Chapter Twelve

The new week brought a lot of increasingly antsy waiting. The Man had hoped Sunday night to confirm Thursday for the pow-wow, and called Monday, after receiving copies of the Vampire Briefing and draft Code of Conduct, to offer startled thanks. I took the chance to talk governors and laid out the basic proposal for returning land and some compensation. He thought that would fly, so I gave him an outline of what would happen around Celilo Falls once reborn under the sky and his eyes widened.

"Let me see if I have this straight, Ms Hauptman. Elder Spirits are going to bring in serious biodiversity, of the dangerous kind, which makes it wise to reroute I84 and the railroad, while you've whistled up some … huorns, more or less, that will fog cameras?"

I grinned at huorns, which I'd wondered about myself. "Yup. Consider it a lesson for Anglos, Mr President. It's hardly on you, but a lot of First People around here speak very harshly of parents and grandparents for accepting the Federal Government's bribe to set aside the 1855 treaties. Guess what they're willing to say about the Government for offering it?"

He winced.

"That covers it. Then ask yourself, sir, whether the oldest continually inhabited site on this continent, with a history stretching back not less than 15,000 years, would have been flooded if those dwelling there had been Anglo. Exactly. So once we get it back visiting rights are not on the table, and that includes photography. However most will not understand, there will be a place in this land so sacred it is not available to outsiders, in person or via technology. Our Kaaba, if you like, but with magical teeth. I mention it so you know what we need from the legislatures, and because the process will offer opportunity. Would you like to be invited to the rebirth? Cameras will be kept at a distance, but Caroline Taylor might be trusted to be careful about what she showed, to allow interviews. Elder Spirits will be there, and Medicine Wolf, and Gray Lords are invited."

"Opportunities for me or you, Ms Hauptman?"

"For us both, especially if I'm running and you endorse me. It'll depend on whether vamps are out, but if not it could be useful groundwork for when they are, and if they are useful damage control of whatever kind."

"That's … interesting. More apologies for my predecessors?"

I opened my hands. "Maybe. It'd play well around here, if not so well elsewhere. But you could do some repudiating without apologising. Building The Dalles was expedient, wrong, and enshrined values we are trying to leave behind. Put another way, consider you'll be endorsing an Amerindian, and we are going to want everyone's votes."

"Yeah, we are. Mid-June? Hard dates would be good."

"Have someone talk to the engineers and Medicine Wolf. It should be possible to hit any specific date."

He was tickled by the idea of scheduling a river, and we rang off well pleased with one another. Gordon was very happy with news about trees I'd relayed via Jim, if charier about Thursday, and rang to say so, adding that I did fast work and Medicine Wolf was already talking to Underhill about rebuilding local ecosystems as land re-emerged. I reminded him to make sure anywhere except around the Falls, where we wanted mature trees with maximal glamour, plants still had most of their growing to do so carbon would be fixed. Then I had the same conversation with an equally happy Dan Strongbear, grabbing agreement while I could to invite Caroline and Penny, on careful notice, governors, and the Man.

That took care of Monday, and after I'd updated Mary and made sure Caroline and Penny were on for next week, Tuesday morning got hijacked by a call from the governors in question, briefed by the Man. They saw the fairness of the basic deal, and after checking financial details were good with it; they also agreed federal and bi-state declaration of the reborn falls as sacred land was proper, but Oregon wasn't keen on rerouting I84 and Washington wondered about Anglos in Wishram. On Wishram I was conciliatory — if people owned houses they had a right to be there, however they might be gently encouraged to sell — but on I84 I went for moral sticks as well as practical carrots, pushing hard on including any land with immediate vantage over the reborn falls. The highway wouldn't be where it was if they hadn't been flooded, it was going to be further away from the river anyway, all First People were prepared to be very civilly disobedient on this one, not only in the North-West, and anyway, (a) if they left I84 where it was idiot tourists would regularly get eaten, meaning headaches all round, and (b) it could be rerouted onto the path of County Highway 143 from just west of Fairbanks to east of the Deschutes confluence, with tunnels and easy grades only the largest semis wouldn't like, which shouldn't be there anyway but on the railway, which was also going to have to move, meaning a new bridge. I didn't expect or get rapid agreement, but did get an invitation to address a joint session of the legislatures they'd just set up for a week's time, in Olympia. Then we went on to First People and registration, which they found easier, and circled back to what reborn Celilo Falls would become, which they didn't.

