Chapter Twenty-Six

Everyone was assembled in Adam's study by 5.30, in the flesh or on screen, and I was filled with a singing tension. Zee once told me the old German word for the feeling was spannungsbogen, the quivering of a bow drawn with arrow nocked but not yet fired, and that was exactly right. Adam had maxed house security, with extra surveillance, wooden rounds issued, and Freed wolves joining our own, all grimly aware of danger. But the means I had to enrage and unbalance Bonarata were bound up with Coyote humour as well as hard facts, vamp blinkers, and the immense, egotistical pride of anyone who would seriously name himself Master of the Night — and I'd wanted everyone available half-an-hour beforehand to explain what I'd be doing, and why.

Adam knew, and if bitchslapping Bonarata sat wrong with his instinctive protectiveness, he had no doubts about the strategy. Bran was equally supportive, as were Ap Lugh, Nemane, and Elder Spirits. The time was for humans. Westfield and the Man had some appreciation I was a coyote-girl, and meant it about changing rules, but others, civilian and military, did some instinctive balking. The Chair of the Joint Chiefs, interestingly, got it best, but others didn't grasp the way genuine levity would sting Bonarata and, I hoped, snarl his thinking. To be fair, I wasn't yet using any magic, which should up the sting nicely, gadfly to horsefly on steroids with hornets thrown in, but with coyote mischief kicking, however I was holding it back, I thought they were a sadly earnest bunch.

What everybody got fine was the hacking, under way with time dilation provided by Baba Yaga, and being monitored by Anna, on a separate screen which gave us realtime status reports. A good many billions had already been siphoned, and there was a plan to do something virally very nasty to a small private bank, so discreet it had only vamp customers and made large transfers that were bad news for anyone who preferred things like law and order, or equitable and transparent justice.

With 6 approaching I used my phone to call Medicine Wolf, leaving it listening in, and leant against the desk, flanked by Adam and Bran. Elder Spirits were on one side, all animal-headed, Gray Lords on the other, glowing power, and the system would put the Oval Office beyond them. On the big screen it was to one side, Anna below, and when I took a deep breath and hit the speed-dial the first thing that flashed up was a data-screen informing us we were connecting to a SMART Room System, the sort small businesses use for Skype meetings, and it's encryption was junk, but when that cleared the image was of a stone-floored room I recognised and had hoped they'd use, in the basement of Marsilia's seethe. She stood to one side, older vamps all around, glaring, and Wulfe was directly in front of camera, his body blocking a free-standing screen. I put names to faces for humans, all scanning hard.

"Wulfe, Marsilia." I let an edge of scorn into my voice, willing my magics to ride the transmissions. "System seems low-end for you, Marsilia, and its security is piss poor next to Adam's, so be aware any leaks are on you."

Vamps don't flush but her look was poisonous. I was more interested in Wulfe, voice as cold as I'd ever heard it.

"Mercedes, my protection of you for Wyoming does not extend to threatening the Mistress, nor the Master of the Night."

"There's a surprise. And atypically charming as it was of you to offer it, Wulfe, you and all vamps are presently in much greater need of my protection than I am of yours. You really need to upgrade your mindsets as well as your IT, you know. And you're keeping people waiting."

His eyes glittered, but a tenor voice speaking Italian from the screen behind him ordered him to stand aside, after a calculating second he did, and I almost laughed. A pretty blond vamp was seated on a chair that looked old and expensive, radiating unconcern, a bulkier figure looming in shadow behind him, and a gaunt wolf with mad eyes on one side. Pretty Boy glanced at me before his eyes flicked across the screen, and though I'd told Marsilia who'd be present he couldn't help showing surprise.

"Explain yourself and the request to speak to me."

I leant back against the desk. "No-one made any such request, Mr di Campo, and we're not here to speak to a flunkey." My gaze went to the looming figure. "Nor to Ms Yakovlevna. Perhaps you'd care to step forward, Mr Bonarata, so we can get underway."

I doubted he could really have hoped to remain unrecognised, and after a moment he jerked a thumb. Pretty Boy stood fast, and Bonarata came forward. I almost laughed again, not at the gangster-thuggish face, Roman nose showing more than one old break, nor the genuine power I could sense through two screens, but the classic all-black Nosferatu get-up, Armani monochrome completed by a long cloak thrown back over one shoulder. H he was looking as hard at me as I was at him.

