip as a way to get closer to her sisters. Damia was coming along on the camping trip to take care of the horses.

Bao took both suitcases down the stairs, one at a time. She slid them up to the door. Gregory had gone in to work at four in the morning to pick up and sign a client that arrived at three-thirty in the morning, a rap star flying in from Tokyo from a recording gig, ready to sign one of Gregory’s record-label girls. Yana was eleven, and was smart, tough, and could rap and sing with the best of them. Yana put on a song and dance at five, and Gregory was on his way back, with a signed contract and his mother Stella.

Bao knew they would have food in the first-class lounge, far better than whatever she could make. Also, they had eaten through anything perishable already. She put on her sunglasses, opened the door, rolled each bag out, and then shut the door. She was dressed in a comfortable outfit of black pants and loose gold tunic, both treated with anti-stain chemicals. She wore no jewelry, only the barest hint of makeup and some lip gloss. She wore her hair pinned in loose waves. She had only her cell phone in her pocket, and her passport, Italian lire, American dollars, and credit cards around her neck.

Gregory drove up, parked the SUV, and then brought out the same sort of clamshell rolling luggage with Stella, Nico’s mother. He closed the back, rolled the luggage up, and then got back in the SUV. He drove off, happy to help.

Stella hugged Bao. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.” She put her hand over her mouth, and several tears leaked out.

“There’s no crying on vacation!” shouted Nico, wandering out, still half asleep, in his best Tom Hanks voice. The women laughed, and Bao and Stella hugged. Nico came up, and made his mother the middle of a hug sandwich.

The company driver drove up; Tori was driving. “Hey, cut the love,” she said. “I’ve got a VIP to pick up, not like you slouches.”

Nico laughed, and put his mother in the front seat, then helped his wife put all three cases into the trunk. His wife went in one side, and he on the other one. Tori was off the second their seatbelts were plugged in.

They made good time to the airport. Stella read from the brochure about the sculpting tour. “We’ve got Michaelangelo, Donatello, Da Vinci, the big three,” she said. “Then there are dozens more, from Nicola Pisano to Benadetto da Maiano. We’re going to take it in groups, see the flowering of the era. We’re staying in villas all over Italy, and sculpting ourselves, in stone!” She actually giggled.

“Do as you like, Mama,” said Nico. “Just be back in Tuscany at the right time.”

“I’ll drink vino and eat amazing food, and we actually get to touch some of the statues! With gloves, of course,” said Stella. She bounced in her seat.

“Woman’s happy,” said Tori. Tori grinned. “We’ve got this Pack running like clockwork,” she said. “Got two bikes out in one week. Killa and Ghost keep stealing our females, too. Some of them are gonna jump ship and go over and work with them, doing a second shift. Killa and Ghost are all for it; they’ve got lots of orders. Trikes are good for those that don’t want to lean on curves, and for those with dogs.”

“Awesome,” said Nico.

They slid into the spot, and he was out in a moment to open the door for his mother, while his wife circled to the back to take out the cases. She got two out before he could get there. He grabbed the last case out, shut the trunk, and dragged two of the cases up to the curb. Bao followed with her own case. Tori drove off to Arrivals to pick up another client, a Youtube celebrity who had threats on his life.

Nico checked them into first class outside in the broiling heat, and the airline labeled their bags and took them and put them on a conveyor belt. Bao led them inside to the security line, while Nico passed out their boarding passes. They took out their passports. They went in, stood in line, and then took off their shoes and neck pouches. They walked through, and they got their things. They went up to the first class lounge, and ate a delicious breakfast of eggs Benedict, orange juice, and pastries. Stella ran down a list of sculptors and where their surviving works were located, trying to determine which of the tour company’s offerings would yield the most marbled fruit.

They boarded the plane, and went to their pods. Stella and Nico started with espresso, Bao a lovely sparkling apple juice, then, after the plane took off, each watched their screens. Stella watched sculpting videos on YouTube on her computer. Bao watched her favorite television programs, and Nico sent all the digital copies of the new contract in to the various people, a last thing he needed to do. They had polenta with mushrooms and tomatoes, gorgonzola pasta, salad, and wine, a lovely white, with a sparkling San Pelegrino water for Bao.

They all relaxed with movies —Stella’s a documentary about Italian art, Bao a friendship movie, and Nico’s an action flick. Then they had an Italian cheese board. Then, they went for the sea bass with rosemary potatoes, and more white wine.

Bao took a nap while Nico and Stella were wide awake, Stella completely unable to sleep due to excitement and being treated like royalty for the first time in her life, and Nico because he was used to working long hours at work, and intended to answer just one more email as his wife slept, keeping him free from being disorganized. He finally put down his phone, and slept.

They awoke, and had potato and spinach cake with bacon and tomatoes, which was accompanied with orange juice. Stella still hadn’t been able to sleep. She had researched sculptors, watched movies, and played video games while they’d slept.

The plane landed, and they went through Immigration. Two drivers met them, one for Stella to bring her to the hotel where the trip began in only an hour that morning, and the other to the lovely Florence hotel, the San Gallo Palace Hotel, where Bao had booked a suite with its own terrace.

They checked in, received their sparkling wine, sparkling grape juice for Bao, then walked the Piazza de Lorenzo, to the San Lorenzo, home of the sculptures of Lorenzo and Giuliano Medici. They saw a tour group, and Bao spotted Nico’s mother. Laughing, they slipped out before they were seen, and made their way down to the San Lorenzo Market. Nico bought his wife gold bangles and a stunning necklace, and then they ate cheese and Nico drank wine, Bao apple juice, at an outdoor restaurant.

Nico walked Bao back, and had the hotel store the necklace in the hotel safe. “Much safer, signore,” agreed the hotel attendant, a beautiful woman with hair so brown it looked black, with deep brown eyes, and a wide smile with perfect white teeth.

“There are pickpockets.” Nico and Bao showed their neck pouches, and he nodded. “Much safer. Can the concierge get you anything, perhaps tickets to an opera?”

“A walking tour,” said Bao. “A food tour, in English.”

The concierge came over, a young man with whiskey-colored hair and eyes, and an insouciant attitude. “I have two available. Would you like to do the evening tour tonight?”

Bao grinned. “I would love that.”

“Do not eat again,” said the hotel desk woman. “Go upstairs, nap, have an… interlude. Then, back down, four o’clock.”

Nico grinned. “Would you like an… interlude?” he asked his wife, looking deeply into her soft brown eyes. He kissed her cheek.

“Perhaps,” said Bao, looking up into his eyes, then she snuffed out a laugh. They completed the order, entered the elevator, laughing like children.

Nico led her to the room, got the door open with the key card, pushed her in, shut the door behind them, locked it, and said, “Shall we test the bed or the couch first?” They looked at the beautiful bed. “Bed,” he said, and she nodded.

Bao took off her “traveling clothes” and said, “Wonderful.” She looked into the bathroom, at the tub. “Clean sex first?”

“Later,” said Nico. “I feel dirty, and I’d like to get hot and sweaty.” He took off his slacks, hung them up, and then his shirt. Bao ripped down his boxer shorts.

“Too slow!” she said. He had his undershirt and socks off in a moment. He dragged her onto the bed, and kissed her face, down her neck, to her breasts.

“I love you,” he said.

“Mmm,” she said. “Lower.” She shoved his hands down to her breasts.

“Your wish is my command,” he said.

He kissed his way back up, and then went down her neck again. He kissed and sucked each breast, making her cry out. He went lower and lower, making her wriggle. He kissed his way to her thighs, and she moaned, parted for him. He used his fingers and his tongue to make her buck and squeal. Finally, she lay there, spent, as he went back to his suitcase for the box of condoms.

He slid one on then drew her to the edge of the bed. He knelt, slid inside of her, and groaned. It took him some time, but soon her feet were up near his shoulders, her eyes on his. He thrust deeply within her, and felt himself release. He managed to get himself off her, stand, and stagger to the bathroom. He cleaned them both up with a washcloth, and then got them under the sheets. They slept, nestled into each other’s arms, exhausted from the trip.

They were awakened by the concierge at 3:45, with a discreet reminder to come down in fifteen minutes. They opened their cases, took a very fast shower, dried, and dressed. Bao braided her wet hair, she put on a little makeup. They made it down the elevator barely in time. They were escorted by a dapper young man named Pietro in black slacks and a white shirt with a wave of brown hair and green eyes. Pietro took them to one restaurant for coffee, another for antipasti of cheese and cured ham, another for truffles, then a romantic dinner of gorgeous gnocchi with pesto and fine wine for Nico, grape juice for Bao. Then he took them to the food market, then for gelato. They walked back, hand in hand, so full they nearly waddled. Pietro was finally silent after his flood of information, letting them drink in the gorgeous city.