"In case you hadn't noticed, sir, ma'am, the Columbia Restoration is reinvigorating Amerindian culture along the whole river system. Tribal meetings are up, so is economic activity, and both will be more so as salmon return. Old culture will be reborn, but it's also new culture, with Elder Spirits out, and Anglos for once walking a little more warily. A new political calculus — but get behind it and there can be all sorts of benefits. For starters, you should expect more viable independent Amerindian candidates in state elections than you've ever seen, and high-profile campaigning — not least by my pretty-much father, which will be fun." My voice was dry, and they had alarmed looks. "So you might want to look at minority hiring, and any outstanding matters involving First People. You might also be happy with photo ops as well as real benefits of integration."

They agreed they might, and we kicked that around, but Washington had another question.

"Ms Hauptman, the President seems to believe you intend to run in November, and not for my office, but he was very clear nothing is to be said in public until you do, as a matter of national security. Is there anything you can tell us? Frankly, while we will of course heed the President, we are very puzzled."

I spoke carefully. "Not really, sir, save that the President's reasons will become clear at some point, and you, with all governors, will receive a confidential briefing at some earlier point."

"I see. Or don't. Something preternatural, I suppose." He shook his head in frustration. "And the request you made to the FEC?"

"Is straight up, sir. What electoral law says about use of the internet and social media is pretty thin, and as I shall be doing things differently I need informed advice. I can give you timing, in that if nothing pops I'll give Taylor and Ligatt an interview next week, after Olympia."

"You're announcing?"

"Not quite, sir. Wait and see."

"Huh. It's gonna be another interesting year."

Oregon agreed. "I'll say. I've been wondering about your national poll numbers for a while, Ms Hauptman, because if I had anything like them I'd be running for my party's nomination in a flash."

"But I don't have a party, ma'am, thank God. The party system is, if not bust, seriously unfit for purpose, and fixing it is local business before it's national. I'd like to think that might get a start this year, and given the consensus about getting greener, the Paths of the Manitou, Assertion, and Mercy, and improving Amerindian relations and integration, the Pacific North-West could do some serious leading the way."

Oregon's gaze was shrewd. "Especially if you run, and even more so if you win, which you just might. An independent victory would be an almighty wake-up call for sure. So would a preternatural president."

"File under 'Coyote', ma'am." And Ghan Buri Ghan saying 'The wind is changing', but I didn't know if either read Tolkien. "I can't say more yet, but I give you my word the best interests of all citizens are being upheld."

They didn't like being out of the loop but we wrapped up logistics about Olympia — next week was starting to look seriously crowded — and (consulting Jenny's notes) the exact wording of the bill I'd be suggesting. That was the morning gone, and I was eating lunch when Coyote turned up, almost as pleased with me as he habitually was with himself, wanting to know how I'd wrangled Gray Lords, how soon after Thursday he and others might be needed for the call to Bonarata, and about wooden bullets. Bran had test results when I'd taken him back to Aspen Creek, and as we'd passed through the Garden of Manannán's Death Underhill had shown up, so a first batch had already been delivered and processed. Opting to save time I called Leslie, told Coyote what he wanted that she didn't need to know, receiving news in return, and when she arrived took them and a Glock down to the range in the basement. Adam had some of those blocks of plastic with the same densities as flesh and bone, and while we still couldn't be sure slugs would work on vamps they surely worked on plastic.

"They'll work, alarmingly efficient daughter." Coyote extracted one from the backstop and smelt it. "No idea what wood this is, but it has as much magic as wood. We could try one out." He looked at Leslie hopefully. "The seethe in Las Vegas is ghastly, you know. Plenty of vamps there you Feebs would charge with multiple murders in a heartbeat, if they had one."

"Un huh. No alerting anyone to what we have ahead of time. I won't be mentioning these to Bonarata. Surprises should be pristine."