"There you are, Mr Bonarata. I'm Mercy Hauptman." I let my gaze rake him. "Nice cloak, for human tailoring. I would say thank you for attending on short notice, except we've been warning vampires for years your posture is unsustainable so it would be a rather empty courtesy."

His voice was a deep bass, English slightly accented, and I could hear the anger he was controlling as well as the power he was trying to project, but it didn't ride digital transmission very well.

"Your attitude and manners are unacceptable, Mrs Hauptman, and you will address me as Master of the Night."

I gave a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Dream on, Mr Bonarata." His face became stiller. "And a free warning — trying to give anyone here orders will get you nowhere fast. Now, to my left on Marsilia's nice new system, my husband and mate, Adam Hauptman, Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack, seconding, to my right, the Marrok, speaking for all North American werewolves. Further right, Coyote, Thunderbird, Wolf, Bear, and Raven, representing Elder Spirits and Medicine Wolf, who hears. Further left, Prince Gwyn ap Lugh and Nemane, the Morrígan, representing Underhill and Gray Lords." I was speaking a shade too slowly, as if he actually needed IDs. "Beyond them, representing the United States, the President, AED Westfield of the FBI, and the Directors of the FBI, CIA, Secret Service, and ATF, with the Chair and Deputy Chair of the Joint Chiefs." Bonarata's face was frozen, eyes scanning until I snapped them back to me. "And to keep this simple, I am empowered to speak for all."

Humans, wolves, and fae said 'Truth' in chorus, Thunderbird and Raven snapped beaks, Coyote, Bear, and Wolf jaws. Bonarata's eyes flicked around and came back, dark with anger and perhaps shock. I could hope.

"You have revealed us to humans."

His voice held sheer disbelief, and I let my own shift to open contempt.

"No, you vamps did that all by yourselves, Mr Bonarata, with the major responsibility squarely on your own Roman head, by being consistently and carelessly hostile to other preternaturals, as to humans, while relying on Fae and Werewolves to clean up your messes and keep shtum. But it's basta time. The Federal Government knew there was at least one more major kind of preternatural still not out, and their guess about what was spot-on. Other North American preternaturals have stopped bothering to deny the obvious. And it's not just senior humans, Mr Bonarata. You have six weeks from now to out yourselves, on your own terms, or we'll do it for you. And whether you jump or stay stupid enough, in its strict sense, to have to be pushed, terms for permitting vampires to remain in North America are already set."

I wanted to draw him out, so I stopped, cocking my head enquiringly, and waited out fifteen seconds of incredulous silence, watching him try to reassess me, before speaking again.

"Bat got your tongue, Mr Bonarata?"

I felt Adam's spike of amusement, and saw Bonarata's outrage before he tried for a conversational voice with menace underneath.

"You would seem to have lost your wits entirely, Mrs Hauptman. You do realise you are now a dead woman walking?"

"No, that would be you, Mr Bonarata. You talk the talk, by all accounts, but you haven't been walking the walk at all. Didn't any of those Borgias and whoever teach you that if you let problems grow and keep on shirking your responsibilities, things either blow up or fall down?"

His anger showed again. "I shirk nothing."

He believed it, but the sting seemed to be getting through, so I gave him a knowing smile.

"Sure you don't. That's why you're so very on top of the North American situation. Get real, Mr Bonarata, and stop making like an ostrich. Look around. The self-indulgent, needlessly murderous behaviour you allow vamps, and practice yourself, ignoring all costs and interests save your own, has the Gray Lords, Marrok, Elder Spirits, a great manitou, and the full might of the United States telling you flatly to your face you have six weeks to put your house in order for public inspection worldwide, or face concerted military, political, economic, and magical attack."

I watched him concealing his scramble to rethink, pleased with the blindsiding it attested, until I saw his mouth open and promptly cut in.

