Chapter Eighteen
Going by cloak we didn't have to leave for Denver until a few minutes before noon, when the meeting would start, but I was not destined for any let-up. We were still at the table, breakfast barely a memory, when my phone started playing 'Dance of the Sugar-Plum Fairy', and Adam quirked an eyebrow.
"Does he know you assigned that?"
"Pass" I tapped. "Good morning, Gwyn ap Lugh."
/And to you, Mercedes Elf-friend. Charles Cornick is flying, I gather, and Baba Yaga busy with some of the swifter hackers assigned, laughing the while, so it falls to me to tell you the data Wulfe the Sorcerer sent is a true earnest./
"I am glad to learn it. He asked me to be sure to tell Nemane how very helpful he is being."
/She knows, and was impressed by your handling of Stefan Uccello the Warrior, however she is unlikely to tell you so. So was I. You read the situation with clarity./
"Maybe, Gwyn ap Lugh, but it takes more than coyote eyes to fathom Wulfe. And I am not happy about Bonarata's possible resistance to staking. Is it possible Underhill might be still less bored if I ask about fragmenting rounds? Or a pocket flamethrower?"
He laughed. /The first, probably, the second, not, though Joel Arocha can project magmatic heat beyond himself at will. And we too heard those words with interest. Nemane was not wrong about fae magic, but concedes some aspect of it melded with black witchcraft might have been taken, especially if Bonarata had some immunity to magic./
"Which moving successfully against She of Livorno would strongly suggest. Might you talk to Irpa? I will be glad of ideas. We're investigating boosted tasers, and Jesse points out that harpoons can carry explosive or charges as well as tangling lines. You could think about decapitation."
There was still amusement in his voice, but genuine agreement too. /So we could, but no Undead has ever survived a troll club./
"Mmm. Still, Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, if you'd back one against She of Livorno, why didn't you, long ago?"
/There is that, Mercedes Elf-friend, and I do not forget that you bear greater risk. We will do what we can and may, and you have Irpa's number. What should we do with the Undead's money after we have stolen it?/
Adam and I exchanged a look. "Won't the Feds sit on it?"
/What they can, yes. And Baba Yaga advises some allowance for hackers to have fees met and egos stroked. But there is a great deal of it, Mercy, and your campaign could surely use some./
"Huh. Let me think." I did, watching Adam waggle a hand dubiously but pondering the ironic justice available. "Nice idea, but I'm not sure it's the best use of a windfall, Gwyn ap Lugh. What about a public, preternaturally administered Path of Mercy fund? Some could go back to vamps to benefit sheep, but enabling legal anti-bigotry action, say, and helping distressed leprechauns or whatever would make a serious point. We could call it the Borrowed Warchest."
Adam and Jesse were giving big thumbs-ups, and ap Lugh's voice became very dry.
/Now that is clever. I shall speak to Bran Cornick, Baba Yaga, and Grant Westfield. He will be willing, I think, however the Treasury demurs./
I shrugged. "Don't count your windfalls before they've fallen. Their problem. One of ours is that now we know there really is a Wulfe's Warriors reform faction, we need to be sure the right dust accumulates. You recall my words to Stefan about perhaps bumping into a fae problem?"
/Of course./
"And would it happen there are protocols in place for encounters between any fae and Undead who are onside?"
/Point, Mercedes. There soon will be./
"Fair enough. Wolves are more used to that."
/So they are. But striking no first blow should cover most of it./
"Surely, Gwyn ap Lugh, but forgive me, that most has a little too much … play in it. If Stefan were not a being of honour, our conversation would have been very different, and those who sign are giving their words."
/Yes. I hear you, Mercedes, respecting scruple./ Dry became complex. /Speaking of which, Underhill has thought about ducks, but they fare no better here than humans, and adopted your name for her fountain with glee. She says she is considering an ice sculpture./
I didn't ask what of, which took some doing. "I am again glad to hear it, Gwyn ap Lugh, and trust we all find some more uphill justice in due course. Will the Fae respond to my addresses to the state legislatures?"
/Certainly. We are glad to welcome fair proposals and reassertion of the Yakama Nation's Sacred Space, as to welcome and commend your putative candidacy and its later confirmation./
"Assuming."
/ Much moves around you, Mercedes Elf-friend, and enough humans will leap into line. Are you looking forward to it yet?/
"I'm beginning to, Gwyn ap Lugh. Ask me again when Bonarata's dust. Is there anything else urgent?"
/No, only Wulfe's earnest and the stolen money. Fare well in Denver./
He rang off, and I looked round the table.
"Dracula's Stolen Billions, anyone?"
There were grins.
"As much as that, Mom?"
"I'd think, Jesse. And I'm sure the campaign would benefit more from the Borrowed Warchest than any direct donation."
Brent nodded. "Smart thinking, Mercy. You should put it out there as soon as it breaks. Yeah there are vamps, big problem all round, but we're fixing it, and we just burned a way serious hole in their wallets, to help their victims and reduce the tax burden. If the Feds can freeze individual seethe funds it'd be a good lever to incentivise signing up."
"Point."
