Chapter Two

By the time Brent and I got back the sun was setting, Adam was home from work, and Jesse from school, both giving me looks as I trotted through the kitchen. It wasn't Adam's usual hangout but he was still sitting at the table with Jesse when I came back down, having showered and changed, and once I'd made hot chocolate and snagged a brownie, I joined them.

"You knew Bran was coming, love?"

"I knew he hoped to make it today, yes, and he called to say he had and you'd promised to do some thinking." Adam sighed. "It's nothing I want, Mercy, and the vamp problem worries me a great deal, but Bran is not wrong about the opportunity to shake things up some more, at minimum."

"You could have told me."

"And you'd have asked what Bran thought." He had a point. "I've been wondering about those poll numbers for a while, Mercy, because they are very strong, and the Man has clearly seen the same thing, which is not a judgement to dismiss lightly. I don't think you're under any obligation to anyone, and it's true almost all the policy issues that matter have considerable momentum. But that's with the Man and Sawyer pushing hard, and once they leave office the picture will change. The Cascadia evacuation is a factor, but assuming things go to plan that will be over before the election so greener politics will clog up again unless something or someone is pushing them."

"I get that. But" — I held up a finger, then a second — "Adam Hauptman, First Gentleman, and Jesse Hauptman, First Daughter, neither with any way out of it whatever happens. Secret Service all over everything, and we've seen what they can be like. Major privacy issues. Even more idiot reporters all the time. Beltway functions galore, meaning some murderous boredom as well as a few kicks. Insane amounts of travel, even if Underhill agrees to commuting by cloak and it's constitutional. Compulsory overseas trips that probably can't be scheduled to avoid full moons. And who knows what else, but add predator and trickster dynamics pushing at everything, and an infinite weight of expectations from Bran, Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, and probably Medicine Wolf too. Even assuming I'm willing to stick my head in a blender and ask people to vote to turn it on, I do not want to do that to you or Jesse, and I'm surprised you don't want to veto the whole thing on her behalf, end of story."

Adam sighed again and Jesse looked down at the table.

"I more or less do, love, but Jesse persuaded me I really can't."

I looked at Jesse, eyebrows as high as they go, and she lifted her head to meet my gaze with some defiance.

"I know I said that hashtag started as a joke, Mom, and in the moment it was — a good and grateful joke, like Tom's triple bows of awesomeness. But it was always more than that, which is what the poll numbers show. I meant every word when I told you you're the best thing that ever happened to Dad, or to me, but you've also been the best thing that's happened to the country in the last while, and I really do think you can be it some more. So does everyone my age I know well enough to ask, and for the same reason, which boils down to being consistently awesome and what Mr Roberts in Social Affairs calls inclusivity. You fix things on behalf of everyone you can — humans and preternaturals of all kinds. How much does personal hassle matter, next to that? I really don't want to live in DC, but I'll suck it up if I have to, and tighter personal security, though I don't know what could be tightened much. And flying a lot, if I can't come with you via Underhill, though my rose doesn't think that would be a problem. I'll also volunteer to sit on Gramps as much as necessary, though I actually think he'll be good with it. Mostly, anyway — he really wants bison migration restored, and that ought to be possible. Darryl and Andrea agree, and they've been looking at it pretty carefully, for science and legal stuff." She took a deep breath. "And beyond all that, win or lose, I think that if you don't give it a shot you'll end up wondering if you should have, for a long time. And I do not want to be the reason you didn't. Nor does Dad, though the First Gentleman stuff weirds him out a lot more than he's saying and he'll grumble endlessly about having to wear tuxes."

"Well, hell. I know you grew up a whole bunch, ex-kiddo, but do you have to think so clearly?"

I brooded over the dregs of my chocolate amid a silence that slowly became more companionable, and finally blew out a long breath.

"Alright. It's still close to the very last thing I want, but I plainly do have an obligation to think the insanity through a lot harder than I have, so I will. But. Adam, what happens if we are in real disagreement about something? If I've taken the oath of office, it will be at odds with the pack's proper hierarchy — and assuming any of the present contenders have even half-a-brain, I will be asked about that. And I will not apply for a job that getting would make us unworkable."

He just shrugged. "You are now no less dominant than I am, Mercy, unless you choose to be, and if Skuffles is involved, more so. I don't really understand, nor does Bran, but it's partly because you have always come to the pack hierarchy from outside, and partly your amalgam of magics, as well as some X-factor I chalk up to my not-exactly father-in-law. And my wolf knows it as well as I do. I imagine I will do some growling from time to time, but we will get by, and we will survive."

The quotation was soothing. Every silver lining might have a touch of grey, but no-one lived without experiencing those. If I was still breathing, and good with Adam and Jesse, I could cope with most things, however there were still several hundred urgent questions to look at squarely, and not many fewer beings to talk to, before I could decide anything. And somewhere a sense of resignation was entering my heart, as well as a traitorous coyote excitement and laughter at the absurdity of it. Another thought crossed my brain.

"Christy will spit blood at the idea."