"Spoilsport."

Leslie cocked her head. "No murders would be good. Bonarata?"

"Yeah. I'm not going to call him Master of the Night when we're aiming to beat him. He has real power, lots of it, but there's smoke and mirrors too. Vamps are like that, Leslie, with very few exceptions. Constant mind games are a given."

"Noted. I've had a copy of your briefing, so thanks. Come Thursday, we can start some wider distribution, yes?"

"Not quite." We headed back to the kitchen, and I provided coffee and brownies. "Come Thursday, assuming we agree a date to contact Bonarata, I need a window for a very difficult conversation, and then to call Marsilia, through whom the call to Bonarata has to go. I don't know how long it'll take to set up, but as I have to travel Saturday we're talking next week. Then we can stop worrying so much about anything leaking where it shouldn't, though it will still be absolutely no press comment by anyone. You and yours remain low risk targets before the ultimatum, and at first they'll look to kill the messenger."

"Yeah. You seem less bothered about that than you were."

"I'm bothered, I just have plans. And while I will do my damnedest to get Bonarata to see reason, you realise, SAC, that there will very probably be some dismissing? If I can dismiss any vamp who comes at me or mine, I will, and that's strategic as well as tactical. Unless any are real newbies, there won't be bodies, just dust and clothing."

She'd sat up when I called her SAC, and gave me a wry smile.

"I did talk about that with the AED, Ms Hauptman, and we agreed the fate of anyone who tries to kill you is not a problem. Personal effects without bodies might be, if they ID citizens or foreign nationals. And several people would like to analyse some of that dust."

"I figured. We get first dibs on effects, for intel, but anything left can come to you, and IDs can be listed. Forget kin notification — it'd be a waste of time and might spook something. And dust … maybe. Charles is probably curious. So far as I know it's harmless, but not something I'd keep around and Adam could tell you it tastes as awful as anything can, Dead Sea fruit coming in a very poor second."

"So could I." Coyote made a face. "Smells vile too, especially with my nose. I gave up dismissing vamps in anything except human form fast. But Mercy's right it's harmless. Grave mould. The taste is the residue of their magic, like black witchcraft."

Leslie understood Dead Sea fruit, which turn to ashes in the mouth, and grimaced. "No offence, but that's one thing that makes me glad I only have two legs. I hear you both, but some analysis will be insisted on."

"Bring a clean evidence vacuum, then. A standard bag would be enough. And if I find any vamp leftovers, I'll call." She blinked, Coyote grinned, and I decided I owed her some warning. "One heads-up as well, SAC, which is that if you receive reports of very unexpected weather hereabouts, in the small hours, don't worry but do mosey on over."

"Unexpected weather?"

"Nothing destructive to humans, animals, or property, I promise. And there may soon be more earth fae, and what the Man called huorns, here and at the Freed's place."

"There will?"

"And at Celilo Falls." Coyote gave a lazy smile. "Did the Man tell you about Mercy's lovely plans for our sacred space?"

He hadn't, and Leslie wound up laughing, genuinely appreciating an embargo on photography despite concerns. I threw moving I84 and the railway into the mix, and pulled her onside with our sincere desire to prevent idiot tourists from getting themselves eaten, which would waste her time as well as ours. Wishram came up, and I gave her more about the Yakama's plans to buy any property Anglo owners would sell, in time peacefully eliminating the problem. Then it was back to vamps and how to deal with isolated dwellings, with the dubious evidential status of ghosts in warranting SWAT assaults and the sorts of things needed with bereaved sheep — a term that raised Leslie's eyebrows.

"I know, but they mostly are. Mind-slaved, and we meant what was said in the briefing. The only difference with full-blown Renfields is an implanted purpose. Feeding makes a magical connection, regular feeding a stronger one, and when that gets mixed with two-way addiction and sex I'm told can be mind-blowing, sheep covers it well enough."

"Mind-blowing sex with dead people?"

"Un huh. True Blood wasn't wrong about that, though how much is mind games and how much long experience, swinging both ways, I have no idea."

