Chapter Six

The number of new things in my life could be overwhelming, so I'd developed strict routines and Fridays meant attacking paperwork, followed by training to give me something to look forward to, a way to work off irritation, and because if it wasn't inked in it was too easy to let slip.

Clean Up the Basin! had become so big it had a full-time staff in Pasco, but as Medicine Wolf and I were patrons, and its income came from sales of things bearing images of us, I kept a close eye. Early pics were still extremely popular — golden-eyed and blood-soaked me on the morning of Cantrip, post-Manannán me with salty feet and forehead on Medicine Wolf's muzzle, and the shot of me Jesse took during the Accord talks — but images of Elder Spirits were up there too, with Irpa and a family of unicorns bopping to the Grateful Dead. Legal advice had been strongly against any parody of the Fox logo, but there were tees, sweats, and coasters that said 'I prefer Coyote News'. Andrea's idea of an image of Medicine Wolf with the slogan I do not need enemies to know who I am had taken off like several rockets, and the slogan could equally accompany images of the Elder Spirits, wolves, or me, as well as making a lapel-pin in its own right. The Gray Lords had strongly approved of the sentiment, and as their appearances were already thoroughly public (and they could choose whatever glamoured disguise they wanted at need), tees and posters of Gwyn ap Lugh, The Dagda, and Baba Yaga, complete with flying mortar, had also been licensed, and sold exceptionally well to the benefit of both fae and Clean Up the Basin!

In every case a slice went to the subjects of the image and sometimes KEPR or whoever had the idea, as well as manufacturers' and retailers' allowed profits, before the charitable chunk, so accountants kept tight rein. I checked my own figures on principle, as well as those for the trust fund that meant Jesse would be able to do pretty much anything she wanted. But there were always more things people thought of that images could adorn, and as some would have offended anyone, never mind Elder Spirits and unicorns, that needed vetting. Tees, sweats, totes, posters, lapel-pins and mugs were OK, and I allowed jigsaws, calendars, diaries, coasters, and fridge magnets, but not cutesy ephemera, school or sports gear, or partial images on anything. Nor were all manufacturers welcome, as production had to be seriously green. Nothing gross had come up this week, though more swimwear requests had been refused — I might have to put up with decorating the nation's chests, but not decorating its butts — and a complex agreement about licensing for streaming of the All-Star fundraiser had gone to Jenny for final scrutiny.

With a sigh I went on to garage accounts, such as they were, then called in Mary Oliver for PR management. I had foolishly expected interview requests to die down, but the world's desire to know what I thought about everything was apparently insatiable. To keep up momentum on the Columbia Restoration I gave regular domestic interviews pushing it and green action generally, handled on a pool system, and though I had been wary of doing more Mary had shown me how selective favours could generate surprising results. Once Bible-belters had seen I really was a regular churchgoer, even if wishy-washy Episcopalian, I'd become their go-to preternatural of choice, and my combination of being as ruthless when attacked while wanting as much peace and harmony as possible turned out to have serious appeal, despite my social liberalism. Most of the talk-show hosts were too volatile to risk, but I'd done sessions with more sober Baptist and Mormon stations, pushing thinking through what stewardship meant for consumer businesses and acceptable lifestyle, and saying what I could about magic and preternatural affairs, while contributing to the debate about how lawyers should and should not be allowed to question victims of rape or other serious assault.

International requests were a different ballgame, but I'd spoken to a score of organisations, including Russian and Chinese state media, the Times of India, and bigger regional newspapers and stations. Wolves were out everywhere, but lacking a Marrok did not have the cohesion of North America — which hadn't stopped European, South American, and Australian wolves from generating versions of the Paths of Assertion and Mercy, so that was a recurrent issue. Another was Elder Spirits and being a coyote girl, with a heavy dose of River Devil, and though I never said much as it seemed like boasting, some interest in Amerindian culture was respectful enough I'd brokered agreements with the Yakama about documentaries. It brought in money they were glad to have, and gave my not-exactly father a supply of tails to tweak and cameras to preen for, which I devoutly hoped, without much expectation, would keep him busy enough to head off worse mischief. There was also, Lord help me, a tour company in Richland that did Mercy's Adventures day-trips to Finley, Kennewick, and the Columbia Gorge — though not Walla Walla, their first attempt having seen their coach pick up eight punctures in less than fifty yards of access road, to Adam's and my amusement. I couldn't stop them cruising past the house, but after they'd intruded on the Freed Adam and Ramona paid them a joint visit, unhappy police in tow, to suggest with not-so-well banked rage that they would find self-regulation a great deal easier than being shunned by all preternaturals and the Yakama.