"Now, being reasonable and ethically well brought-up fae, wolves, Elder Spirits, avatar, and humans, we don't actually want to embark on genocide. However we're tempted, and you're all already dead, you are beings, and if you'll behave reasonably we'll live and let live, in your undead fashion. But you no longer have a choice about behaving reasonably, by which we mean, primarily, proper civil integration, plus no feeding on, mindgames with, and Turning of humans without informed and witnessed consent." I switched out contempt for the rage I truly felt. "There is no need whatever for vamps to kill sheep as they do. It's not even intentional half the time, just rank carelessness. It has to stop, and will, one way or another. How many happy vamp campers are involved, and how much old dust blowing in the wind, is up to you. And seeing as your track record of responsible decision-making for your kind is such a shining pismire, Mr Bonarata, that you is plural."

I turned slightly away from him, shifting my gaze to Marsilia, whose eyes had actually widened. Adam took out his phone and tapped it.

"Marsilia, you'll find an email with three attachments in your inbox. One is the Code of Conduct to which all vamps remaining in the US must sign up. Other governments will probably adopt it, but that'll be their business. Two is the deal the President is prepared to offer US vamps, which is generous and equitable. You'll probably get a migraine and have to squint, because that's equitable for sheep and humans in general as well as vamps, but still. Citizenship with its rights as well as duties can be yours, which is the best offer you'll get from anyone this side of oblivion. And three is numbers and procedures for Registration Hotlines. Every vamp who wants to stay in the US needs to call ahead of the deadline, but Masters and Mistresses can act on behalf of seethes. Sheep will be medically checked but not removed, and monitored as vulnerable adults. On the upside, we have serious funding in place to help them, with any vamp who finds him- or herself all out of seethe funds, and there'll be a lot of that about."

More than one vamp was blinking, but I stayed focused on Marsilia.

"I know your relationship with Mr Bonarata is on the love-hate side, but I also think, despite your ghastly laugh and moral limitations, you understand as he does not that we are throwing you and all US vamps a lifeline, or undeathline, you desperately need. So we'll give you in the Tri-Cities one week, starting now, to do some serious thinking and talking before we send those documents to all seethes. Bottom line, Marsilia? Vamps have taken European orders for 243 years longer than anyone else in this country, and that's mostly why you now find yourselves right up the creek but sadly lacking paddles. Time to become Americans and start acting like it. Or go home." I shrugged, cloak rippling. "Or be dismissed."

Marsilia remained frozen, but I'd been aware of Bonarata's heavy gaze, and saw his eyes flash before he spoke, voice still going for conversational but to my ears more than a little shocky underneath.

"Ah. An election ploy. Much becomes clearer. I would admire the scale of your ambition, Mrs Hauptman, were it not as foolish as unacceptable." He poured on menace, but it really didn't affect me. "You will shortly be dead, as painfully as I can contrive, and the rest of your addled alliance can hope I content myself with you. The President in particular can consider what many billions of dollars in hostile motion could do to the economy on which all political popularity rests."

I rolled my eyes as I shifted to face him squarely. "Is that your best Blofeld imitation, Mr Bonarata? How disappointing. And wrong in every particular. It's true my candidacy serves as a focus for allied action, but even if you offered a credible threat it would make no difference now. Do you truly suppose any being here would let me speak for them, to you, if honour was not engaged? I realise you have had none for what? seven centuries or so, I believe, and I'd think you were pretty short of it even as a human, but maybe that's just the nose. Either way, Mr Bonarata, bluster and such style as you can manage won't cut it any more. Against Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, and manitous, no individual vamp has ever stood a chance. Seethe against pack, and seethe loses, every time, whatever you've done to poor Lenka in your addiction." I shook my head, glancing at the wolf and wondering how much she could understand. "Vamps' only real power over humans has been secrecy, keeping it one-on-one. Against massed humans with Special Forces or SWAT, fire-hardened wooden harpoons, and wolf or fae backup, even the biggest seethe will rapidly be really inedible toast. Elder Spirits and avatars can find outlivers and loners too. You're supposed to be a smart dead man, Mr Bonarata. Have you still not realised you have comprehensively blown it? You ran straight at the banana-skin, boasting of invincible agility, and now find yourself arse over fang heading heart-first for a killing-field of stakes." I poured scorn on top of rage. "Master of the Night? You think? If you're really stupid enough to let this go past the wire, remember to look out for the Sluagh, indoors as well as out. And owls, with every nocturnal four-footer in Italy and beyond. You don't rule the night, Mr Bonarata — you hide in it, strutting the while and never noticing the contradiction. But before we go, let's come down to cases, because I'll confess I'm curious about what passes for your thinking."

