Chapter Twenty

Sunday allowed a welcome return to routine, and even if I was intending to mobilise it some, the congregation was still a peaceful refuge. Adam had taken to coming with me more often, as time together and spell Brent, and the presence of the Freed, with theological and pastoral thinking about the preternatural, made it more attractive to Jesse. She was up for it today, so Adam called Ramona, and when we made it through the media Hec and Maria were waiting to shield Jesse and scoot her inside. Among the shouted questions as Adam and I climbed out of the Cherokee wanting to know what I would be saying on Wednesday was prominent, and as there was a TV camera or two I stifled a sigh and we went across.

"You'll find out what I'm saying Wednesday on Wednesday, and it'll be worth the wait, I promise. Anyone have a question I am likely to answer?"

There were grins, my more regular stalkers having learned that however mouthy when I did speak, I didn't say things I didn't mean to say, and one raised a hand.

"Word is out you're going to be saying things Tuesday too, Ms Hauptman, to the state legislature. Anything you can say about that?"

"As it's two state legislatures, it's a no-brainer re-emergent land needs sorting. There's been useful discussion in Olympia and Salem, but we need it done, so I've been talking with those concerned and have proposals, but our elected lawmakers get to hear those first."

"You have Yakama authority?"

"I do. Elder Spirits' too." I took a breath. "And with regard to Celilo Falls, which for all First People is a Very Big Deal. Again, the elected get priority, but I will say loud and clear the Falls and surrounding area were sacred territory before they were submerged, and still are. That site was continuously inhabited for over 15,000 years, until 1944, and its Drowned Years are over." That phrase would catch on, I'd bet. "You might all tell your editors they need to plan coverage — it'll be a major event."

"And why should Christian Americans honour false pagan beliefs?"

Since Jenny had taken them for a lot of money on my behalf Fox had been wary of me but still sent stalkers, and the present one was more confrontational than the last. He was also irritating.

"And which false beliefs would those be, rude Fox-guy? You think Celilo Falls wasn't the oldest inhabited site in this continent? Or there aren't sacred spirits? God does not preclude Medicine Wolf, remember, nor Thunderbird, and the same applies. In any case, there being constitutional separation of religion and government, the US being a multiculture, and Amerindians having been here five hundred times longer than you've been alive, we could just file under courtesy, hey? Or there are the interesting and consequential politics of the Columbia Revival, which one might think the business of a station that claims to cover news. But what do I know?"

"A lot more than him." The local guy gave me a grin as others laughed and Fox-guy scowled. "And I hear you, Ms Hauptman. Native Affairs Desk is gearing up, but I'll prod them. Give us a wave from the church steps?"

Mary had taught me about the needs of picture desks, so though I didn't like using the church as a prop Adam and I did as asked.

"Fox don't learn, do they?"

"Nope. Slapping at Fox-guy amuses the others, though."

"And you do good sound bites."

I could hope. Inside we found Jesse talking kiddos with Freed, and I managed a quiet word with Reverend Jackson before she got underway. For once I didn't feature in her sermon, but ongoing fallout from the interdenominational conference on Medicine Wolf did, reflecting hardening positions on being green and stewardly. She also had interesting thoughts about expecting angels as messengers to have human form, which Hebrew, Greek, and Christian tradition insisted on, and what value there might be in a divine warning having four legs and a tail. Animal forms were a strong feature of the preternatural, with fae and half-fae as well as wolves and avatars, and other faiths had no problem with sacred animals, so it behoved us, she thought, to wonder how many warnings God might pack into one. I was good with that, and given the way wolves were already using furry experiences to give themselves green authority it was timely. The Freed were interested in a view that might sacramentally validate their imposed forms, and lunches would see animated discussion.

When the liturgy was complete Reverend Jackson stayed put.

"There's one more thing before I let you all head home, because Mercy Hauptman asked if she might address you, and I doubted you'd mind."

Episcopalians don't think laughter in church proper, but there was a murmur of amused agreement and interest as I rose.