“I will take you to the best restaurants in Tuscany tomorrow,” he said.

“We won’t be able to get on the plane to Venice in two days,” said Nico. “We’ll be over the weight limit.”

Pietro laughed. “Take a tour with Gia. She is my sister. She has a car, a little Fiat, so it will not kill your feet. See our gorgeous city the way we see it. She will take you back. You can take a nap.”

“An interlude,” said Nico, which made Bao laugh.

“An interlude,” agreed Pietro. “Then, I will pick you up, and take you to some beautiful places, take you to eat the best food, then you will be so happy, and go to Venice with love in your hearts for Tuscany.”

“I agree,” said Nico. “What time?”

“Eight o’clock,” said Pietro. “She will take you to breakfast, and then lunch. I will be there for dinner.”

“Eight o’clock,” agreed Bao. They parted at the hotel. Pietro kissed Bao’s hand, and walked away.

The concierge greeted them in the lobby. “You will take breakfast with Gia?” he asked.

Bao nodded. “He was very persuasive.”

“He is,” said the concierge. “He is my cousin. I am Roberto. Gia is also my cousin, of course.” He laughed. “Go, rest. You will sleep like the angels, no?”

“We will,” said Nico. And, they did, after another… interlude.

They filled up the claw-foot bathtub, and Nico washed his wife from head to foot, washed her hair, put conditioner in it, and let her soak. He padded naked into the bedroom, and while his wife read her book by candlelight, he spoke to the office, and caught up on emails.

He went out onto the patio, and took in the soft night. He went back in, fished his wife out, blow-dried her gorgeous blue-black hair, and led her back to bed. He took his time, took her from behind, and made her groan, twist, shout. He cleaned her up, and slid into the decadent sheets with her. He read from his cell phone to the baby about a fat panda, which made her smile, as she read from her own cell phone. They turned off the light, and slid into sleep.

Gia took them to a cafe that served mushroom quiches, tiny knots of bread that were to be dipped in melted chocolate, with slices of kiwi, and espresso.

“I am an art student,” said Gia. “Always with the paintbrushes. My brother says I will die of the fumes.” Bao and Nico laughed. “I will take you to Il Duomo after this, the famous cathedral. We must get in early to avoid the crowds, then to Uffizi Gallery, then to Ponte Vecchio, for some shopping and dining. I know the best little restaurant there. So tiny. But the best artisan bread, and ravioli.” She touched her fingers to her lips, and then spread them out. “Tomatoes from their own vines.”

“It sounds lovely,” said Bao. She finished her coffee and the last of the chocolate-dipped bread, and stood. “A quick restroom visit, and let’s go!”

“We’ll be right back,” said Nico, and he followed his wife.

Gia was right. They saw amazing architecture and art, ate gelato for a snack, and then had truly amazing pasta at the Ponte Vecchio. They did a little post-lunch shopping, and Nico bought Bao delicate silver earrings that shone in her ears in a tiny shop run by a grandmother in black, with deft fingers. Gia drove them back in her “carlet,” as Nico called it, and he tipped Gia. They locked the new earrings up in the safe as well.

They had another interlude, this one in the deep bathtub in a lot of hot water. Bao slid on top of Nico, and took her time with him. They splashed so much water on the floor that they had to reuse their towels to mop up the water. Bao put on her face moisturizer, and Nico put moisturizer all over her body. He took her to bed, and they had another discreet wake-up call.

Pietro took them for chocolates, then Florentine steaks, then affogato for Nico, ice cream perfect with the rich espresso, and a chocolate torte for Bao. Pietro took them on a romantic and winding path back to the hotel, and they thanked and tipped him. They were exhausted, and forgot to have an interlude before sleep.

They decided to take a tour bus to Venice. They had a lovely trip, stopping at piazzas for cheese, grapes, and grape juice. They saw the museum, the lush countryside, and the light that looked like gold. They prayed in ancient churches for the health and happiness of their family, and their baby. They had phone calls from giggly girls, eager to tell of their mountaineering, orienteering, and horse caretaking experiences. The calls were short to maximize cell phone life on both ends.

In Venice, they stayed in the ancient palace, the Hotel Palazzo Abadessa, right on the water, with a beautiful garden where birds sang. They ate a stunning breakfast of a spinach and cheese quiche with pine nuts and honey, fruit, croissant, and hot chocolate. Bao spent nearly forty-five minutes just walking through the public parts of the hotel, staring at the magnificent ceilings and artwork. She finally sat and accepted a cup of amazing hot chocolate.

She sat and sipped. “Go,” she said, waving her hand at Nico.

So, he strolled through the gardens, and called his mother. A hotel staffer brought him a cup of espresso to drink while he walked and spoke. Stella literally would not stop talking, about every single piece of sculpture she saw, the caress of chisel on naked marble, feeling what she wanted to sculpt enter her fingers and come out from her chisel, one strike at a time. He grinned, not remembering the last time he’d heard his mother express such naked joy.

When he went to find his wife, he found her sleeping in her chair, a jewel-toned throw over her, and a staffer hovering nearby. “Sir,” said the man. “I am Pietro. She is tired, with the bambino, no?” Nico answered him in Italian, and he arranged for Pietro to arrange for a guide (a cousin) and a gondolier (a brother-in-law) of the concierge’s for after lunch.

They had a quiet meal in the garden, of fruit, iced chocolate, and antipasti. Then, they did the same walking tour, with the lovely addition of a gondolier, and wove their way around the city to see the Piazza San Marco, St. Mark’s Basilica, the Doge’s Palace, and the bridges, statues, and many more beautiful things of Venice on a slow walk with an extremely knowledgeable guide.

Francesca took them to little nooks, showed them the best places to take pictures, sit in the sun, buy jewelry, and eat gelato. They prayed some more in churches that nearly made them cry with their beauty. They said goodbye to Francesca at a gorgeous restaurant, and had a lovely, quiet dinner of a light salad, fresh seafood in a delicate cream butter herb sauce, bread and olive oil, cracked black pepper, and wine for Nico, sparkling lemon water for Bao. Their gondolier took them to see a gorgeous sunset, and poled them to the hotel, singing romantic Italian opera on the way home. Nico tipped him generously.

They changed, then went back out and danced to a violinist in a piazza, the moon and stars overhead. Nico kissed his wife, and realized he had it all. Children, wife, so much work he literally could not keep up with it, profits from his work great enough to send his mother on a vacation of a lifetime, and to dance with his wife in the shifting breezes and moonlight of Venice. The violinist played the most romantic songs, and a young woman came up and sang in Italian, of love and joy, family and friends, and a joy for lives well lived. Nico left them a huge tip.

They stopped for pear and ginger cake with a bit of honey gelato, and passed by the same square on the way back to the hotel. Dancers were there, true dancers, their feet barely touching the ground. They turned, leaped, spun, and did gorgeous lifts. They stopped, mesmerized. Bao’s eyes glistened with wonder and joy in the moonlight.

Francesca slipped up next to them. “I hoped you could see them. They are retired dancers, and they come to dance the dance of love in the moonlight, for their great joy. They have four children, all daughters, two dancers, a painter, and a sculptor.” She laughed. “Not a boring accountant in the bunch.”

“Hey,” said Nico. “My friend Lily is an accountant, and she is definitely not boring. She rides a Harley and turns our clan patriarch into a pile of mush if he steps out of line on his accounts.”

Bao laughed. “Our Lily is no delicate flower.”

Francesca laughed as well, and handed out bottles of sparkling water. “To the not-boring.” They clinked bottles, and drank, and watched the dancers finish, to great applause.

They spent several romantic days wandering the city, with and without Francesca and Rubio, the gondolier. They went to Mass, and Nico got into a spirited discussion with several nuns about the best music to sing to move the masses. They ate salad, tagliatelle with gorgonzola, pear, and nuts, and wandered until they found a chocolatier. They danced, saw more wonders, and drank it all in with their eyes and stomachs. Bao took afternoon naps, and Nico spoke to his mother, often to the sound of her chipping away at marble.

He made love to his wife, first washing her in the bath, redolent with scented soap that smelled of a fresh ocean. He washed her hair, partially dried it, and braided it. He rubbed scented oil into her skin.

He laid her on her side, stroked her back, and slipped his fingers into her. She moaned, groaned, and came. He nibbled her shoulders, licked down her spine, and cupped her breasts and buttocks in his fingers. He made her come, again and again, and slipped into her from behind. He rocked back and forth, slowly taking her in, the fresh scent of the oil making him groan. He came, and brought back a towel to wipe them both off. He put oil on her skin and rubbed her belly, and talked to the baby, and read the baby stories more stories from his smartphone. That made Bao laugh, especially when he got to Green Eggs and Ham. He fell asleep, holding her, a hand on the baby’s belly, and he was content deep within himself.