I shifted against the desk, brief silence giving him an opening, and he jumped at it, still trying to convey menace.

"Do you wish to worsen your death?"

"Said the fly to the spider. But staying on topic, eighteen months ago our alliance rescued three vamps from Cantrip's hellhole. There had been five, but Preskylovitch dismissed two by way of experiment. Although no preternatural involved had any obligation whatever to protect vamps, we made considerable efforts to keep the then status quo, with substantial success. Specifically, we destroyed torture data on vamp vulnerabilities Cantrip had amassed. Marsilia, an accredited mistress, and her servant Wulfe the Sorcerer, with Stefan Uccello the Warrior, were of our grace granted time and opportunity to remove the prisoners before the FBI saw them, and data was purged of all reference to vamps. Your response was to say nothing but order the three prisoners dismissed. Or as the President's already agreed dismissal should legally be murder, let's call a spade a spade, and say murdered. Yes?"

I'd confused him several times over, and I knew that with magical help from the cloak and Manannán's Bane I was reading him in all sorts of ways he wasn't reading me. He went for suave unconcern.

"Does it matter? Such stupidity as theirs cannot be let live. Nor yours."

"I'd say try the mirror, Mr Bonarata, but I realise reflection's not your strong suit." I waved a hand. "Anyway, my question is about your political calculus in making that decision. What did you reckon as the cons?"

He frowned. "What cons? They disgraced themselves and by extension insulted me. It can be of no concern or import to other kinds."

I registered his continuing belief, and took out the small change of amazement at his blindness with a shake of my head. "Oh can't it? Try again, Mr Bonarata. You must have known who saved your dead bacon, and you've lived long enough you're no innocent of fae and wolves, yet you chose to dishonour our freely offered grace, brooking no dissent, as if it were due tribute and yours to despoil. And now you choose to pretend witless ignorance of your offences to a gathering of incensed powers more than capable of exterminating you and your kind, yet offering more grace. Hardly your first, but surely your last warning, Mr Bonarata."

I pulled on magic that had always been mine, letting all others I'd acquired sharpen its edges, willing it to reach Italy maximally. Despite everything I'd planned, his compliance would be the better course, and though I held a lot in reserve, I put real Alpha punch into my voice.

"Wise up, ghost." He rocked back. "One way or another your affairs will be put in order. And Marsilia, Wulfe, you might want to stand away from the middle of the floor."

When I'd first called Marsilia to tell her the great manitou of the Columbia Basin had woken, and she'd asked what concern of hers that was, I'd retorted that a volcanic eruption though her seethe during daylight ought to qualify as trouble even by her standards. At the time I'd said it because Guayota and the magma in manitou magic at Sacajawea State Park had been in my mind, but it turned out Medicine Wolf could indeed control magma. As a glaring but sprightly Wulfe swung a rigid Marsilia out of the central zone, and other vamps hastily shifted the screen, a stripe of stone floor glowed and cracked open, gases bubbling out as a pillow of lava oozed up, coiling into bright shapes and cooling enough to stick in them, still glowing red streaked with dirty yellows and whites.

B O O !

Medicine Wolf had cheerfully told me more than I wanted to know about factors that made any given magma do what it did — fluidity or stickiness, density, residual magnetism as it cooled if metals were present — and judged things to a T. The stark warning sat on the vamps' ruined floor, even Bonarata staring incredulously while those in the room pressed back against walls. I felt Coyote's laughter, and my magic-laden voice carved silence, carrying its left-hand stings.