With current issues sorted, I took Mary to the kitchen, where Brent was doing fiendish sudoku, made coffee and chocolate, and told her what had happened and might be happening. Her biggest issue was security for her children, but they were already wary of vamps, and beyond that there was a bunch of things. Top of the list was my plans for the public, which made her stare and led to a useful conversation about campaign laws, hard and soft money, and the kind of ethics I wanted to impose. Mary agreed to talk very discreetly to a senior staffer for the Governor, whom she knew from dealing with coverage of Hanford, and looked thoughtful.

"You're really going to do it, Mercy?"

"Increasingly probably, yes. There are still deal-breakers to negotiate. And I'm cautious about First People, especially the Yakama."

"I'd think they'd be all for it. A native president would really be something."

"Maybe. But tourism's already up enough to be a nuisance, despite the money and donations to Clean Up the Basin, and there'll be any number of things someone will think a good idea that I won't possibly be able to promise, or even endorse. It's whether they'll settle for what I might be able to do despite the increased problems."

"Meaning?"

"Completing the Columbia Restoration, getting bison migration sorted, continuing to push green reforms hard, maybe some returns from museums, and double maybe some action on federal employment quotas."

"Which is a pretty good package."

"And you'll think of other things if it happens, Mercy." Brent sounded earnest. "You're worried because so much will be new to you, so you can't make plans for half of it, but you react very sure-footedly, and you have a low tolerance for official BS or flannel. First People I've seen you with have also been a lot more respectful than pushy, unless they have river-frontage, and that's land talking."

I gave him a fish-eye but he wasn't wrong. The other avatars weren't much interested in being out to Anglos, never mind the world, and none knew Elder Spirits other than their own in the way I'd come to, so I got a lot of soft-voiced respect from most Amerindians I met, especially if I was wearing Thunderbird's feather. But that authority — and I still didn't know what if anything it did except look good — was about the inevitable scramble for re-emerging land, a dispute I'd tried to hand to the Washington and Oregon state legislatures for a determination about the rights of those who had lost it to the dams in the first place, and been less than generously compensated. They were still arguing, other basin states watching with acute interest, and I was unhappily aware that giving them a kick was going to be necessary soon — but if Gordon's delegated authority would hold for that, any national campaign was another matter.

"I'll tell you if I agree after tomorrow, Brent. But assuming I get green lights all round, Mary, are you up for an expanding job?"

"Not on my own, Mercy. I don't have the experience, and a national campaign would eat time my children need. But in principle, I'd certainly want to support you in every way I could."

"Thanks. And if? Presidents need Press Secretaries."

"Huh. I'm flattered you'd think me capable, but no. That will be a DC job, and I won't uproot the kids again, or myself."

I'd been thinking for a while that she might be almost ready to wonder about loving someone again, and I understood all too well about kids, so I nodded, trying out more new thoughts.

"Noted, though if we get so far any recommendations will be welcome. And though this is so far ahead of myself it seems pure hubris, I have no love for DC either. I'm also dubious about Jesse changing schools in her senior year, and Adam having to step back from his business when he can't from the pack, so if, if, if, I'd be a president with a strong tendency to decamp to a western White House."

"I bet. And yes, that might change my parameters. With a professional staff I wouldn't mind holding the fort here." She gave me a smile. "And the kids would be over the moon. You know what they think of you."

I did. Josh and Sara were twelve and ten respectively, very tight from dealing with their father's death, and thrilled sideways to know Medicine Wolf and Coyote. And, I had to concede though it freaked me out, me. Seeing me cook and hearing me grumble about having to expand my wardrobe had chipped away at the awe, but they were also very taken with the earth fae, who preferred children to adults and were punctilious about their own respect for an Elf-friend.

"OK. Thanks, Mary. That's helpful to know, even if I have very mixed feelings about how much of this absurdity seems plausible. Talk to that staffer today, please, and check Caroline's and Penny's schedules for the next fortnight."

"Will do. Have you talked to the Governor?"

"Not about any of this. Should I?"

"Yes, and sooner than later. However he's been a party man I'd bet he'll be happy to endorse you if he has enough warning to lay groundwork. All three mayors, too." Mary squinted, a sign she was thinking hard. "And others. Mercy, you have solid respect nationwide, but in the Tri-Cities it runs bone-deep. Hanford mostly, but forensic work too, and the way you've dealt with the Freed and their families. PDs would be onboard, and local business." She waggled a hand. "Candidates stand as themselves, but a truly viable independent in a presidential campaign is pushing boundaries, and with care you could lock down more than Washington the day you announce. And, my God, what about the Cascadia evacuation?"