Their interlude had to end. They had to pick up Stella in Rome, so they took a train back. They met his mother at the Coliseum. Stella’s hands were callused and there were tiny cuts on her hands. She showed him pictures of her sculptures, from tiny to small, to the bigger one still in progress. She had them all shipped back to Vegas. All were of the same male model.

“He’s scrumptious, like the model used for the Statue of David.” She laughed, low in her throat.

Nico knew that look in his mother’s eyes. “Did you have an… interlude with him?” She blushed prettily, from her hairline to her throat. Nico threw back his head and laughed. “You go, Mama,” he said. She swatted his arm playfully. There, in the spot of so much death, fighting, and competition, Nico felt at peace.

Bao said, “We only have half a day. Let’s enjoy Rome.”

They went to St. Peter’s Basilica, the Roman Forum, Trevi Fountain, and more. They had lunch at a small trattoria, and enjoyed pesto linguini with roma tomatoes, shrimp, mushrooms, rosemary, thyme, and artisan bread.

“Our last Italian lunch,” moaned Bao. “We’ve eaten like royalty.”

Stella grinned. “I’ve been sending recipes to Nantan and Mike. They’re going to do goat cheese and pasta pairings with sauces made from their amazing vegetables. Go kind of upscale, and serve it already done, or with the parts in a box for people who want to cook it themselves in less than thirty minutes. Pair it with some of their amazing artisan bread.”

“Tutto bene,” said Bao. “Very good.” Nico and Stella laughed. “What? Italy is rubbing off on me!”

They made it to the airport in plenty of time. They were given sparkling water for Bao and sparkling wine for Stella and Nico. They settled into their pods; sent long emails to the people back home about their trip, and uploaded pictures, dozed, watched movies, ate a cheese plate, then lemon fish on a bed of pasta, and fruit for dessert. They slept, and dreamed their way home.

Inner Warriors

Ivy and Callie decided a road trip was in order. The girls would be taught orienteering by the best. Rota was going to participate, take them on a small climb. The tribal elders would make camp, impart their wisdom.

“So, why the hell not?” asked Ivy. “Ace can handle the bar, and the kids are on vacay, no teaching for you.”

Callie sighed. “I am so sick of making pods. I am so happy we got the melamine manufacturer to license them. Making money hand over fist.”

“Making the dollars holla,” said Ivy, while packing. Callie found the song, and they danced to Destiny’s Child’s Independent Women and Gwen Stefani’s Hollaback Girl. “This is how I learned to spell ‘bananas,’” said Ivy. Callie doubled over laughing.

They packed the saddlebags full with clothes in one, with snacks and drinks in the other, in refrigerated bags. Gregory had already stolen their babies to sleep at Katya’s the night before. It was four in the morning. They rode the 15 up through Arizona, then switched to the 70 and drove through Fishlake National Forest. They rode all the way to Grand Junction, Colorado, stopping along the way to stretch their legs, and have drinks and snacks, at rest stops, and for tacos from drive-throughs.

They found an inn and slept a few hours, and woke up ready to roll, after a waffle house breakfast. They rode through the White River National Forest, and then met up with Arapaho friends just outside Denver. They rolled into Kansas, and passed herds of cows, fields of wheat, and tidy farmhouses with big red barns. They slept at an inn just outside the college town of Columbia, Missouri. They had to stop off at the St. Louis Arch, and ate breakfast just past the state line in Illinois. They ate a huge dinner in Columbus, Ohio, and decided to sleep at an inn near Wheeling, Pennsylvania. They then arrived at New York.

They stayed at the Hotel Plaza Athenee in Manhattan, with its old world charm. Ivy went out into the night as Callie had a massage at the spa. The streets boomed with noise, and vibrated with the sounds of people and car horns. Callie texted Ivy to wander, as she’d decided to have a Caesar salad wrap, and iced chocolate, and to be waited on hand and foot.

So Ivy drank in the city. She had a slice of Italian sausage pizza and a Coke. She sang with a busker playing the guitar, When We Were Young and a very funky Big Yellow Taxi. She helped him draw in the dollars, bumped fists, and walked on. She took a train to Queens and banged her head to some rock. The days on the road faded away, the problems of having babies attached to your hip, complete sentences, attempting to learn Mandarin, her efforts to keep her wild child from destroying her relationship with her sisters. The dance, the noise, the thumping ran through her body and the wail of a guitar in her ears blew it all away, like smoke. The band blasted out metal, banged their heads, long hair flopping all over. Ivy jumped, twirled, danced, and sang.

After the set, the band called her over. “Hey, rock chick,” said the drummer, twirling his sticks in his hands. “You bang well.”

“I should. I own a club called Dirty Rock in…”

“Vegas!” shouted the drummer. “You’re Ivy! Heard about you from the Killers. They played here one night.”

“Had fun with them,” said Ivy. “They only played one night at the club. They had much bigger fish to fry.”

“Heard Imagine Dragons played at your club, too,” said the drummer, banging out a drum set with his fist on his leg. He pointed with his sticks, dragging her with him to the green room.

“Same thing, only one night,” said Ivy.

“I’m Donnie,” said the drummer. “Do something with us. Radioactive is the big one, Imagine Dragons, and the Killers’ Janie Was a Friend of Mine or I’m the Man.” He grinned. “My Chemical Romance’s Black Parade.”

Ivy nodded. “Radioactive and Black Parade. If you want to go slow. Welcome to the Jungle and Judas Priest’s Firepower if you wanna light up the crowd.”

“Who dis chick?” asked the singer, in between gulps of water.

“This be Ivy, she has da club in Vegas,” said the bassist. “Dirty Rock. Donnie done asked her ta sing a bit o’ a set wif us.”

Their faces were different, Donnie with his wide face and piercing green eyes, brown hair to his waist; the lead singer with saffron-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a Scandinavian accent. And the bassist, with blue-black skin and black eyes, and wavy, kinky hair that went all over. The shred guitarist was going for the Slash look, with olive skin and black hair to his shoulders, top hat on his head. They all wore the same black shirts and torn black jeans.

“We do it,” said the shred guitarist. “I’m Shred, you met Donnie, our drummer, Dace here can scream with the best of them. Frankie does bass, and he’s fucking awesome.”

“I heard,” said Ivy. “I’ll sing for the fun, that’s all. You wanna book with me, you got some downtime, just come to Vegas, I’ll give you sets in between my regular band, or maybe have them come in earlier. You shred like you did tonight, you’ll be at the Hard Rock, too, splitting your time.”

“Donnie,” said Frankie. “I love ya, man.” He gave the man a bear hug, making everyone else laugh.

“Dark Power!” said Shred, and they all raised their fists and drumsticks.

They snacked and waited until the other band was finished, a death metal band. They went back onstage and mixed it up, with their songs and the ones with Ivy. The audience loved it. The metalheads ate it up, and Ivy screamed out lyrics, danced, and had an enormous amount of fun. They closed the place down, and Ivy took a train back to her sleeping wife, the city singing in her bones.

Ivy woke up two hours later with her wife’s fingers sliding over her skin. Callie kissed her, drank deep. “You taste like whiskey, smoke, and sex,” Callie said.

Ivy laughed deep in her throat. “And you want…”

“Sex,” said Callie.

“If I must,” said Ivy, making Callie laugh into her mouth.

Callie mounted her wife, pulled off the oversized Dark Power T-shirt the bandmates had given her, ripped off her wife’s panties, and kissed her way from Ivy’s neck to her crotch. Ivy arched her back, let out a low groan. Callie got her tongue in between Ivy’s thighs, and pushed her way with her fingers deep inside. Ivy groaned, and came in great shuddering gasps. Ivy returned the favor, with lips and teeth, and tongue, making Callie put a pillow over her own face to stifle her screams. Ivy screamed, low, as Callie slid her fingers into Ivy and made her come again.

Callie grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned up Ivy, then herself. Then, they went back to sleep, in a tangle of arms and legs, braided hair spread out over the pillows.

Callie woke up, took a shower, and ate a huge meal of French-style tapas —country bread drizzled with oil and scrambled eggs, prosciutto, and parmesan cheese. She also drank cappuccino that coiled the hair on her head.

She hit up the Cloisters for medieval art, the National Museum of the American Indian, and the Smithsonian Design Museum. She ate a slice of the best deep-dish Italian sausage pizza she’d ever had, and washed it down with a Coke. Museum-ed out, she went to Central Park and just wandered around. She got to the Statue of Liberty, and then made it back to the hotel.