This time it was Jesse who shrugged.

"And your point is, Mom? Yeah, she will. Who cares?"

"Three to two she'll start another custody claim."

Jesse's voice went colder. "If she does I'll give Caroline an interview that'll make her think dyed hair was way mild. Understanding why she is so unwilling to confront herself has left me all out of patience. And any court's call on who owns me is moot as of next year."

Though Medicine Wolf's glass had helped Jesse with memories of Kerrigan's blood, she'd still needed counselling, seeing one of the post-trauma people treating the Freed, and had learned a lot. Some school classes had been helpful too, as had Sally Willis and Jenna Fisher, Andrea, and the singing her graunts had done when she finally met them, at a big Yakama pow-wow to welcome Medicine Wolf and the Columbia Restoration. I wasn't sure even God understood the workings of what passed for Christy's mind, but I knew she rubbished any kind of counselling because it would make her think about how frantically and calculatingly she used her sexuality, and what that had done to her daughter and Adam. Since the divorce Jesse had understood with cruel clarity that to Christy she was a trophy to claim or sulk about losing, not a responsibility, or just beloved, but as she hadn't much cared why she kept being abandoned for days on end she'd filed Christie's drive to whammy strange men in hotel rooms under 'stupid things adults do'. Now connections between compulsive promiscuity and wilful denial had snapped into focus, with some dos and don'ts about the birds and bees from me, and, grasping the perversity of debasing yourself to feel better, Jesse had seen that her own reluctance to admit psychic need wasn't just Adam's Alpha-stoicism but also Christy's scorn for anything that might imply she wasn't the sexiest thing since sliced bread, and twice as wholesome. I hated that Jesse had had to understand that, but glad she did, so I just nodded.

"Alright, Jesse. Don't say I didn't warn you, if it happens. And this is only an I'll think about it, not a yes. Whatever opportunities there may be, there are severe risks, with vamps top of the list, and certain costs, to all of us, that I don't yet know if I'm willing to incur."

"I hear you, Mom. What's the vampire problem?"

"I couldn't take on national responsibility and not deal with the way they almost all kill sheep needlessly, Jesse, and if they won't out themselves they need to be outed — which they will try anything to prevent. If it doesn't happen this way it will some other, but this way their most obvious answer would be killing me or threatening you or Adam."

"Oh. Not good."

"No, it isn't." Adam's voice had some growl. "But vamps are a running problem anyway, Mercy, and a lot of wolves would be glad to be rid of them. Will you talk to Stefan?"

"Not yet. If I agree, that would be a first step, if only so he can go under and stay out of it. Selling him down the river, pretty much, is one of the things I don't yet know if I'm willing to do. And the first thing I have to find out is where the Fae really stand."

"Bran said he'd spoken to you about that."

"He did, but this is not something that can be agreed by proxy, and I'd want to be sure Underhill was content, whatever ap Lugh said."

All sorts of thoughts were beginning to churn, but the simplest facts would do for now, and Adam nodded.

"I see that. Tomorrow?"

"Probably. I can make a call, anyway. And after that, if we get so far, Jim Alvin. This would be a big deal for all First People, and though they aren't so many votes I don't think that's what would really matter."

"No." Adam gave me a look. "But you are now thinking, Mercy love, for better or worse. I'm sorry to have let Bran blindside you, but my feelings about the whole thing are too mixed."

"I get that, and Bran does whatever he wants anyway. And now I'm going to get dinner — chasing all those rabbits made me hungry."

"You didn't eat any, Mom?"

"Nah." I stood, ruffling Jesse's hair, presently an interesting shade of green. "I wasn't really trying to catch them, ex-kiddo, I just needed to chase something. Bran has that effect."

Among others, and as I mashed potatoes, did a heap of greens, and grilled pork steaks, my backbrain kept right on turning. The Marrok would not be so open to a war with vamps without far more reasons than Bran had offered me, so there were agendas to tally. As he'd already talked to ap Lugh and other Gray Lords, one would be the clauses in the Wolf–Fae strand of the Medicine Wolf Accords that offered mutual defence against third-party attack, which I thought he'd been telling me the Fae were willing to invoke. Well and good, maybe. But I needed to find out just how much strain policing vamps was putting on how many packs, and therefore Bran, and while ap Lugh's sharp dislike of all Undead was clear, and shared by other fae I knew, why they'd want a war that would be uncomfortably like ethnic cleansing was much murkier, so though I had ideas I needed to talk to Zee and Ariana.

There was also the longstanding animosity between vamps and avatars, with high casualty rolls on both sides — including my not-entirely father Joe, whom I'd never known but whose ghost once danced for me. Coyote had told me with a shrug neither he nor Joe could honestly complain, as they had been killing vamps and all's fair in love and war, but my mom didn't feel that way and at heart neither did I. Moreover, as vamps usually thought in the long to eternal term about everything except their poor sheep, and all the ones I knew were as twisty as it comes, even Stefan, there was also what any of them might be calculating. If the Man and Bran could see what the poll numbers meant, so could Wulfe, who had made the Master of the Night and been cast off, and whom Stefan had said a while back was becoming quite impatient with what he'd called the narrowness of many members of Marsilia's seethe. A certain thinning of the ranks might not be unwelcome to some, and while I had no interest in doing other people's dirty work for them the point was getting a better deal for all sheep — a matter in which Wulfe was also, according to a surprised Stefan, showing some marked improvement.