I waggled a hand. "Assuming it all works, a lot of free publicity no-one can do much about, but also a lot of uncertainty even with the merge of scientific and manitou data." Which had left the geophys people ecstatic. "No-one thinks even a divided quake would be less than force 8, and other faults might go too, so property damage could be very severe."

"Yes, but if the evacuation is orderly, the more severe damage is the more it'll underline the saving of life. Won't it?"

"Maybe. Shocky people are odd. But there's nothing I can do beyond the Public Service Announcements I've agreed."

When they'd realised it really was going to happen, at the Wazzu conference, the governors of all three West Coast states had cornered me to ask if I'd front the largest peacetime evacuation in history, and little as I relished it I hadn't been able to deny their logic. I found it hard to believe I would really increase compliance, but they all thought so, and given the potential for chaos playing the odds made sense. Scripts were still being written, but I'd done some PSAs and KEPR was booked for more.

"Any other thoughts?"

Mary frowned. "There have been suggestions campaigning should be suspended for a week either side, to allow concentration on the more urgent matter. You should push for that. Anyone running will be going for publicity, showing responsibility at a critical time and so forth, but if they're not West Coast they'll find it tricky. You, though, will be centre-stage."

"Huh. I'll think about that one, and take soundings. Using what might yet be a major disaster seems wrong, but I'll have to do something with it. But please go on thinking about the … regional candidacy you were suggesting, and what might need to be done locally. I hadn't got that far."

Mary promised a draft paper by Monday, and with business done I put together a light lunch, with steak to satisfy Brent. Once we'd eaten, Mary went to do email, and after allowing time to digest Brent and I changed and headed for the basement. I missed the gym where I used to take martial-arts classes, but my fame made using it impossible, and as Brent held three black belts he'd been an obvious replacement teacher. His wolf toughness meant I could try things I could not have with a human — mostly speed, but also new tricks I was learning.

The theory was simple. The force of any impact depends on the mass and speed of whatever does the impacting, and if I couldn't usefully increase my mass I could push at speed. It had always been high, but hard work and learning to draw on my increased magic had upped it, while Brent had done wonders for my footwork and a spinning flying kick I'd always hankered to manage. One problem was how much impact I really needed for any given move, which depended on my opponent and mattered, because quite a few things I could now do would, without check, inflict catastrophic damage on humans. Another was how else I could integrate magic, and a third advantages my furry self might offer. Even with Brent I couldn't do that to the full, because I couldn't change without stripping and Adam had limits, so he and I kept that practicing strictly to ourselves, and it had what was by now a traditional outcome.

We had an audience, because I brought the cloak, Manannán's Bane, and Carnwennan to the workout room. Fighting and defence were their business, and I wouldn't ignore the chance they absorbed something of what I could and might need to do. I knew they appreciated the thought, and it had interested me considerably when, though I never wore the cloak to fight, Skuffles started turning up to watch, with occasional woofs or yips of approval. It was way too fast for there to be any point in sparring with me or Brent, but had invented a game where we tried to get a tennis-ball past it, and uniformly failed — if it didn't catch the ball a large paw would whack it onto a different trajectory. It made me laugh, because it was Skuffles's answer to my grumbles about playing coyote-in-the-middle, and ten minutes flat out was an excellent way of involving any muscle the session might have neglected. I was working through a series of ceiling-to-wall bounces that had Skuffles leaping to bat the ball sideways when Brent caught it and I realised Warren and Mary were watching.

Warren shook his head admiringly. "Skuffles, you are one fast coyote."

"Isn't it?" Brent grinned, though he was almost as winded as I was. "Greased lightning comes in a poor second. Problem?"

"No problem, Brent. Mercy, Leslie Fisher called to say you'll want to be by your phone at 6 p.m. local, and sitting down."

"Un huh." I thought about what that warning and the speed of response might mean, and gave up — I'd know soon enough. "Mary?"

"Someone primed the Governor's office, Mercy. As soon as I emailed the staffer he called. I shifted to Adam's encrypted line, and framed a hypothetical to ask if a member of the FEC might be available. There was some blinking, a strong 'yes', and a request for permission to brief the Governor, which I gave. I hope that's OK?"

I wasn't happy about who all had known what before I did, but nodded.

"Of course. What's your take?"

"I'm not sure, but the Governor and Secretary met the President when he flew in last week, so they could have talked then. And the Governor is up for re-election, so he'll be wondering how to get your endorsement."

Skuffles padded over and consoled me with a coyote grin while I digested that. A part of me understood the logic, but a larger part wanted to high-tail it for the woods at the idea I was someone a successful governor needed to court. Then again, I quite liked him, he'd been good at the Wazzu conferences, and I was going to want his help with kicking the State Legislature, so mutual back-scratching had some appeal. I gave Skuffles a jaw-rub, which made it croon, leaning into my fingers, and Mary a crooked smile.