Callie found a little Italian restaurant, and ate a dinner of romano cheese and Italian sausage-stuffed tortellini with pesto, wine, and gorgeous Italian bread. Ivy stumbled into the restaurant, in black leather from head to toe. She wore sunglasses in the restaurant. She slid her plate over to her wife, and handed Ivy her fork. Ivy took a bite and groaned.

“My god,” she said. “That’s the best pasta ever.” Callie called over the server, and ordered another. She had to; it was gone almost before she was finished ordering.

“Rock n’ roll night,” said Callie. “I took a little nap. Ready to follow where you lead.” She grinned as Ivy finished the wine, and gestured for another bottle. “I foresee… maybe some singing, perhaps?”

“Last night,” said Ivy, gulping water. Callie ordered another carafe. “It was an awesome band called Dark Power.” The staff hurried over with more wine, bread, an appetizer of mushrooms stuffed with shrimp and garlic, and more tortellini. Ivy ate as if she’d never eaten before.

“And this is why I love you,” said Callie. “Old and new, better and best.” She grinned. “I need a rock n’ roll makeover.”

“Six blocks over,” said Ivy.

“You’re kidding,” said Callie, diving into her new plate of food.

“I shit you not,” said Ivy. “Including the glitter makeup, and the fantastic boots.” She put one up on a chair. The black boots had a low heel, and glittered with a sparkling light.

“I want,” said Callie, stroking the boots.

“Can have,” said Ivy. She ate some more food with her fingers, like Damia used to do before she developed table manners.

“Slow down,” said Callie. “I swear the food won’t run off.”

Ivy grinned, and Callie found her heart smashing itself against her wild wife’s spirit. “I will try to behave better in public,” she said.

“Wild thing,” sang Callie.

“You make my heart sing,” sang Ivy.

“You make everything… groovy,” they sang together.

Callie paid the bill, and Ivy walked Callie to the “rock chick store,” a store that sold leather goods, and had a tattoo parlor on one side, and a rock makeup artist on the other. Callie had a lighter wallet afterward, but looked absolutely slamming in artfully ripped glittery black jeans, a black bustier, and a leather jacket.

They went on a tour of clubs, from smoky jazz to rock, to headbanging. Ivy got to get in on a few sets; Dark Power had spread the word about a Vegas rock club owner making the rounds.

Ivy sang everything she could. She headbanged with the best of them, and loved jumping and howling, screaming and singing. Ivy sang gently, calmly, when the band went for a break, Patience, stealing a guitar. Callie came up for the “walking the streets” part, singing the part on her own.

Then, a mess of women with their hair braided on one side came up, instruments in hand, and they did Walk this Way and Whole Lotta Love. Callie sat on a stool and shook the tambourine when they went into Hazy Shade of Winter, followed by Zombie. Then, they played more brilliance, making Callie and Ivy smile profusely. They called themselves the Inner Warriors, and the audience loved everything they did.

They all went out to breakfast. Ivy, Callie, and the New York Valkyries. They exchanged rock stories, stories of the road, and their favorite Harley stories. The one with red ringlet hair was Aldrnari, Fire, the lead guitarist. Fyrst, or first, was the main singer, with a mass of black curls and coffee-colored skin. Logi, Ablaze, was the lead singer, also with fire-red hair, it was tinged with gold at the ends. Fyrst, or Desire, was the violinist and bass guitarist.

“Hear you can get us into your club,” said Fyrst, when all the coffee, bacon, eggs scrambled with cheese, sausage, and fat biscuits were gone.

“Also hear you have warriors to transport to Las Vegas,” said Logi.

“We do,” said Ivy. “We’ve got two more days here, and then we pick them up. One in Albany, one in Allentown, one in Columbus, two in St. Louis, one in Oklahoma City, two in Denver. We’ve got the days and times down. Just gotta do a meet.”

“Got tomorrow booked,” said Fyrst. “Then, we ride.”

They did a lot of high-fiving, and they all went back to their places and spaces. Callie and Ivy crashed like logs in their hotel, and didn’t awaken until the afternoon. They ate slices of pizza and drank Cokes. They went to the New York Botanical Garden and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They scored tickets to Wicked, and ate in Chinatown first.

After the show, they met up with the Valkyries, and sang, but they didn’t close down the night again. Instead, they walked the streets, ate hot dogs, hit up more clubs, and ended up near the hotel at three a.m., an early hour for Ivy. They danced in a little jazz joint until four, nearby, and then they headed up for bed.

Their lovemaking was slow, as it had been before babies had invaded their lives and beds, before little girls would rush in their bedroom, singing some snatches of song or demanding to be taken somewhere. Ivy stroked every part of Callie, and Callie did the same. Ivy found ice in the tiny refrigerator, and stroked it over Callie.

Callie screamed, stole the ice, and threw it into the bathroom. “Crazy bitch!” said Callie.

“Absolutely,” said Ivy. “And that’s why you love me.” She dragged Callie back to the bed. Ivy was all fingers and kisses, strokes and fun. They laughed, and took their time.

Somehow they ended up in the bathtub, Ivy on the bottom, Callie slowly and luxuriously kissing her. “We do have to sleep sometime,” Callie said.

“I doubt that,” said Ivy. She sucked Callie’s earlobe.

“Oh my god,” said Callie.

“See?” said Ivy. “You sleep; you miss what I can do.”

“I don’t have time to miss it,” said Callie. “You have your fingers everywhere.”

Ivy laughed. “Only when we don’t have twenty-seven kids in the house.”

“When was the last time we had silence in the house?” asked Callie.

“Right now,” said Ivy. “When we’re not there.”

“Still have the dogsitter come in.”

“So, dog breathing,” said Ivy.

“Oh my god,” said Callie, as Ivy’s hand slipped under the water, and stroked her. “Stop that... never.”

They half-drowned as Ivy brought Callie to the edge and over, again and again.

Callie finally drained the tub. “Sleep,” she said.

“Never,” said Ivy.

They finally slipped into sleep at dawn. They slept into the afternoon, and Callie managed to reach the hotel phone with her fingers to call for room service. They dined on pesto gnocchi and breadsticks, and drank champagne. They spent some time in Central Park, and wandered the streets, looking for things to do and see. They had a wonderful time, wandering in and out of stores, and they ate bar food and watched a game in a sports bar. They ate ice cream cake at a sweet shop, and ran back to the hotel, laughing.

In the morning, they met the ladies before the tunnel in a parking lot in the dark. They made good time, and ate breakfast at the break of dawn somewhere in Pennsylvania. They picked up Staff Sergeant “Trace” Phillips in Albany, a female with a brand-new 3D printed arm. She had a short haircut and had obviously forgotten how to sleep. She got on behind Callie. They picked up Lieutenant “Fire” Ruben, a woman with fire-red hair and a face pinched from a lack of food. She hopped on behind Aldrnari, arranged her blade legs, Ivy handed Fire a breakfast bar, and they were gone.

The black-haired Major “Radium” Mille chose to ride behind Logi when they hit Columbus. Her scars went down the side of her face and all the way into her neck. They went to a restaurant and fed them steaks, hamburgers, and Cokes. Fire’s hands shook as she ate. They shared rooms at a hotel, and they were there to wake the women up when the screaming started.

They took off before dawn, and picked up Major “Rayne” Reynaldo. She had a mass of brown curls tied back, a wide face, and two artificial hands. They got everyone fed, and then they put Rayne on Fyrst’s Harley and picked up Specialist “Desert” Darden. The woman had a stump, with no artificial hand yet. Ivy handed over the box they’d picked up at a delivery place, and showed the woman how to put on and use her new arm. They made sure she’d eaten, and she wanted to be on Ivy’s bike. They made it past Kansas City before they had to get sleep.

Fyrst got them all awake, and they headed out before dawn to find Specialist “Champ” Chardones just outside Oklahoma City. She had her blue-black hair in twists, and she was all in black, ready to ride. She acted like she’d always had a blade leg.

They made it to Denver, despite plenty of stops to keep everyone fed. They all wanted to meet the newcomers. Sergeant “Chick” Ralachares was there, a beauty with curves and a very obvious limp, a cane, and a hard face from physical pain. They went to find Specialist “Queenie” Quinn, a tiny woman with charcoal skin and eyes and black hair with crimson tips at a rest stop outside Denver. She rode with Callie.

They flowed out, over the mountains. The women were terrified, excited, breathing deeply of aspens and new opportunities. They bedded down for the night under tents, letting the night take the screams of those who couldn’t sleep without revisiting their pasts. They took turns stoking the fire, staying up with the ones who couldn’t sleep, keeping Fire fed on hot dogs and soup. They rode out to Vegas, in the dawn of a new day.

They arrived in Vegas at the new apartment house to find a situation in turmoil. There were two, three-bedrooms available, and both Lily and Tito had confirmed. But, it seemed that the previous occupants of one of the apartments were a herd of drunken college boys. They left holes in the walls; a floor caked with grime, and stole some of the appliances. The landlord dragged his heels on either getting an estimate or fixing the apartment. Bannon was apprised of the situation, and so he bought the apartment complex.