"I wouldn't assume any limitation to the Columbia Basin, Mr Bonarata. There are genii loci in Europe too, including volcanic ones, and the careless mindgames of which you vamps think nothing really offend them, as they do all of us. They sense translocating vamps too. You have royally screwed up, and now have exactly one chance, for yourself and your kind. Given the way you've ruled — relying on partial immunity to magic, fear, financial clout, and overworked maker and feeding ties — it'd be easier just to dismiss you, but as we are ethical we truly hope you are smart enough to take it. Having met you, though, it's far more hope than expectation, so I repeat that the offer goes to all, individually as collectively, and is made in all honour. Comply and survive, even prosper. Refuse and be dismissed, or if non-translocators, and very lucky, held in full stasis on a starvation diet until you acquire common sense. Time's up, powers you cannot defy are moving against you, and land borders are closed to you. Welcome to the last chance saloon, where compliance is your only way out. Marsilia, my thanks for facilitation, and when you decide you want to save your seethe from oblivion feel free to call. I understand history makes it awkward for you, but for my money Mr Bonarata's studliness several centuries back isn't worth squat when the alternative is oblivion. Your business. And one last caution. I'll take your call, but if any vamp turns up here unannounced he or she is dust. And we're done. Farewell, Mr Bonarata, from all here, and though I doubt you will we'll hope you see the light."

I left it long enough to see the flicker of confusion as he negotiated grammar to hit ambiguity, and cut the connection. Elder Spirits promptly morphed human, Coyote's laughter exploding and Wolf grinning, but I ignored them, stepping for a long moment into the welcome circle of Adam's arms as the cloak rustled, wafting roses. I heard Anna report the total take was 161 billion and change, and the bank's servers had crashed, though only time would tell how much damage the virus had done, and reluctantly turned to face everyone again. The humans were showing the shock they'd been holding back.

"Assessments?" I glanced at the Man. "I'd like to deal with the magical side first, sir. Gwyn ap Lugh?"

He nodded. "That was well done, Mercedes. You had him off-balance from the first, and planted barbs and disinformation with sure skill."

Nemane nodded, giving what was for her quite the smile. "The Sluagh and owls, yet. Reflection was a nice touch, but he can't be stupid enough to think you don't know. Can he?"

"Pass. I'm just playing the odds, Nemane. Coyotes do."

"You needn't remind me.

The Man frowned. "Can you explain, Ms Hauptman?"

"You know the legend that vampires have no reflections, sir?"

"Only from briefings, but I'll take your word for it."

"It's in Bram Stoker, and elsewhere. Point is, it's rubbish. They reflect just fine, as anyone who deals with them knows, so speaking as if I believed a vulgar myth, while showing knowledge of things vamp I should really not have, will leave him with contradictions to sort out. Might just be chaff on his radar, but could be a spanner in his works."

"Ah. And the other disinformation?"

"The harpoons, sir, and the repeated implication we don't know about his putative resistance to staking" The Chair of the Joint Chiefs had eyes on me, and I nodded. "Other emphases and ordering of words. Having us all here but saying nothing. And that unbelievable magma, unless Ms Hauptman really does have European manitous on board."

I gave him a smile. "I don't, sir, and yes, misdirection was one layer of the magma joke, but it was mostly about helping Wulfe and Marsilia. Which is ridiculous, as I can't stand either, but a clear lead from her seethe is our best bet for keeping the undeath toll nationwide as low as possible. It won't happen yet, and there will be at least one attack, but the magma will rattle them badly, so once the attack fails, with its inevitable purge, Wulfe should get more co-operation."

"It's the mismatch, military man." Coyote's voice was bubbling glee. "To have the power to erupt through their floor, and use it to say Boo! A joke that shouts we're not joking, when bloodsuckers have problems reading humour anyway. I'm really quite proud of you, daughter. All that scorn was very nicely weighted as well, and your cloak can label me impressed."

"Huh." I belatedly offered the cloak thanks, and Manannán's Bane, ignoring human stares. "Bran, my sense was that I was getting through to the seethe fine, and some power was making it to Italy. Yes?"

His gaze rested on me, heavy with power but tinged with pleasure. "Most, I think. The cloak is magnifying oddities of magic around you. You had told it of your intent to provoke and unsettle?"

"Oh yes."

"It did a good job, then. And I must confess my satisfaction in hearing Bonarata spoken to so dismissively. A shining pismire?"

"And arse over fang." Adam gave me rueful smile.

I shrugged. "Sorry about the crudity, Adam, but I thought it would be an extra distraction just before the killing field of stakes."

"And it was. Magic followed intent, Mercy." Gwyn ap Lugh gave me a nod. "I share the Marrok's pleasure. Bonarata's confusion at your shifting registers and consistent contempt was clear. And though few things ever go to plan, yours now has a better chance than most, I deem."