"Thank you, Reverend, everyone. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be saying and doing some things in the coming week that will probably kick media interest back up from intrusive to insane. Jesse's and my public security will increase sharply, and it's all too possible, I'm afraid, that as fellow congregants you may find reporters after you for anything they can get. What you say, or don't, is your business, of course, but if you hear reporters saying anything you know to be untrue — errors of fact, or downright lies — please call them on it, loud and clear, there and then. If laws are being broken, call your PD pronto — they've promised to take press illegality and intrusion seriously. And if anyone has a real problem on my account, Adam's set up a line at his security business. He and the Freed have cards to give you, for your use only, please, not passing on. I can't stop the media being a pain, but we'll ameliorate what we can, and apologies in advance for what we can't."

"So noted, Ms Hauptman, and I'll offer collective thanks for being thoughtful and generous. Are Mr Christiansen and his men returning?"

"When they can, Reverend, though not this week."

"Well, they are always welcome." She smiled. "I know better than to pry, but I'll confess I'm itching to know what you're up to this time."

"Amerindian affairs, Reverend, that'll sit people hereabouts up. And something to follow I hope will ring a lot of bells. I can't say more, but among those bells will be preterophobes and haters, hence the security. So do please take care with strangers, and be safe, not sorry."

"Indeed. You're in my prayers, you know. You be safe, as well."

"You bet, Reverend. Always."

It was only that giving vamp dictators ultimata made it tricky, but I pushed those thoughts aside to chat with those who lingered. Ramona was talking up the road-safety segment of Living Free and Moonbound, and Freed discussing how strange it was to own land, with how happy it made their wolves. A congregational barbecue out there seemed on the cards, and Benny's in Richland would shortly be hiring delivery staff, if anyone knew folk who'd be interested. Another kin business was opening — a retro boutique that might be able to get a Mexican dress someone had been asking about. It was wonderfully normal, and I happily soaked it up until cooking deadlines meant I needed to head home.

I doubted my prayers had anything to do with it, but we'd just finished lunch when Frank called on Adam's system to tell me, looking thrilled and terrified, that he accepted and would do his damnedest. His principal, asked confidentially, had been floored but agreed to grant leave with Frank's job reserved, and the deputy coach of the debate team would step up for the duration.

"He's been playing second fiddle for a decade, so my major worry is wresting it back when I need to."

"You might not want to in four years, Frank. Former Veeps have more choices than career teachers."

"There's that. You really do think we can win, don't you?"

"I'm beginning to. What the public have to say after Wednesday will tell us for sure, and if it's a no we can shrug and step back. But I don't think it will be, and that we're going to have a lot of beings pitching in."

I told him about nailing Alphas, with what they'd be doing, and we got to practicalities. He would need security and staff from Wednesday, and with Adam running the more complicated bits of his system we did some conferencing. David Christiansen and his guys could be here next week, and Adam's regular security guys could take it on before the Secret Service picked it up, which they didn't for all presidential candidates but would for us, as a call to its wary Director confirmed. At home he wouldn't answer in more than monosyllables, but agreed taking point against vamps earned kudos, and would let me brief agents about integrating with preternatural co-workers — a formula that had Frank and Adam grinning. With that done I took a chance on Irpa, and found her being Ms Thorsden in Haight Ashbury, entertaining neighbours. She made time to say hello to Frank, and they exchanged numbers before I told her briefly about the Kentucky bicentenarian, Asil, and Alphas.

/Who's been a busy coyote? I've been a busy troll too. What the Prince called a short-briefing fairy has left a draft of Troll 101 in your inbox, and I've persuaded Vanna, who helped build the George Washington and Verrazano Narrows bridges and lives in the city, to think about Manhattan or Staten Island. This is going to be so much fun. Oh, and I have a tale to tell, Mercy, because Dave Lemieux was in touch, but my sister just freaked out my neighbour's idiot poodle again, so I gotta go peacekeep./

We were left blinking as she rang off, and some clicking had Frank looked beatific on his preterophile high while we looked at what the short-briefing fairy had sent. It was solid stuff and amusing, but there didn't seem to be any real cultural sensibilities I didn't know besides a pointed statement that most trolls who were out Overhill were female, and should not be asked about male ones as they were a disappointment to everyone. There was a background datum about early training by Thor to defend and maintain important Valhallan bridges about which no detail was offered, save to say it explained their abiding concerns.