Tito and a herd of Wolfpack were busy fixing the apartment and getting it clean. The previous landlord, his idiot of an apartment manager, and a succession of drunken, thieving maintenance men had left the place in ill repair. They had a punch list for the current apartment, but the baby in 303 needed working electricity to heat bottles, and the old man in 211 needed a working air conditioner. It was a money pit, but could be a really good place if repaired. Tito was covering Nico’s spot as well, while he was in Italy, and he and his people were spread way too thin. The arrival of shell-shocked future tenants wasn’t good. The arrival of a pride of Valkyries —priceless.

Callie ran the bike home and came back with a pile of jeans and T-shirts for dirty work, two toolboxes, cleaning supplies, and drinks and snacks in a cooler. The ladies put booties over their work boots, and attacked the problems. The holes were meshed, mudded, and filled. The house was cleaned from top to bottom. Valkyries paired with Tito’s people and Wolfpack, putting at least three people on each job.

Tito was then free to run from top to bottom, knocking on doors, making a punch list. He was busier than a person with twelve small children, but he couldn’t leave these people without air conditioning or with a leaking toilet. He called the building inspector, the elevator repairperson, the heating and cooling expert, and the roofer. Bannon’s deep pockets were paying for it. The maintenance would come first, then repainting, putting in all new lights, and a much better security system.

The good news was that one of the current Wolfpack who was ready to move out could do the maintenance as a part-time job in exchange for the room. The apartment was spacious; two of them could stay. He almost texted Henry, until he remembered the man was out in the desert with horses and little girls. Besides, they could make a determination themselves. He took two Valkyries with him to kick out the old manager; he’d already been told he was fired when Bannon bought the property the day before. But, he was outright refusing to move.

Tito knocked on the door. The manager didn’t answer. Tito pounded, and said, “It’s the new owners.”

“Let me,” said Fyrst. “You were planning to replace the lock on the door?”

“Part of the punch list,” said Tito. “They’re a joke. Just don’t shatter the…”

Fyrst kicked in the door. A man in faded jeans, a work shirt, and tennis shoes was in the kitchen. He had a flabby body, skin peeking out from under the shirt, a wide face, and a scraggly brown beard and uncombed brown hair on his head. It took them all of a second to see that he was trying to remove the hookups to the oven. Fyrst was next to him in a second. She wrinkled her nose at the stench. There was sweat, alcohol, and now fear.

“Stealing the appliances?” she said. “I bet you helped the other tenants steal theirs. For a fee.” She grinned at his sickly smile.

“I dinna…” he said. “I…”

“Where are your packing boxes?” Fyrst said. “I see you have only packed the built-in microwave.” She grinned at him. “Go in your room. Now. Pack your things. You’re getting arrested, or you’re packed and gone in twenty-three minutes.” She grinned. “Understand?”

He stared, brown eyes swimming. “You can’t do that. I have thirty days.”

Tito snapped pictures with his cell phone of the soon-to-be-stolen microwave, the tools, and the attempt to steal the oven. “We know several people on the police force. I can have someone from Robbery-Homicide here in ten minutes.” He grinned. “Your choice.”

Logi leaned on the ruined door. “Move,” she said, her voice low, a growl.

“Move,” said Fyrst. She grinned, and used her Bronx accent on him. “From where we’re from, we’d be measuring you for cement shoes.”

“You’re Mob?” squeaked the disheveled man.

“What do you think?” asked Logi, using the same accent. “What part of ‘move’ confuses you? Do you understand English?”

Fyrst took out one of her boot knives, and cleaned under her fingernails. “I’ll…” stammered the man. He turned, and shuffled off toward his bedroom.

“Faster,” said Fyrst. “We have work to do, all the work you didn’t do.”

The man shuffled over. Tito took photos of him. “For the mug shot,” he said. The man groaned, and shuffled toward his bedroom. Tito pulled out his phone. “Yeah, Hy. Bring down the boxes to the manager’s apartment on the first floor and some packing tape. Thanks.” He then called April. “Who needs a house? We’ve got an apartment manager position, a lot of work in the beginning, with lots of help. One or two. There’s a den that can be lopped off into a bedroom, or share, if you want two instead.”

“I’ll find out,” said April. “We need the damn room.” She hung up.

“Hey,” said the man, a pile of dirty clothes in his hands. “You movin’ someone in…”

“Hurry,” said Fyrst. She grinned, and made as if to throw her knife at him. The little, soft man squeaked, and ran back in.

“What’s his name, anyway?” asked Logi, in the strong Bronx accent Fyrst had affected.

“Daniel Jenkins. Known as Muff,” said Tito.

“Muff,” said Fyrst, and both women laughed.

The boxes arrived, and Hy started putting the appliances back where they belonged and hooking them back up. The stacking washer and dryer had been unhooked and pulled out of the linen-type closet where they should be housed. Fyrst helped Hy slide things where they belonged; while Logi stood over Muff and pointed at things he should pack; now using her own boot knife.

“What about the furniture?” asked Muff, as he struggled to move his boxes and a duffel bag full of clinking bottles of booze to the door.

Tito glared at the man. “This was a furnished apartment. Take your filthy things and get the fuck out.”

Hy went upstairs, and came back down with a flatbed wheeled mover. Logi stood over him, and watched as Muff struggled to load his boxes. “A little help?” Muff gasped.

Logi gave him a flat stare. “Thieves don’t get help.” She cleaned out under her fingernails. “Hurry. Your time is almost up.”

Muff struggled to get everything, right down to the meager contents of the cabinets. Everyone except Hy walked Muff to his car, an ancient hatchback. They waited in the heat while Muff struggled to load it. Tito took a picture of the license plate, and said, “Your car ends up back here, it’s getting towed. Hand over your keys.”

Logi came up behind Muff, put her knife back in its sheath, and slid on her gloves. “I’ll pat him down,” she said. Muff glared, and handed over the key ring. “And the skeleton key.”

“Wha…?” asked Muff, twitching his hand in front of his right pocket. Logi had the key out of his pocket and handed it to Tito before Muff had time to cry out.

“Now go,” said Logi. “Before we get a baseball bat and smash your pathetic excuse for a vehicle.” She reached in through his open window, fished a liquor bottle out of the duffel bag of liquor, twisted off the lid, and poured it out. She threw the glass bottle into the recycling bin. Muff squeaked, jumped into his car, turned it on, and in a cloud of belching fumes, he left.

“More cleaning,” said Logi. “Great.”

“I foresee the ordering of pizza,” said Fyrst.

“And one hell of a long night,” said Logi.

“Long nights are our specialty,” said Fyrst. They laughed, and went back to put the manager’s apartment to rights.

They went to the convenience store nearby, bought plastic gloves, trash bags, more cleaning supplies, and drinks and snacks. They blasted their headphones, threw everything in the trash that wasn’t furniture, and deep-cleaned everything else as Hy ran around, completing a punch list on what needed to be done.

They ordered a deep-dish with Italian sausage, olive, and bacon, and ate like pigs on the newly-cleaned counter. Hy took the leftover pizza upstairs for the other workers.

“Pretty good place,” said Logi. “Much cheaper here. I understand the rents are a lot cheaper than the Big Apple. Dirty Rock and Hard Rock are here. Lots of Valkyries.”

Fyrst stroked Logi’s gorgeous fire-red hair and its golden tips. “You want to get out of New York?”

“We’ve talked about it,” said Logi. “This is hot, fun, lots of work to do. Apartments to look after, warriors that need us because they wake up screaming every night.” She grinned, and waved a hand. “I’m tired of being a bike courier.”

“So, we help here, then talk.”

“Agreed,” said Logi. “Now, we need a new lock for this door.”

“No,” said Fyrst. “New door, new hinges, new lock. Window locks, and we check every single bar and the fast-release on them.”

“Let’s do this,” said Logi. Logi called upstairs to put the new entry on the punch list, and within the hour, they had all the locks checked, a new door, and window locks.

Logi took everyone out to the local barbecue joint. They ate mechanically, exhausted from the ride, then did all the work cleaning and fixing things.

“I talked to Tito. Rent is doable, one open. Pretty good size. Jobs are good here, and Tito obviously needs help. Lots of Valkyries here, and we can play what we want. There are more places to play in New York, but this can get us new fans. Also, here, no parking fees for our Harleys.” That was a huge problem in New York.

“Have to quit our jobs,” said Fyrst. “Move here. Start over. No seasons, except fucking hot... and chilly wind in winter. Learn to work on our Harleys, and help with the Soldier Pack. Maybe work toward buying our own apartment house to put these soldiers in. Help them move into their new places when they disperse.”