"Without much difficulty, as it happens. Add this to your paper?"

"You bet." Mary hesitated, and I gave an enquiring look. "Have you thought about a running-mate?"

"Some. You think the Governor would want?"

"Maybe."

"Huh. But no. One independent will need another, and I doubt either main party would tolerate a member doing that."

"Points. Who, then?"

"No idea, Mary, except human and able to disguise the insanity necessary to agree."

She and Brent laughed, but Warren only smiled.

"Not so much, Mercy. It'd be a privilege as well as a trial." I gave him a look, and smile became grin. "You have strong feelings about gender?"

I shrugged. "There are arguments both ways. Has to be thirty-five plus as of January, though."

"Yeah. Ethnicity?"

"Same goes. No odds to me, but being cynical I could probably count on most non-Anglo votes, while it's Anglos who'll be most worried."

"True, though older, richer Anglos would be nearer the mark."

"Mmm." That wasn't wrong, but most Anglos were richer than most of anyone else. "My gut still says an Anglo man would offer … useful contrast, let's say." And a backstop for those who'd think it needed, including me. "But there's all the other elections too — congressional, gubernatorial, and state legislatures. Getting things done means lawmakers, not just a president. Who does anyone know who might be up for it? And who do your friends know? We can't say much unless and until, but if it happens I'll be asking every Alpha, and everyone else I can think of, to put up candidates as widely as we can." With Skuffles around my sense of mischief tended to bubble, and I batted eyelids at Warren. "You'd make a lovely senator."

He stared. "Lord preserve me. The age thing will be bad enough."

"So put them together, Warren. Exactly no-one could claim they matched your experience, and it'd tickle Kyle pink. Well, pinker." That got a grin. "There are those politics, too, for which you might do a lot. And I didn't say federal senator."

"Huh. The insanity's catching."

"You bet. If I'm being thrown to the wolves, so are the wolves."

I'd made that joke before but Brent laughed. Mary was squinting again.

"Actually, Warren, Mercy is not wrong at all. And from a wider wolf point-of-view, confessing your age and coming out because in running it'd be dishonest not to could play very well indeed. I know it worries you, but, oh, Born with this nation, and still fighting for it." Warren's eyebrows shot up. "Nothing defensive. Proud of it."

"Gay since 1776 and going strong."

Warren looked both appalled and unwillingly thoughtful, and I gave him a coyote grin. However it freaked anyone else, changing the rules was one of my comfort zones.

"Remember the other thing about age, Warren, if we do wind up outing vamps. I meant every word of that. They've been big enough trouble I have no problem offloading whatever we can in their direction. It should also mean we're not the preternatural bad guys any more — we came clean, as did the Fae. Vamps didn't. Do ask yourselves why that might be."

"Un huh." Warren nodded. "That I get, Mercy. And Stefan saw the Spanish West before I did. We've talked about it a little."

"Yeah. But I don't know how that'll play, Warren, and thinking about the conversation I have to have with Stefan is scaring me silly." I took a breath. "I hope he's seen it coming, and I think he will have, but still."

Mary was squinting yet again. "I only met him once, Mercy, and there are lots of things about vamps I don't get at all, but … off the top of my head, if he … stays a friend, and needs an acceptable public image, I have to think a wolf and vamp exposé of Western history could play very well."

"Mmm. That's a thought. Warren?"

He shrugged, still looking as thoughtful as unhappy. "Maybe. I said you'd provided a better context, Mercy, and that would be more of it. But I should return to work — I only came to tell you about Leslie's call."

Everyone went back to whatever they were supposed to be doing, and I took cloak, Manannán's Bane, and Carnwennan upstairs before grabbing a shower and changing into some of my new wardrobe. I still thought jeans and a tee were all anyone sensible needed, except winter gear, and if it happened the presidential wardrobe was going to be broadened considerably, but I'd been experimenting with slacks and blouses, as well as a wider range of dresses. I went with a dress that combined a tailored top with an A-line skirt that hit mid-calf, in a dark red that suited me and Adam and Jesse liked. I added an apron to get a big smoked ham basted and into the oven, opted for new potatoes because they didn't need peeling, and decided greens could wait. Then I asked Brent to give me two bullets for his Glock, extracted one load, and fetched a micrometer from the toolbench Adam and I sometimes used, though I was usually thinking engine parts where he was thinking electronics. With answers written down I took a breath and made an encrypted call.

"Mercedes Elf-friend?"