"Vamps are bi?"

"Pretty much. It's in the films if you think about it. Anyway, point is sheep will need human care, especially if bereaved, and to be approached as warily as any human who might have a gun, but they have no special powers unless they are in the mid- to end-game of being Turned. What can be done about those except one of these" — I tapped a wooden bullet — "I don't know." I glanced at Coyote. "Do you? Then no-one on our side does, though my difficult Friday conversation might change that."

"OK, Mercy. I'll make sure that bit of briefing is understood. With vampires who sign-up is there any way of checking their … human companions are not being mentally coerced?"

"Maybe, but it's not simple. Medical checks are, and if weight and general health are OK, so are they. It's usually neglect or overfeeding that kills, and gauntness is a prime indicator."

"Like other junkies, then."

"Yup. But even if it doesn't sit right to leave them be, you actually want to do exactly that with as many as possible. Several thousand vamps mean several tens of thousands of sheep, so full rehab, which would have to be magical as well as medical, would be a major budget item. It'd also leave a bunch of hungry vamps."

"There's that, yeah." She shook her head. "I am so not looking forward to the reaction when this all breaks."

"In a funny way I am, actually. It's a boil that needs lancing, and I don't like all the cloak-and-dagger."

"That'll be interesting in a president."

Coyote laughed, and I stuck out my tongue, but Leslie had a point I thought about as I finally got to do some baking. Coyote stayed, sharing campaigning ideas that were pretty good, as well as some that weren't. Much as I disliked the idea of stump speeches, I agreed to a tour of reservations, and as they'd attract heavy media I called Mary in to note putative dates. She was intrigued, and stayed, smiling as I was bullied into accepting a longer itinerary than I wanted, happily accepted a Sacajawea SP rally that would bring very many First People to town, flatly vetoed anything more than very minor jokes, and shrugged at her question about being de facto endorsed by Medicine Wolf.

"It's not just an advantage, Mary, it's a big part of why I'm running. People who want to vote for me because I'm on good terms with the preternatural are sensible, and if Medicine Wolf is in shot so much the better. Ditto Elder Spirits. Fae are trickier as a foreign power but Medicine Wolf ought to have a vote. It was unquestionably born here."

"And Canada." Coyote grinned. "Votes in both would be right, and the Canadians might do it, if asked. They were happy with you at Wazzu."

"Now that's a thought. No address, though."

"Or birth certificate." Coyote was still grinning. "Now that you could do something pretty good with. A hashtag of #BaracksRevenge."

I was glad to laugh. "I can live with that." So could a lot of people, I'd bet. "We could get the court hearing any challenge to sit al fresco, to hear Medicine Wolf. The arguments against enfranchising it ought to be good for some ridicule."

Coyote nodded. "I'm becoming quite fond of this hashtag business. Which reminds me, register your Indian name, as well as your Anglo one."

"She Doesn't Only Fix Cars?"

"In full."

I gave him a look, but he wasn't wrong. "Un huh. Elf-friend as well?"

"Why not?"

"Thirteen words?"

"So? It's not like you need to fit it on a credit card. And you do need to work on your Siksiká."

That was true, and it didn't come easily. I'd picked up some Salish from Charles and others, but my Siksiká was non-existent, and once Mary left I endured a lesson while I finished baking and for a while afterwards, though my dear da did promise some magic to make it stick. I could at least say my name, and apologise for not being fluent, which was better than not, though a Babel Fish would still be useful.

Jesse got home with news Ms Zeeman was cautious about escalated risk, other students being involved, and reserved judgement on casting until we could brief her more fully. Jesse was mostly disappointed, though I wondered if there was a touch of relief, and pushed a little, finding she did still want but had been wondering about workload management if she was also campaigning. My instinct was to insist 'normal' activities came first, but I needed her reaching out to her peers, and special events call for special responses. One's mom doesn't usually run for the presidency, so while I cooked we thrashed out a mutually satisfactory agreement we'd both monitor. Coyote agreed to stay, wanting to eat, and he and Jesse got into hashtag and other strategies that sometimes made me laugh and more often made my head hurt, but would probably work all the same.