"Let's hope so, Gwyn ap Lugh." I found the human face that most mattered to me. "AED, thoughts?"

He blew out a breath. "Many, Ms Hauptman, starting with the fact that my understanding of vampires as extremely frightening and recalibrating for Mercy have just expanded exponentially. Bonarata is a fearsome creature, and I can't say I liked the looks of Wulfe or Marsilia either. Nor di Campo. But I am frankly astonished by your performance. I have seen enough of you, in very adverse conditions, to know you rarely speak of anything with true contempt, yet I have never heard such derision, nor seen someone of such evident power repeatedly tapped off-balance and sucker-punched. I cannot say what Italy heard, but your cloak's magnification was sharply evident here, to my ears at least."

Others around the Oval Office agreed, but no-one interrupted Westfield, who started raising fingers.

"Besides the information and disinformation, and body blows to his ego, to fixate him on you despite our joint presence, you deliberately sold yourself as over-confident, didn't you?"

"I did, AED. It's what he'd think anyway, and salting the mine means, I hope, he will kneejerk into SOP despite having his worldview whacked. I need him to commit, so I can throw him using his own weight."

"So what should he do, Ms Hauptman?" It was the Chair, frowning concentration. "Wouldn't he be coming at you anyway?"

"It's how, sir. What he should do is recognise vamps are gonna be out in six weeks max, no matter what, and cut his losses or step up to that plate. He'll stand a far better chance of getting me if he waits six months and pays a human assassin than he will snapping orders at his inner cadre."

"Ah. I must agree with the AED. Bonarata is frightening, and that was an astonishing performance. And very courageous."

"True, Admiral, but Mercy has her own scale of danger." Bran gave me a look. "And for all she insists on vamps' rights, I am reminded that her vengeance is legend. Your beef with Bonarata is Stefan?"

"Mostly, Bran. The poor damn sheep, too. Payback for Gauntlet-boy, Blackwood, and the rest of them. Jesse's owed. And Adam. Lots of people." I faced it. "Plus, call me crazy, but those vamps from the mine really stick in my craw. None of the other Freed liked them at all, and maybe they deserved dismissal, but I helped rescue them and Bonarata had them killed. He made it personal."

"Ah. I wondered when you used their fate as you did. Well enough." Bran's gaze swung. "What matters, gentlebeings, is that Mercy's wild talent for very effective revenge is close to the heart of her coyote nature, and its … twining within our strategy is magically good. Extra sinews, moving more muscle, if you like. But we must allow for it, and her success. Bonarata, enraged and shaken after that tongue-lashing, will very shortly know of the hacking, compounding both. I would expect a first attack very much sooner than later." He looked at Wiseman and the AED. "Bodyguards with you Sunday should pack wood, Mr Director."

Westfield nodded. "We're using an FBI jet and they will be, Marrok."

"My people on every human here already are." The Director of the Secret Service was wary of me, but seemed less so of Bran. His mistake. "All also have blades."

"Good." Bran gave me another look. "Mercy, do you think Bonarata will believe you about manitous sensing translocation?"

"He should. It's true — when little spots of undeadness appear in its ecosystems, it knows. But who knows whether he'll believe it enough to be put off translocating into the Basin. You heard him — his blinkers are every bit as thick as you thought."

"Yes." Bran nodded. "Habit has narrowed him badly. May I ask for your assessment, Mr President?"

"I've agreed with everyone so far, Marrok, but most with the AED. The risk Ms Hauptman is running, on all our behalves, and the sheer guts she's showing, just got real on me. So the first thing I'll say, more for ears in this office than in Kennewick, is that if any of you had doubts, you've just seen why I think she can do my present job. The second, having seen and heard vampires, however briefly, is that orcs was right, and whatever vamp citizens we end up with will be watched very hard indeed for a good long while. Give a chunk of that money we've grabbed to the Farouts, AED, because they're gonna need numbers. Marrok, wolves would be good. Mr Hauptman, might Mr Christiansen accept a retainer for helping out, between anything more urgent? It's rescue work of a sort."

Adam nodded. "He might, sir. Shall I ask?"