Frank looked up. "This is good, and another troll running will be better, but before I forget, who is Dave Lemieux?"

"Grateful Dead's archivist. Who knows, but I was wondering about reaching out to them because I want to use 'Truckin'' as a rally song, and I bet Irpa will use 'Scarlet Begonias' if she can."

He grinned. "She's right about fun, Mercy, whatever the hassle. And I had a thought about songs too, because if the Boss wouldn't be happy for Warren to use 'Born in the USA' I'll be surprised."

Adam cracked a laugh. "Now there's an idea. Warren wasn't in Vietnam, though."

"Fought for his country all the same, Adam, and the 1776 thing will go ballistic. If he was standing for federal office he'd sweep up a whole bunch of votes."

"Un huh. He will here too, Frank, and still be good with pack business."

"Point. How does that work? We didn't talk about your domestic needs, if and when."

We did now, Adam doing most of it while I thought about the way our pack would cope, where most would have a really hard time. Some of the queries to Darryl yesterday made more sense along the way, but it still came down to the fact that we'd had to deal, and knew SOP had limits, whatever your traditionalism. Frank surprised Adam, though, by saying that if it happened the pack should pitch up in DC once in a while.

"A lot of talking Rachel and I have done involved effects of succeeding, Adam, and she insisted that included a First Gentleman Alpha. We're still wondering how much feminist promotion of the First Lady just flips to First Gentlewolf, on principle." Adam looked cross-eyed and I clamped down on a grin. "Rachel also pointed out that if you have to attend some Beltway bash with idiots getting in your face, being surrounded by forty wolves in both forms would give you more breathing space than anything else. Besides, don't wolves want a chance to stroll beside you and snarl at idiot bigwigs?"

Adam's croggled look became thoughtful. "I'm not sure, Frank. Maybe. Huh. I'll ask. And you're right about symbolism, but even with the cloak drilling through logistics, most of my wolves have jobs."

"Sure, but Boss, I have an invitation to the State of the Union. Can I take 48, please? will grease most wheels fast enough."

Adam stared some more, and so did I.

"True. Did anyone say anything to you, Frank?"

"My smart-as-a-whip daughter, who already has social media plans that make my head hurt. Do you want to know?"

"Need-to-know basis, I think. Andrea's wonderful, but …"

"Oh yeah. I've been scrambling to keep up for years. Just don't blink too much when you see hashtags saying #IWantToBeDroppedRightInIt."

That made us laugh, and we went on to more practicalities. Frank would talk to Coyote about Eastern rallies, and there were genuine advantages to whapping people, including First People, upside their assumptions, while my more-or-less father had an outstanding record in that department. There was also a campaign launch in the Tri-Cities, so soundtrack made a return, with more regional issues I was juggling.

"I really like the idea of the Pacific North-West leading, Mercy. The rep for decades has been quietly sane and greener than most, West Coast liberalism plus Western independence. But you and Medicine Wolf have ramped that skyhigh, and caught everyone's attention over and over — Hanford, the whole dams thing, and the Accords, as well as Heuter and the Freed. #TakingTheNextStep and #SanityWorksEverywhere were among my notes after Andrea started cranking my head open."

I gave a thumbs-up though my head was spinning. "I hear you, and yeah, Salem and Olympia will play ball on that even with independent candidates. Andrea's on it, but I'll make sure she talks to Mary Oliver, who's doing local liaison. Anything else?"