“Band stays together. We all do this, or not,” said Fyrst. They passed the bag, and all the beads were gold. A “no” vote would have been black. “We move,” she said. They cheered, and went to find a hotel.

The Valkyries installed all the pods, in their apartment and in the soldiers’ three-bedroom. Leafort moved in, to the little manager’s apartment, along with Jane, a perky Wyandot that could fix nearly anything with a wrench. Tito temporarily rented the Valkyries another apartment in the same building, and the new Valkyries worked to benefit all —until Tito bought a farmhouse with a barn, both in good repair, on a road that went nowhere. Tito got it up to code with the electrical, plumbing, and air conditioning, and a new roof to the house, then the Valkyries bought the house from Tito, freeing his people for other jobs.

A mass of workers in braids descended on the house, ready to paint, put in furniture, and convert the barn into a garage, complete with apartments above, which they hired Tito back to finish. The new Valkyries moved in, and Alvitr from Pahrump came back to Vegas and moved in over the barn, to the delight of her parents, Rota and Skuld. Bonnie and Ghost were delighted for their new recruits to work in the barn; they’d doubled up while that was going on, and space had been scarce.

The house became the Valkyries House, or Rock House. Thrash, metal, and rock could be heard from noon until the wee hours of the morning, but there were no neighbors to complain, just soldiers who needed a skill and a home. They loved the music, too.

Soldiers All

“Ms. Ruben,” said Alvitr, at the new house. “Your daughter, Fire, she slept in her new bed just fine, with her own light, and shelf, and an enclosed space.”

She failed to mention that Fire slept with a Taser under her pillow. They’d locked up the guns, fearing suicide, and told the new Soldier Pack it was for child safety. Alvitr had come up, and brought over Freya, Chance, and Rhodes, to make the story stick. Chance and Rhodes were acting out campaigns with Trace and Radium, as the rest of the women made dinner.

“And is she eating?” asked Ms. Ruben, her face a pinched mass of worry. “She says the food, even her favorites, even in small bites, taste like ash to her.” Ms. Ruben’s tears stood out in her dark eyes. “And call me Donna.”

“Donna,” said Alvitr. “That’s a common response from battle.”

Fire hadn’t lost limbs. She’d been on perimeter duty when the tent with her team was hit by a missile. She had been slowly starving herself to death, tasting the ashes of her friends burned to death in front of her in a firestorm.

“We have her on meal replacement shakes,” said Alvitr. “And protein shakes, too.” She grinned. “She has to have one every few hours.” She didn’t add that Fyrst, one of the New York Valkyries, simply heckled Fire in an obnoxious Bronx accent until the woman drank.

“And she drinks them?” asked Donna.

“Every sip,” said Alvitr. “Now, if you will excuse me, we have lunch. She has to eat two carrots with this meal, and I don’t want to miss it.”

“Good,” said Donna, her voice shaky with tears. “Good.”

“Have a good day,” said Alvitr, and touched her ear to cut the call. She’d been in earlier that summer, and had shadowed Wraith. She knew how to run a unit. She also had her mother, and a mess of New York Valkyries to rely on.

Alvitr strode into the kitchen like she owned it. “Let’s eat, and then we’ve got parts of a Harley, by model. That’ll take a while, because there’s lots of new models. Then, we start our first builds. I’ve got a source, so we have three to take apart, and three to unbox.”

She stood down at the end of the table. Alvitr sang to Freya, praise for the bounty, and they sat and ate fresh wheat bread, salad, potatoes, carrots in brown sugar, and grilled chicken. Alvitr diced her chicken, carrots, and potatoes and put them on her salad, with curls of cheese. The others did the same.

“Drink your shake,” she said to Fire. Fire did, mechanically. She also ate the two carrot slices.

“Sounds like we’re going to be super-busy,” said Rysa. Her cane leaned against the table.

“At least it’s not cleaning,” said Chick. “I can’t lift my arms over my head.”

“We’ve got a good clean house,” said Champ. “We work hard today, and learn something. Better than staring at the damn television.”

“Oo rah,” said Trace.

“Oo rah,” said the others.

“Let’s talk cleaning duties,” said Rayne. “Make a chart.”

“Chore chart,” said Queenie. “I’ll take KP duty.”

“We rotate,” said Trace. “’Cept if we find someone can’t boil water, no cooking. Change to cleanup.”

“I can make ramen noodles,” offered Chick. Everyone laughed.

They cleaned up, filled up the dishwasher, and filed out to the barn, Chance and Rhodes just as interested as the ex-soldiers. Alvitr and Freya took turns explaining the parts of the bikes, with diagrams of the new models, as well as of the three-wheeler, the Fat Boy, and the Low Rider to be assembled, plus the three smashed-up Harleys to be disassembled and reassembled —a touring bike and two off-roaders.

They took out the three to-be-assembled bikes and laid the parts out on the three of the six tables along the back of the barn. They also went over the three to be chopped up, with Alvitr and Freya showing the damage, what needed removal, and what still worked. They had a snack-and-shake break of veggies and protein shakes in a rainbow of flavors, from vanilla to chocolate mint. Then, they went over their tools, put on their gloves, and started work. It was deafening, with the fans blowing, the rock blaring, and the instructors instructing.

They all went back, took turns in the shower, and grilled up steaks and chicken in the backyard. The rock gods put the soldiers on their bikes, and ran them back to their apartment. They draped themselves over the comfortable couches and chairs, chatted, watched silly television, and those that could sleep, went to sleep.

Then the screams came from the nightmares. Queenie rotated, in charge of waking up the ones with nightmares, making them touch the walls, or look at the time on their cell phones. She handed out warm cocoa and talked each one to sleep. They let her sleep in, and woke her for breakfast sandwiches.

They rode to the barn again. This time, they were quick with their gloves, but still uncertain with their tools. Alvitr and Freya circulated, corrected them, walked them through each step. Freya disassembled the dead bikes, laid the working parts out on the table behind the horse holding up the bikes, and showed them which parts needed to be ordered. Alvitr worked on the Fat Boy.

They had pulled pork sandwiches for lunch, with Cokes and fries. Fire ate a quarter of a sandwich and two fries, along with her protein shake and a Coke. Her face looked less terrifyingly hollow.

The rock gods awoke from their morning nap, and played in the barn’s loft, banging out tunes and working on choices for song sets while the others worked below. The thump of the drums, thrum of the bass, wail of the lead guitar, and screaming lyrics made sense to the Soldier Pack, and they often sang along.

They took farmhouse showers since there were two bathrooms there, their change of clothes in their packs, and they took turns dicing veggies and cooking up cheesy grits, shrimp, bacon, and eggs, and they ate a New Orleans-style breakfast for dinner, with hot sauce for anyone who wanted it. Fire took a liking to shrimp cheese grits, and ate half a bowl.

They laughed, sang their way home, did whatever cleaning was needed, and Champ had night watch. There were only two nightmares, and Champ figured out the caramel cocoa was better for getting people back to sleep. She didn’t sleep in much, and set the table for breakfast, with breakfast burritos with eggs, cheese, and sausage.

Bannon’s people delivered a used blue van, clean and in working order, and Queenie drove them to the barn, allowing the rock gods to sleep in after a late night playing at Dirty Rock. They headed out to the barn, and had gloves on, tools out, and fans running by the time Alvitr, Freya, Chance, and Rhodes were out. Alvitr sang a song to Odin, and began work. They turned on the dirtiest rock, full of insinuations, from AC/DC’s Big Balls to Aerosmith’s Walk This Way. They blasted the music, and the motorcycles began to take shape under their industrious hands.

They ate lunch outside, under a portico, on brand-new picnic tables covered by umbrellas Freya had set up the night before. They had grilled corn, salad, potato salad, grilled shrimp, fresh peaches baked into little pies, and huge pitchers of lemonade iced tea. The rock ‘n’ roll contingent came out, drawn by the food, and they intermixed with the Soldier Pack.

They ended up taking time after lunch and cleanup for an impromptu volleyball game on the net Freya had ordered. Freya taught the girls their afternoon fighting lesson, and the soldiers made a ring. The Valkyries sparred, and the soldiers watched closely then waded in. By the time they were done, they were covered with sand, bruised, and grinning from ear to ear. Fire wasn’t allowed to participate until she got her weight back up, but she watched closely.

They blew the sand off with the fans, and went in to work some more. The band climbed up to their loft, and blasted out some of the songs from AC/DC’s Black Ice album, and some Bad Company and Aerosmith, sure to make Ivy dance. Below them, the soldiers dinged their knuckles, taught Chance and Rhodes some dirty language in several languages they didn’t know, and laughed when the girls started bickering in Latin over who knew more about what. The girls were banished to the loft to learn how to bang out a rhythm and sing some songs. They discovered Chance had a natural sense of rhythm, and Rhodes was pretty good, too.