I sent an e to ap Lugh, Charles, and Baba Yaga. Bran would be busy, and this afternoon was soon enough. I was wondering if my pretty much father deserved a call when he walked in sporting his usual grin.
"Are we really going to steal the bloodsuckers' money for a warchest?"
"It's an idea. Hi dad, and all that. How are you this morning?"
"Chipper, distinctly daughter. Are you still upset about your Stefan?"
"Some, yeah. It was not fun."
"But it's done, he's thinking about it all, and you were right about the weirdness of Wulfe, so cheer up." He dropped into a chair. "And you get to trot out your delightfully surprising Alphaness all over those poor wolves, so what's not to like? I'm tempted to come as an official observer."
Adam gave him an edgy smile. "If Bran doesn't mind, Coyote, and only if. But yeah, I have some anticipation about that. We're a bit exercised about Bonarata's reported resistance to staking, though."
Coyote shrugged. "If one doesn't work, try two. Or a grenade could have a wooden case."
"Mmm. Explosions go all ways. What brought that on?"
"Those German grenades with handles. I was watching Kelly's Heroes."
Adam laughed. "One of the few war films where anyone has to reload. Mercy's right about scatter, but a shaped PE charge might be a winner."
"Sounds good to me. But honestly, daughter, avatar bulk is probably your best bet. If Jill Widepaw's bear is sitting on Bonarata's severed head, it won't be rejoining his body in a hurry even if it still wants to. And Irpa could just stand on any bits of him."
"Un huh. But if I'm on national TV when all this happens, which seems horribly possible, I don't want two wriggling bits of Bonarata spitting out stakes and curses while I scratch my head and explain to the watching millions it always worked before." Coyote laughed, but Jesse looked thoughtful. "I know it's a longshot, but ask my aunts and the spirits if there's any extra trick to dismissing in anyone's armoury?"
"I can do that, but there's nothing I know of besides sunlight, staking, decapitation, and fire. Salt makes newbie bodies crumble, and you don't need as much as for wendigos, only a pound or two."
"Anything in the garlic trope?"
"Nah. Doesn't hurt a mosquito, never mind a vamp. I did try stone knives once or twice, but I had to cut their heads off anyway."
"Any other plant or substance have any effect at all?"
"Not that anyone's discovered. A magic sword's a better bet."
I had an idea about that, and sent Bran a message. It turned out Coyote really did intend to come to Denver, mostly for his own amusement, so far as I could tell, even if it was thinly cloaked in officially observing as an Elder Spirit so I sent Bran another message, and excused myself to run an errand. Brent looked at me very oddly as we came back.
"I'm just playing the odds, Brent. You do what you can."
"Yeah, I get that. It's just your can is wider than I'm quite used to."
"Un huh. Just remember I feel the same."
He took that under advisement, but Adam was happy, Jesse thought it cool, while Coyote just laughed again. When Darryl arrived we brought him up to speed on Wulfe's earnest and its consequences, which made him grin, and what else was ticking over. Adam set him to calling Jenny, Andrea, and Leslie with the same summary, excusing himself to cram in some work as a bulwark against next week. Jesse snagged Coyote's ear with the many possibilities of harpoons, probably unwisely but keeping him at the table pilfering brownies, which was good enough. I really wasn't nervous, Alphas being less intimidating than they used to be, and my credit with them good, but given the week coming up full cookie tins were sensible, so I baked all the same. I had a second batch cooling when my phone rang, this time with the strange noises opening Van Dyke Parks's 'G Man Hoover'.
"Good morning, AED. Problem?"
/Hello, Ms Hauptman, and that depends. A Borrowed Warchest? I'm not sure my brief covers having that much money … misappropriated./
"By all means check with the Man, AED. It was only an idea, but there will be some pressure because as a symbolic statement we think it'll play very well with both preternaturals and humans. Do you disagree?"
/Not at all. But the Federal Government bears a high cost for law enforcement, and seized assets are a necessary as well as just offset./
"I'm not greedy, AED, but preternaturals have borne and are bearing high costs also, avatars and wolves especially. And I'd think more than the Farouts would be happy if a preternatural fund was doling out grants to vamps whose sheep need whatever."
There was a pause. /Points, Ms Hauptman. I will consult. On other matters, special rounds and weapons are not a problem, and I trust your people to be careful, but any Secret Service detail watching you ought to be briefed./ He paused again. /Harpoons?/
"Down to Jesse and National Geographic, AED, but possible stake-resistance is not good news so we're playing Q in earnest. If Bonarata can resist sunlight and staking, we're down to decapitation and immolation, so he has to be slowed enough to try. Harpoons can carry tangling cord or explosive heads. Decapitation we have covered, but incendiary projectiles can be high tech as well as magic. Ask the CIA if they can make a bullet with hypergolics that'll mix on impact, or anything they can think of that'll produce a temperature spike of at least several hundred degrees?"
I could hear his distaste. /Very well./
"It won't happen unless Bonarata himself comes at me, AED, but if he does we will need everything we can get. War always means R&D overdrive. And I'm asking for the hotlines and warchest because they'll be carrots and sticks to save vamp unlives."