There was this and that, but we'd covered the urgent stuff, so with renewed thanks we rang off, and I sent messages to any number of beings about the Hauptman–Lafferty ticket and matters arising. By the time I was done lunch was a distant memory, and dinner went to the top of the agenda, so I headed for the kitchen. I wanted a challenge to keep my brain from overheating about things I had to wait on, and I'd found a recipe online involving pork fillet, eggs, sage-and-onion stuffing, and something half-way between shallow and deep frying. Mashed potato and greens of choice were recommended accompaniments, so I set a surfing Jesse to peeling while I sliced fillets and opted for green beans, deciding to add a thick apple sauce as condiment.

It was pretty good, as everyone agreed except the earth fae, and they were high on red cabbage steamed with apple, so that was alright. Pudding was still going down when Jesse's phone gave a coyote howl and segued into Ute Lemper singing 'Mac the Knife'. Jesse stared.

"Gramps must have reprogrammed it. I just assigned the howl. Cool." She investigated while Adam and I blinked. "And he's come through on DropBox. Fire up the laptop, Dad, and don't anyone go anywhere."

Adam did as asked. The laptop lived on the side for when a phone screen didn't cut it, but when Jesse came back in she had a projector and cables. Using the end of the table meant no-one had to move, and she set about hooking projector to laptop and downloading a fat PowerPoint file.

"What has Gramps come through with, Jesse?"

"Campaign posters."

"Ah. Right." Adam was on beer, my usual, but not having started yet I opened a bottle of red wine, and poured a glass. Adam eyed me but said nothing, and Jesse popped up the first slide.

So here we go, Graught,

and doubtless preparing-to-disapprove daughter.

Stop it – I do know what I'm doing.

First, the boring one for Anglos.

Jesse grinned, tapping a key, and I stared. The legend was a simple HAUPTMAN and LAFFERTY, central and vertical, and on either side were pictures. Where Coyote had got a photo of Frank debating I wasn't going to ask, but it was a very good shot, his face showing passion and humour while looking wise. On the other side was a photoshopped image of furry me grinning at everyone beside two-legged me in the cloak, Carnwennan on my belt and carrying Manannán's Bane, with Thunderbird's feather rising above. It was from the Man's visit to see damwork, and I'd been talking troll safety with Irpa; I was also looking passionate and humorous, and if wise wasn't my call, my stance — Irpa had been sitting, but it still means looking way up — came over as … well, fearlessly engaged with the large and magical might cover it. Boring it wasn't, and Adam whistled.

"That's … seriously good, actually, love."

Pirandella was full of pixie grin and I didn't need to ask what Jesse thought. Anyway, Adam was right. We were arguing for change, not the same old same old, and I was a coyote girl, as no voter should forget.

"Un huh. So what constitutes unboring, Jesse?"

"Let's see." She tapped.

There, that wasn't so bad, was it?

These others are mostly for places First People will see them,

but the media will take them nationwide anyway

so putting up some in big Eastern cities would be good.

Times Square, say.

This is proving more fun than I'd thought.

Jesse tapped again, grinning quite indecently, and I got back to staring. The photos were the same, but if HAUPTMAN and LAFFERTY easily balanced, SHE DOESN'T ONLY FIX CARS, SHE DROPS PEOPLE RIGHT IN IT and LAFFERTY didn't. The large space under LAFFERTY was filled with coyote-headed Coyote, tongue lolling and eyes alight, a speech balloon informing everyone that "We had to put something into all this space, and I was handy. Think about that."

I took solace in wine, while Adam grinned.

"Spot on again. Not sure that's for Times Square, mind. Roll on, Jesse."

This time I was in full cloak and feather, talking to Medicine Wolf about something, with it looking thoughtful. There were no names, only a legend that said on one line IF YOU LIVE IN THE BASIN, THIS VOTE'S A NO-BRAINER, and below it, same size, OR IF YOU DON'T. I blinked, Jesse peered at the laptop, and a note flashed up assuring me Medicine Wolf was OK with it.

"Um …"

"It's good, Mom. Call it as you see it, not the usual political bull and smear." Jesse tapped again. "Versions in Spanish and … Salish? And Siksiká? Mmm. Ooh!"