"Please. And the same for any citizen full- or half-blooded fae, Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, Nemane, if you will and that is possible. I find that while I agree with Ms Hauptman about genocide, I share the visceral distaste I'm told you and avatars have for the Undead. The Farouts are not going to need heavy enforcement capability with Fae, Wolves, or Elder Spirits and avatars, but they are with signed-up vamps, so any preternatural help will make more than me very glad." He suddenly stopped and looked at me hard. "And you saw that coming a mile off, didn't you, Ms Hauptman? Well before you set up Sunday with Director Wiseman and the AED."

I opted for honesty. "Yes, sir, I did. No offence, but it's only visiting Underhill, Part 2. I'd never seen or heard Bonarata before tonight, but I know enough orcs to know Sauron the super orc had to be really grim news. And he was always going to be projecting all the threat he could. I couldn't know how much you'd feel via encrypted transmissions, but I could hope. And it no longer surprises me that you have responded exactly as a sane and well-informed president should."

An indignant look faded into concealed pleasure, and after a moment he shook his head. "It's the AED's line, again, Ms Hauptman. You continue to surprise and impress. And flatter. Whatever will you do next?"

"Ask me tomorrow, sir.

"Right." The Man sighed. "Continuing. What do I know about vampires? But I know something about people and power, and I'd tentatively agree that Bonarata, blindsided and flicked so sharply on the raw, will kneejerk SOP. In his shoes, I'd have to work very hard not to do that. But I wonder who else was listening at his end, and how they might react. Will they all be doing only as ordered?"

Ap Lugh shrugged. "Probably, as things are. When any mis-step is final death, caution rules. The contempt Mercedes poured on will make any minion he despatches desperate not to fail but won't encourage initiative."

"But there is a distinction between Italy and here." I was coming down from the adrenalin high. "Proximity makes rebellion impossible. Vamps on this continent, though, all know there's a distance between his talk and his walk, don't have proximity whatever the ties, and Wulfe will have been working on them. The problem is tipping them into open defiance, and that's a parameter I built in from the first. I told Marsilia we wouldn't send documents to seethes for a week. I didn't say they might not know what's coming. Preternatural word is going out about ultimatum, Borrowed Warchest, and offer of citizenship for compliance. Some choice detail will be sprinkled in. Pressure is building. Knowledge of forces in training will leak, but on full moon seethes should know they are being watched hard."

I was looking at Westfield , who nodded.

"Good. But we're close to the limit of what I'll say today, and I need space, soon. So do others. We've done technology. The next bit's down to magic, and we need to get on with waiting. AED, you're in charge. Anything you need to ask right now?"

Westfield thought. "I don't believe so, Ms Hauptman. We agreed a week ago that pulling the trigger is your call, and protocols are in place. I'll be seeing you Sunday, and all here have plenty to ponder. Given what the Marrok said, I would ask all elements of task forces, human and preternatural, to move to DefCon Two. We'd like and expect training time, but are ready to roll if needed. And there are Special Forces on tap in the Tri-Cities if Mr or Ms Hauptman need them."

"Agreed." The Man nodded. "DefCon Two all round. Don't hesitate to call on Special Forces, Ms Hauptman, Mr Hauptman. You have backup. Anyone have anything else?"

No-one seemed to.

"Thank you, Mr President, and we won't, though magic must answer magic. But there is something I'd like to give you a heads-up about, privately, if we're done with vamps."

"Privately? Oh Lord."

"Everyone here can know, sir. I just thought you'd want lead time."

"Huh." His eyes narrowed. "Preternatural or electoral?"

"Preternatural, though it may impact. There's a question attached."

Narrowed became closed for a second. "I shall doubtless regret this, Ms Hauptman, but spill. Please."

I gave him a cheerful grin as my coyote laughed. "At once, Mr President. Medicine Wolf asks me to tell you the Great Manitou of the Mississippi Basin would like a word with Second People about pollution and flood control. Thirty-two states and two Canadian provinces will be interested. The question is what shape and name its manifestation should have. My first contender is a wise old Blasian warrior called Ol' Manitou River, but we'd appreciate suggestions and political analysis."

The deep silence was broken by Coyote's admiring laugh.

"I told you all she drops people right in it. Atta-not-exactly-daughter sounds silly, but you know what I mean."