Adam had gone to deal with email, and Jesse respected my silence while I cooked, helping to chop before surfing on her phone. Once we were eating, though, with Brent, and Warren, running the night shift, conversation was general. Prompted by Sally Willis, Jesse was fulfilling a Social Programmes requirement by undertaking educational school visits with whatever pack member was available, and they'd had a request from Wazzu on behalf of a freshman anthropology class that Principal Billings was good with if we were. I couldn't see any objection, so long as Wazzu knew they were not allowed to film it, and Adam agreed to talk to the relevant professor to make sure that was understood. He'd had a call from Ramona Velasquez to say the Freed Pack's purchase of hunting land had at last come through — I made a mental note to thank the Man and Westfield, the huge damages the Freed had received from Heuter having been spared by a nominal federal price — and it was in the foothills by Rimrock, abutting the Yakama Reservation. As none of them knew that area at all, could someone who did accompany them to explore, sooner than later? I could combine it with seeing Jim Alvin, and after a call to check his schedule we agreed on Saturday, which meant re-arranging Brent's day off. He didn't mind, but had a request for a clear weekend next month as his parents in SF had elderly Japanese relatives visiting, and a maternal order to attend had been received. Warren grinned at the horse-trading, but added his two cents by offering to do the four-legged Wazzu visit as Kyle would be away on the day proposed.

"He has a case in Boise, boss. Custody. Ex-husband's a piece of work, and the wife has a cousin who's pack, so Kyle will have cover."

Adam nodded. "I'm aware, Warren. Mark Hurley talked to me about it, because there are strong feelings about the husband. You don't want to cover Kyle yourself?"

"Sorta, boss, but he gets antsy about being baby-sat, and I wouldn't want to insult Mark. Wazzu would be an honourable reason all round."

"Fair enough." Adam cocked his head. "Thought any more about other Wazzu visits?"

Warren grimaced. He had accepted that when wolves did come clean about their ages, an increasingly urgent question the presidency thing would bring to a boil, he'd be the best face we had, but he didn't like it. There would have to be broadcast interviews, but we hoped to narrow it from gawping curiosity to questions from historians with some actual motivation, however we were sanguine about the chances.

"Some, boss, and Kyle's been helpful, but agrees we need at least a few others, to spread the heat. Any word on that?"

Adam shrugged. "More noises than words, but the bicentenarians in Texas, Kentucky, and Vermont aren't going to have any more choice than you, when it comes to it. Problem still is that none of them came here until the 1880s or later, but you've been an American all along."

I'd though Warren was born in the early 1800s, but his real DOB was 1776, in Spain's nominal western territory. His parents had made it through the Indian lands west of the Thirteen Colonies, not least because his father had been a wolf, who managed to Change him so he could better protect his Ma, before getting himself killed by some savvier Indians who believed in beheading rather than scalping when things that should be dead went on twitching. But she hadn't survived her husband by more than an hour or two, while Warren had been away dealing with cattle other illegal settlers had rustled, and after finding himself an orphan with a herd of reclaimed cattle he'd looked after two younger sibs until they'd died of smallpox in the 1810s, then drifted slowly west. The pain and loss were still very real to him, and I rested a hand on his arm.

"I'm so sorry it's falling to you, Warren, but Adam at 68 and me at 34 just won't cut it. And you know Charles can't do it, or really old wolves."

"It's not on you, Mercy, and I've known it's coming a long time. Besides, you've made for a way better … context, I suppose, than I'd ever imagined. But there is one thing, boss, because I agree with Kyle that if I'm coming out as pushing 250, I'm coming out as gay. It'll up the hate in some places, I know, but I couldn't be with him if I didn't, or like the view in the mirror."

Adam nodded, unperturbed. "Not a problem, Warren, as and when. But the when is probably sooner than later, especially if … certain things happen. We may be heading into more spotlight."

Warren frowned, thinking about it, then looked at me. "I heard the Marrok was here, Mercy. He's pushing you about those poll numbers?"

I sighed. Everyone seemed to know about it except me. "Yeah. The Marrok, no less, thinks having a coyote girl run for president is a good idea, even though it'll mean a war with vamps."

His eyes narrowed. "Screw them, excuse me, boss. And you get my vote, Mercy, in spades."

I threw up my hands as Jesse and Brent grinned. "Wolves! You all deserve to find yourselves sitting in peanut butter, daily."

Adam laughed. "The Man agrees with Bran, Warren, which is giving Mercy hives."

"The Man? Interesting. I saw he had smarts, but label me impressed."

"He's offered to endorse her."

The conversation went south from there, and I left them to it, preferring dreamless sleep, though I didn't get much of that.