/So they will./ He sighed. /I wasn't criticising, Ms Hauptman, just …/
"Freaking a little? Me too, AED, but needs must. We wouldn't hesitate about a .750 grain to take down a rabid rhino, and Bonarata's worse. It's a magical problem, and I suspect the answer will be magical, but while even extensive injury doesn't dismiss vamps, it can sure slow them down."
/And security plans for the possible. I don't have to like it./
"None of us do, AED, and it is a sort of assassination attempt, however triggered in response to one coming the other way. But Bonarata can always choose to comply. Besides, do you really want to be responsible for holding a septuacentenarian, foreign national, translocating, daywalking vampire ex-dictator?"
I saw amused agreement around the table.
/Now you mention it, Ms Hauptman, dismissed resisting arrest does seem unhappily attractive, even with a hypergolic harpoon involved./
"That's the spirit, AED. Was there anything else?"
/Two things, I'm afraid. You think hotlines will need to process registration very fast. I believe I understand why, but …/
"Fair enough, AED, though there are limits. One question is what scale of attack triggers the strikes on seethes? I doubt the answer is one hitvamp, and if Marsilia's seethe is ordered to attack, and purged, she and Wulfe could act more openly. That's another reason I want the Borrowed Warchest leaked preternaturally. But if two attacks have not triggered strikes, what will? Number three ought to be Big Guns, and unless everything stretches longer than I'm expecting, or Wulfe's Warriors are way more distributed among seethes than I can easily believe, there will be a whole bunch of vamps on the fence when it goes down — which is very probably when it breaks wide to the public, and I shall have dropped myself right in it on TV everywhere yet again. So assuming a bunch of Bonarata's most feared and trusted are at that point dust in the wind, I've called the Man to say Geronimo, and shortly have a camera in my face, I'll need to say something to vamps as well as my bug-eyed nation. Who knows what time of day or night it'll be? But with task forces rolling at seethes I'd very much rather the lines didn't get crashed by call volume."
/Yes, indeed. Thank you. The added detail is helpful. Would you, ah, anticipate any pre-registration?/
"Who knows, AED? Talk to Wulfe, and Wulfe only. Try an hour or so before sunset. He can be awake and most can't."
/Noted./ He sighed again. /Live and learn./
"Or die and learn, AED." I heard Adam welcoming Ramona and Carla in the hall. "What was the last thing? I need to go shortly."
/Only you, Ms Hauptman. Leslie said you wanted to speak to Wiseman, and I agree it's time. He knows they need a vampire division fast, and is neither inefficient nor a ditherer, but needs advice./
"I bet. Off the top of my head, he should forget strike teams. They're our business now, not his longer term. What will be is enforcement. Details are impossible until we can talk to Wulfe openly, but in principle he needs registration of vamps and sheep, quotidian monitoring, and enforcement."
/Also yes. Forgive me, but are you going to call them sheep in public?/
"I will probably explain the term, because they are under magical possession and consent is history with the second or third feed. But I agree it's pejorative. Suggestions for handy alternatives welcome."
/Huh. There are always bureaucratic acronyms./
"Spare me, AED." My mind suddenly spun. "Or maybe not. A division for Special Help and Education for the Enraptured by Preternaturals might play better than you'd think. My ever-so father is giving me a look of parental pride. We need a proper term, though. Personal Blood Donors is neutral, but saying PBDs is no fun, so I'm happy the FBI are on the case."
Westfield snorted. /It'll liven the Monday briefing, Ms Hauptman./ He became serious again. /The … I'll say black humour matters, doesn't it? It's not just … coping?/
"Yeah, it does, and no, it isn't. Or not just me coping, anyway. I usually call it WD-40, but Anna says it's a form of zen. And, more oddly, justice." I gave in to temptation. "This isn't for repetition, AED, but I learned recently that Manannán disapproved of fountains, and Underhill has made a little of what was left of him into one that flows up, not down. I managed to christen it the Fountain of Uphill Justice. And some more of Manannán may yet become a duckpond. I can hope. You know how much damage short bad lives can do, AED, and it's one of the things you most hate, I think, so you've probably thought about the damage really long bad lives can do. Inflicting comedowns on the dead is an often necessary ritual one of my wolf brothers would call cathexis. And I genuinely think sheep have made a truly silly and weak decision. So do most preternaturals. Surrendering your will is not only dim but a long step towards abomination. No name will remove the stigma, though improved standards of … shearing might take the edge off. Anyway, I'm out of time. Denver beckons."
/Denver? Huh. I won't ask./
"Which will save me not answering, AED, but don't call back for a while. Please text a Warchest answer soonest, though."
He said he would, and I determinedly set the phone to vibrate only, while Adam tapped his watch in the doorway.
"I know, love, but really."
"Welcome to your future, decisive daughter." Coyote was still grinning. "You're on a roll again. Marvellous. Now go dress for things to do in Denver when you're not dead. And calm down, soldierly son-in-law. She Doesn't Only Fix Cars has entrances down cold, and who cares if she's five minutes late?"