“Just great,” complained Freya. “Looks like I’m investing in some soundproofing. With two sets of drums, the neighbors will get nasty if I don’t.” She sighed. “Constraints,” she said. “Bob explained the concept to Rhodes, and giving up my office is a small price to pay to get all that energy out of them.”

“Better it not go to drugs,” said Desert. “Or things that will get them killed.” She held up her artificial hand. She was still learning not to drop things on her foot; her steel-toed boots had kept her from broken toes.

“Word,” said Freya. “Tighten that. Yeah. Now, let’s see about the electrical system.” Suddenly, six pairs of eyes were on her.

Alvitr grinned. “I’ve been abandoned.” She said, “Ladies, go watch Freya. She can hook those things up faster than I can.” The three with her went over to watch the electrical system be installed and tested. Rhodes and Chance climbed down the ladder, and watched as well.

They cleaned up after a very hot day, and had a simple chicken Caesar salad, garlic bread, and Cokes. To everyone’s astonishment, Fire finished a small version of the salad and two pieces of garlic bread.

“What?” she said. “I want to spar too.”

“You guys should come to Dirty Rock tonight,” said Fyrst. “We’re gonna have a good set.”

“Let’s go, but agree to no drinking, just watch, and dance, and head home right after the set,” said Desert. “We’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Specialist’s right,” said Radium. “We’ve got to get those bikes out. We get ‘em sold, we get paid.”

“Then we can’t go out,” said Chick.

“We’ll front you,” said Aldrnari. “We’ve got a tab, get you some spiced apple juices in the beer bottles, and all the bar food you can eat.”

“Okay,” said Fire. Everyone stared at her. “What?” she said. “I like bar food.”

Chance and Rhodes narrowed their eyes. “We can’t go,” complained Chance.

“You can if you’re in the band,” said Logi. “And, you can only stay for the set, and you’ll have to eat elsewhere.”

“We’ll have Sonic afterward,” said Freya. “But, this is risky. Your adoptions haven’t gone through.”

“Well, fuck a duck,” said Rhodes, making everyone laugh. “What?” said Rhodes. “We can’t risk being separated from our mom.”

“Just the phrasing’s a Maryland thing,” said Aldrnari.

“Had a group ride through from Maryland, raising money to adopt a kid into their group,” said Freya. “The girl needed artificial limbs and a therapy dog for anxiety. They raised the money, paid Sigrun for her printed arms, and swung down to Arizona to pick up the cocker spaniel from Ace’s brother Kieran and his friend, Pavel. Both boys are midway through animal husbandry and business degrees, and already have their therapy dog certifications.”

“Ace is Nighthawks,” said Alvitr. “We owe them big. They started the Soldier Pack and my pack, the Wolfpack.”

“Therapy dog?” asked Trace.

“With anxiety dogs, they kinda lay on the person, or with bigger dogs, the kid lays on the dog. There’s dogs that can signal when a kid is having a seizure, help kids with autism to talk,” said Alvitr. “Our Damia, she’s on a farm a lot farther out, bonded to horses, and now she talks, although she’s autistic. She even went on a road trip once.”

“Well, fuck, that’s awesome,” said Trace. “How can we get certified to do that?”

Alvitr raked her eyes around the table, determining their seriousness. “I’ll get Bannon to see if they let dogs in your building. If so, we can look into it. Get you some bikes built, so you can take a road trip to Arizona to see the operation. They do it out of a hoity-toity school up there. The students run the business, but all six of the initial investors graduated. Two of them went elsewhere for college, but two live nearby, and Pavel and Keiran live on campus because the dogs love it there. They take on specific breeds from societies that rescue them from shelters, and some rescued mutts too.”

She sent a text, and the women talked about their day, the sparring, and going out.

She got a text back. “Ladies, we can meet Kieran and Pavel in thirty minutes.”

“We’ll clean up,” said Logi. “We’ve never eaten better in our lives.”

“Go,” said Fyrst. They wolfed down their last bites, chugged their drinks, and headed to their bikes and the van. Freya followed on her Harley, Chance behind her, with Rhodes in the sidecar.

They arrived at a cookie-cutter home of white stucco. They parked around the corner at a convenience store, and met Keiran and Pavel there with a red van, with “Desert Therapy Dogs” on the side. Two dogs were crated in the back, a golden retriever named Pip and a cocker spaniel named Belle. Pavel made sure the dogs had water, and walked each one, one at a time, to relieve themselves before meeting their new family.

“I called ahead,” said Kieran. “The girl, Rica, has anxiety disorder, and the boy, Troy, is autistic.” He sighed. “You can’t all push in there. We can look in the back window, so you don’t scare the kids by too many people. The mom, Teddi, gets that you are considering doing this.”

“They scared of us because of this?” asked Desert, holding up her artificial hand.

“No, their sister, Becca, is the same as you,” said Keiran. “She came with her own dog, a little black mutt named Bitty. Lovely dog, and gets along with other dogs. “We are just too many for them.” He looked at Freya, Rhodes, and Chance. “I can take you guys,” he said. “And two of you, in with me.”

“Trace,” said Alvitr. “Who else?”

Chance stepped forward. “I want to learn the bikes first, but I’ll help Trace do whatever she wants.” They bumped fists.

“Let’s go,” said Keiran. They followed, walking, as Keiran and Pavel drove the van.

The kids spilled out, a boy in a blue shirt and shorts, who looked at the ground. He had dark skin and pale blue eyes. The girl had brown wavy hair, olive skin, and was wearing a red and white soccer uniform. She stared at the van, and began jumping up and down. Their mother Teddi, was a woman with coffee-colored skin, wide brown eyes, and a wide smile. She was dressed in jeans and a Moms Rock, blue t-shirt, and stood in the doorway with another girl, a girl with blonde pigtails in the same red and white soccer jersey, and an artificial hand.

Pavel and Keiran introduced themselves, and the kids stared at the back of the van. Pavel took out the golden retriever, and Keiran took out the cocker spaniel. The girl ran over, knelt, and petted her new spaniel. The boy let the golden retriever sniff and lick his hand.

Chance and Rhodes came up and tried to help by taking out the dog crates. Trace rushed up to help. Freya held back; let her kids take the lead. The kids introduced themselves, and they all went into the house. The others went in the back gate, and spread out, looking in the windows.

The dogs found their water, introduced themselves to the other dog, and followed their people. The boy rocked, and the golden laid down. The boy sat down next to the dog. His mother gave him an e-reader. The boy lay down on the dog, and began to read aloud.

The others stood back as Rica sat down. Rica looked up at the soldiers, and then she began to breathe more quickly. Trace and Chance both sat down on the floor, trying to make themselves smaller. She started wheezing, and the dog Belle laid on her lap, licked her hands and face, and blew her dog breath onto the girl’s face. The wheezes slowed, Rica began to breathe easier, and she went from clutching the dog’s long, silky fur to gently petting her. Finally, she was able to talk normally. Her mom brought her a cup of hot cocoa, and she also brought a sealed cup to Warren. Becca sat down with her own cup, and played with her own dog.

Kieran and Pavel went over how to take care of the dogs, their shot record booklets, and furthering their training. Everyone said goodbye, and they walked out.

They all met up at the convenience store. Alvitr hugged Pavel and Kieran. “That must suck, giving them up,” said Trace.

“Yes,” said Pavel. “But the children are very happy, no?”

“The girl had an anxiety attack right there,” said Chance. “That dog had it covered.”

“Literally,” said Rhodes. Both girls laughed.

“And that’s why we do this,” said Kieran.

“How does an adoptive mother afford two therapy dogs?” asked Trace.

“Good question,” said Pavel. “We ask for donations on our site, and the Nighthawks have raised money for us. Some churches, synagogues, and a mosque in our area donate as well.”

Keiran grinned. “And Valkyries.”

Alvitr grinned. “That was a good ride.”

“It’s gotten so every third dog is a donation. Low-income parents shouldn’t have to worry about not getting a service dog for their kids,” said Keiran. “And, most of them don’t start out low-income, but the medical costs of getting the kids treated wipes a lot of the parents’ funds out.”

“I want to do it,” said Trace.

“Bikes first,” said Alvitr. “Gotta feed the dogs, and get them trained, and that takes six months to a year.”

“Sometimes two years,” said Pavel, “But, mostly not.”

“The dogs have to pass tests,” said Keiran. “And what will you do with the sweet dogs who don’t pass the tests?”

Trace nodded. “I’ll end up with more dogs than I sell.”