"Gwyn ap Lugh. It seems even more people might be dropping me in it than I knew yesterday." I told him about the Governor's office, and was interested his immediate thoughts were a good match for Mary's, so I went on to candidates for other races. "The Medicine Wolf Accords specifically recognise dual citizenship for full-blooded fae living Overhill who hold property and pay taxes. And there are the half-fae. Forgive me, but I wondered if your daughter might be interested."

There was a silence I waited out, relieved when he spoke calmly.

"That is an interesting thought, Mercy. And a kind one, I suspect. Lizzie is, among other things, increasingly bored. I will ask her. And the wider question had occurred to us, though we had no answer. Some half-fae would be willing, but nothing like the numbers you seem to wish for."

"Un huh. I have a plan for the necessary numbers, Gwyn ap Lugh, but I would certainly want as many half-fae or true preterophiles as could be … dug up, prised out, and pushed along."

He laughed. "So I would imagine. And very reasonably so. The rights of full-blood fae to stand for election would almost certainly be subject to legal challenge, though. A test-case would be interesting, but I doubt any final ruling could be obtained in time for next November."

"Don't bet on it, Gwyn ap Lugh. If the Man wants me to do things for him …"

"Mmm. Indeed. And it occurs to me that Irpa retains a house and bridge or two Overhill, and pays taxes."

I grinned. "Anytime she wants to run for California's 12th ward is just fine by me, Gwyn ap Lugh. So are trolls among pigeons."

We both knew who held that ward, and he laughed again, more richly.

"Well, that is a most entertaining thought." A different note came to his voice. "And would clarify much. We wanted you thinking, Mercy, and once again you do not disappoint."

"Good to know, Gwyn ap Lugh. Now, in this matter of wooden bullets."

He had not been expecting a detailed discussion of load-size, rifling, internal ballistics, and micrometry, nor minimum stake length in dismissing Undead, but conversation flowed right along. He, or someone, had once used a rose-thorn less than an inch long to good effect, which was promising; it had been an Underhill rose-thorn, but the slugs would have similar provenance, and though no-one was ready to go for mass-production, he did promise on Sunday — a hardwood core with something softer outside. I heard him sigh.

"Regretting something, Gwyn ap Lugh?"

"Not in the least, Mercy, however you occasion the oddest tasks. Nor will Underhill — it is deeply intrigued by the idea of shining Overhill, and by your words about Stefan Uccello."

"Surprise. Do pass on my gladness to Underhill, if you will, and Adam's. He was very happy about the … plug-in, I thought, the cloak received."

More amusement laced his voice. "I believe I shall not be passing on that metaphor to many, Mercy, but Baba Yaga will like it."

"Also good to know, Gwyn ap Lugh." I took another steadying breath. "Might there be anything you can tell me about being a Troll-friend?"

"Ah. I heard about that. Vorðr is close to Irpa, and a … more reliable troll. Those confined Underhill are … astounded covers it, I believe."

"As well they might be. Are they also thinking about it?"

"In so far as those trolls can think. But Vorðr has the authority, so if any of them tried to eat you they'd be liable to clubbing. It grants nothing greater than Underhill granted, Mercy, but adds a layer of protection. And expresses gladness, of course — trolls have been as little defended and praised as earth fae, and have also found it a pleasing experience."

"They're very welcome, Gwyn ap Lugh. Folklore is not very … reliable about trolls, though. Is it possible that some being who does know what they're talking about might, in free kindness, draw up a short briefing paper covering any recommended protocols, particularly sensitive areas or issues, and perhaps a little history?"

"Maybe, Mercy, though you have done well enough with three so far."

"I was thinking Troll-friends probably meet more trolls."

"There is that. Short-briefing-paper fairies, alas, are in very short supply, but the task has some interest. I will see."

"I would be glad. And I may have more for you later. I spoke to Leslie Fisher yesterday, asking her to relay some things about what we called orcs to the Man and AED Westfield, and I am warned to expect a call at 6 p.m. today so things are moving right along."

"With you, Mercedes, they rarely do otherwise, but I am glad to hear it and will look forward to any news." He shook his head. "Orcs, yet."

We ended the call, and I thought about his lack of reaction and that last remark, knowing he must have heard of my moves from Bran. Which raised questions. After some thought I sent Bran a message — I understand your need to talk privily to Gray Lords, but if you are at any stage talking to multiple Alphas without talking to Adam personally, you will soon encounter more peanut butter than you can carry. — and copied it to Adam. Then I spent a while updating my grid of questions, having to write in smaller and smaller letters and deciding I should have done it as a spreadsheet. A glance at my watch had me back in the kitchen, to get greens sorted before things moved along some more.