After a horrified double-take I closed my eyes. Introducing Coyote to the full range of Adobe graphic apps had not been Jesse's wisest move, but it was too late now, and I made myself look. The beach in the Columbia Gorge was familiar, even without the enormous dead-River-Devil shape that was blacked out, exactly, grotesque bulk, sprawling tentacles with suction-cups, gaping maw in profile, and all. A smaller black shape lay on churned-up sand to one side. I didn't want to know where Coyote had got an image of me by the River Devil's corpse, severely battered with eyes blazing golden defiance and a bloody Manannán's Bane in one hand, but there I was, photoshopped broken obsidian knives arrayed round my head. And in both blacked-out areas there was white lettering — THE RIVER DEVIL WAS SO HORRIBLE THE FBI KEEP IT VERY CLASSIFIED EVEN NOW IT'S DEAD, AND IT WOULD GIVE YOU ALL NIGHTMARES ANYWAY, SO BE REALLY GRATEFUL MERCY KILLED IT, HEY?, and THIS BIT WAS ITS HEART. Across the bottom, in red, was a splash slogan, COYOTE GIRLS DON'T DO ATTACK ADS, and in one corner a photo of Coyote and the Man had speech balloons: "You pay to broadcast warnings to enemies? You Anglos are crazy."; "I know." Jesse brought up a second note: "Haven't asked the Man, but he'll agree."

Adam was grinning while managing to look thoughtful. "Me too. Not many people have the right to release that image, but no-one can argue Coyote doesn't. And that's for Times Square."

"You think?"

"Un huh. You did kill that thing, love. War service counts. And the joke is very good."

"Would it be legal without the ticket names or anything?"

He shrugged. "Far as I know. Airtime slots are tricky, but posters are just cash-limited, and what you say on them is up to you."

"Outraging public decency or whatever?"

Jesse cut in. "You should hope for that, Mom, because Jenny, Andrea, and Kyle will mince it right up. Lots of free airtime. Pushing some provocation to the borderline is right, and what's truly to object to? No visible monster, no blood or guts, and a true joke."

"Well, that's a thought. Huh." I let it turn in my mind, and with the aid of more wine became mellower. I had grown used to having public images, as well as a public image, just not to using them like this, and Coyote did know what he was doing. I'd asked him because the tricksiness of advertising was right up his street, and he was delivering, for him pretty straightly. The missing ticket names were right as well — just something dead left thankfully in my wake, and a threat at once shouted and subtle. My double-take would not be the only one, and working it out would lodge the thought deeper than any screamer, even with the prettiest image. "Maybe. I want Jenny's advice, though. Are there more?"

"Yup."

Jesse tapped on, and things were calmer for a while, slogans I'd uttered at one time or another, or someone had, with my Indian name and Frank's underpinned by Elder Spirits in animal form — She Called Thunderbird!, I do not need enemies to know who I am, How long before common sense steps up to the plate?, Yes I know, but it's good Chaos, and Coyote Services: Conflict Resolution with a Twist. The last two made me blink, but were honest jokes, and as soon as I thought about it I could see how effective offbeat humour would be. The Indian language versions were a reminder I needed to keep up my work on Siksiká It turned out a First Person did campaign differently, and quite right; it was just that the gravity of the thing with vamps, and having to juggle weapons and betrayals, left me woefully short of my usual sense of mischief. Then the last image popped up, and I went back to my wine.

For once I didn't have any magical props, because I was on four legs, gazing straight out, and besides the Anglo ticket names across the top the slogan read I AM FROM PLANET B, LUCKILY FOR US. Coyote hadn't done anything so crass as colouring the US in stars and stripes, but that was there, with a bunch of other things. And it was more of the same, so I pulled out my phone. Jesse quirked an eyebrow, and I turned the screen so she could see.

Don't let it go to your head, old coyote, but you're a star.

Some legalities need checking, but you're on.

Adam'll try for Times Square, but no promises. Mx.

(SDOFC,SDPRII, EF&TFx takes too long to type.)

"True." Jesse gave a pleased laugh. "You should practice signing it, though. It needs including in your oath of office."

I thought about it, and refilled my glass to the brim.