“Or find people to take them,” said Pavel. “Our dogs are well trained, and families love getting well-trained dogs. And, school systems and libraries need dogs that kids can read to. We literally have teachers, librarians, and the parents of kids with learning disabilities or who are learning new languages. They’re begging to adopt our dogs.”

Chance and Rhodes looked at Freya. “You want to read Latin to a dog?” she said. They both nodded.

Keiran handed each girl a business card, and handed one to Trace. “Think hard. Look at our website. There are links to a lot of information about therapy dogs on there. It costs a lot of money, which is why this is so expensive. We cheat a bit; have students at the school help with the training. You have each other. But, this is like raising a child and giving that child up for adoption. It hurts.”

A man drove up in a huge, blue, king cab truck. He was tall, with buzzcut hair and a thin brown beard. He wore steel-toed boots and jeans.

He strode over. “Keiran and Pavel?” he said.

“Yes,” said Keiran. “You John?”

“Yes,” he said. “Have both of them in the truck.”

Everyone else stayed by the van while Kieran and Pavel went to the truck. They came back with two spaniels, one black and white and one brown and white. Kieran signed something; the man helped haul over the crates, and the man drove off. Pavel and Kieran walked the dogs, petted and loved on them, watered them, and fed them little dog treats. They cleaned out the crates, and put the dogs back in their crates, lined with fresh liners, water, and food.

Alvitr kissed Pavel and Keiran on the cheeks, and sent them off into the night. “Sonic,” she said, and they all went for shakes. They sent Freya, Chance, and Rhodes back to the farmhouse where they were staying. Then, everyone else went to Dirty Rock.

Despite the rocking music, the soldiers talked at their table about the dogs. “Be heartbreaking,” said Champ. “Giving them up.”

“Saving lives,” said Chick. “Those are all rescue dogs.”

“End up keeping some,” said Desert. “I love dogs.”

“Be really hard,” said Rayne. “Lotta work.”

Champ snorted. “We’re working hard now.”

“Be good business,” argued Trace. “Plus, it helps kids. Just like we saw.”

“We’ll investigate,” said Champ. “No making fast, stupid decisions. Investigate, set everything up. Make it work right. Be sure we are making money with the bikes first.”

“Agreed,” said Queenie. “We research, we do it right. We got dogs and kids relying on us to get it right.”

“To doing it right,” said Trace. They clinked their bottles of spiced apple juice, and relaxed to enjoy the band.

They put in another long day, getting both bikes in their final stages, chrome and all. A man unfolded himself from an Uber, his massive bulk dwarfing the Prius driven by the driver. The man strode forward, slightly bow-legged. He was in full Harley regalia, with a vest, black jeans, and a leather wallet attached to his pocket with a chain.

“Who’s Allvit?”

“Alvitr,” she said, striding out. “Mack, you want to see your Harley Fat Boy?”

“I do,” he said. “He in the barn?”

“He is,” she said.

Mack moved quickly for such a huge, grizzled, Harley veteran. He walked in, stared at the bike in the center just inside the barn doors, and circled it twice.

He got on. “We good?” he asked Alvitr.

“We are,” said Alvitr.

He made the bike roar, pulled out his phone, came up with a map, hooked the sound to his earphone, slid the phone into its holder, and roared off in a cloud of dust.

“And that’s how you make thousands of dollars in one day,” said Alvitr.

“Lets do this,” said Chance.

Freya rubbed her daughter’s head, and they went back in to start a new bike. The other bike went to a woman with long black hair and wild gray eyes. She, too, came in on an Uber, and had gray jeans and a gray jacket. They watched her prowl around her bike, then sit on it, just revving it. Then, she slid out onto the road.

“Never gets old,” said Alvitr, and they did a round of fist-bumps.

“They love them,” said Chick.

“They live, breathe, and love them,” said Freya. “Now you see why we do what we do.”

“Almost as good as a kid getting a dog,” said Trace.

“Don’t get the dogs without this,” said Chance. “Let’s do more,” she said, clapping Trace on the back.

They blared rock, then had a huge salad lunch —potato, crab, and chicken salads, and bread with a green salad with cherry limeade. They rockers woke up and rocked, while they worked to finish a bike.

Sigrun, Wraith, Saber, and their brood came over. Warren ran out, and fought with Alvitr in the yard. Rhodes and Chance hugged Dina and Sondra, and they chattered away about Roman generals, the bikes, and rock music. They took up wooden swords and shields, and attacked each other, while the Soldier Pack and Valkyries cheered them on, shouted out advice, and exclaimed over moves.

Warren sat down next to Saber. “I feel kinda like… I don’t fit in,” he said.

Saber rubbed his son’s back. “What? Why?”

“The girls are always learning languages, and attacking each other, and listening to music so loud and raw it makes my ears bleed.”

Saber laughed. “They are a wild bunch.”

“But I’m not… like that,” he said. “I like movement, and learning to defend myself.” He smiled, gently. “The bullies haven’t gone away.”

“No,” said Saber. “They don’t, do they?”

“I know what you’re going to say,” said Warren. “I know the Nighthawks school exists, and the Wolfpack. I may end up joining either one. But, I’m really liking the new schedule, with three-week breaks instead of three months off. Makes more sense to me.”

He cheered as Sondra did an excellent move, ducking a blow aimed at her head. Dina bowed out, her post-surgical body still sore, but her pain much less. Sigrun helped her take off her padding, and then helped her stretch; she also helped to rub in her pain cream.

“I wanna help people,” said Warren. “Science class is great. We got to go see Mama’s printing class. The school got a grant to get two 3D printers, and now we’re printing hands and putting them together. That’s real, Dad.”

“It is.” Saber sipped more lemonade. “I like what you’ve been telling me about your classes. You’re in Spanish and Mandarin, and you’re in gifted class, and making those hands and learning coding. And lots of advanced math and science.” He smiled. “You’re a bright kid, Warren.”

“I’m six,” he said. “I finally found teachers that don’t talk down to me, you know? Some of them forget I’m six, get into debates, sometimes. Henry’s major cool, and I’ll probably end up there, but for now, things are good. And, I get to play soccer, and I’m on the youth science team. And I’m learning how to code, and not just baby stuff, like Logo. Really learning how to do websites. Zooming through Free Code Camp in our club. Most of the people there are girls, and they’re older, but once they got over seeing me as “cute,” they started really working with me. I zipped through some, got stuck in some. Doing a lot better.”

“So, you have valid reasons for staying,” said Saber. “I get that.”

“Good,” said Warren. “I’m not a warrior like my sisters, or not yet.”

“You are,” said Saber. “But, it’s internal. You fight for knowledge, to turn knowledge, science, into real things that people can use to make their lives better.”

“That’s… that’s so cool.” He threw his arms around his father’s neck. “Thanks, Dad.” He stood up. “Wanna kick around a ball?”

“Sure,” said Saber.

The other three girls came up, and Sigrun and Wraith helped them get out of their padding, and gave all the girls cherry limeade. Wraith took them to the pump —the farm had a well, and had the girls put cold water on their heads.

They stood there, dripping, as Freya walked over. “Mama,” asked Dina. “Can Chance and Rhodes move here?”

Sigrun and Freya met eyes. “Can’t,” said Rhodes. “We’ve got a cousin named Dee. Kema is her mama, and Tallee her grandma. We’ve got to raise her up right.”

Freya sighed. “Thank Odin,” she mouthed to Sigrun.

“We’re cousins, too,” said Sondra.

“We are,” said Rhodes. “But, we’re only an hour and a half away. Our mamas are sisters in the Valkyries. We’ll see each other all the time. Have sleepovers. Do stuff together, like take trips.”

“That’s true,” said Dina. “But how will we learn Latin so we can talk to you?”

Chance shrugged. “We’ll make videos.”

“We can make money if we turn it into a good Udemy course,” said Rhodes.

“Can we help?” asked Dina. The girls headed toward the picnic table for chips and salsa.

“Oh, Odin,” said Freya. “I’m dug in where I am, and none of our adoptions have gone through.”

Sigrun hugged her. “At least they talked themselves out of it.”

“For now,” said Freya. “I came down here to learn how to do this up there. Too many people on the list, not enough slots.” She looked over at Fire, and shuddered. “Our refugee no-food person really makes me see how damn important this is.”

“It is,” said Sigrun. “Thank you for helping.”

Freya waved her hand. “Training.”

“Life is training,” said Sigrun. Freya laughed, and they hugged again.

They walked over, and helped make the nachos, and fed the hordes. They laughed, played soccer, said goodbye to the band on their way to Dirty Rock, and went inside to watch a movie. They popped popcorn, drank sodas, and laughed until the soldiers kicked the kids out and went to bed. They were so tired that the nightmares were silent.

“Sometimes, just pack up your stuff and go. Clear you mind, open your heart.”