Chapter Fifty-Six
Media restraint about numbers had not held with international media present in force, but arriving by unexpected presidential motorcade meant Secret Service and PD numbers kept everything orderly. I introduced the Man to a flustered Reverend Jenkins, before Adam, Jesse, Skuffles, and I went with him to appease the PR machine. He was in bullish mood, and gave reporters a predatory smile.
"Good morning, everyone. As you're aware, vampire matters remain calm and under control in the US, and are quieting globally. And as you're not yet aware, I just facilitated a meeting between Ms Hauptman and fifty-three heads of government, including Russia and China, to give them some perspective on how to create a Path of Mercy, and the way those come with a Path of Assertion. It went very well, they were all impressed and grateful, and the US is providing technical assistance. Before you ask, I'll say loud and clear that while I am here on necessary business, and for Ms Hauptman, who is going to be a spectacularly good president, I have other reasons. Frankly, after the last two days I didn't want to miss service today, so it makes sense to worship here. I am also very pleased to visit the congregation that has so generously and helpfully welcomed the Freed Pack, despite all the denominational complications. SAC Fisher keeps me posted on how they're doing, and their well-being here is very heartening. And though it is no kind of mitigation, it assuages federal guilt for what happened, a little. Finally, I don't often get to say this, but I'll bet it isn't me you want to question, and Ms Hauptman's waiting. You've got five minutes."
I gave him a fisheye but pointed with Manannán's Bane to the first pool person and set about answering bemused reporters succinctly.
"Uh … you're not wearing Excalibur, Ms Hauptman."
"Nope. Wearing a broadsword to church seems gauche, and though we still have a lot of talking to do I think it doesn't care much for the way Malory and others sacramentalised it, so I'd watch that. Next."
"Er … how did you find meeting foreign leaders, Ms Hauptman?"
"Interesting, and in some cases revealing. It was mostly about what magic can and can't do, and what needs old-fashioned legwork. Religious responses to vampires came up, with the need to get past kneejerk reactions to otherness. Next."
"Um … how is Skuffles?"
I'm good, thank you, ma'am. No lingering ill effects from Bonarata's dust. And it is a great relief not to have to skulk out of sight all the time, however I was happy to do so and it paid off handsomely. Next.
"Ah … no offence, but you look thinner, Ms Hauptman. Are you alright?"
"Un huh. Friday's magic burned a lot of calories, ma'am, and though I've been eating high-protein it'll take a while. Bear's kindly promised to feed me up too. Thanks for noticing. Next."
"Is Miss Hauptman taking questions?"
The accent was Canadian, and I gave him points. "Are you, Jesse?"
"Sure, Mom. What's your question, sir?"
"You are setting a remarkable example, Miss Hauptman. What advice do you have for children in other nations who can't influence votes here?"
"Thanks for the compliment, sir, and children everywhere should push every way they can for green policies, tolerance, and human–preternatural co-operation. We either get deadly serious together about the green, right now, or we get dead. I'm betting dead is a lot less fun than a bit crimped for profit in the short term. Next."
"Why did you want those particular songs yesterday, Ms Hauptman?"
"I like them and dancing to 11/8 time. It's fun. Try it. Next."
"You are very calm, Ms Hauptman. How are you coping?"
"As I can and must, sir. Understand I have known about vampires since I could walk, and lived with threats on all sides since I left home at eighteen. Fussing doesn't help, so I try not to bother. And as I did think we could take Bonarata, in concert, a chunk of backbrain is pleased to be proven right. Lenka Yakovlevna and the braided ghosts haunt me, as they ought to haunt anyone with sense. How are you coping, sir?"
To his credit he answered directly.
"Badly, Ms Hauptman. Haunting is right."
"Oh yeah. There's talk of a service at Gateway Park, for Lenka and the vampires so wantonly sacrificed by their own. I don't think anything's been decided, but you might find that therapeutic. Next."
"Um … what are you going to do differently next, Ms Hauptman?"
"Go to church with the President. Longer term, wait and see. Several things will happen next week. And that's it, as Reverend Jenkins doesn't appreciate lateness"
Recrossing the parking lot the Man was suppressing a grin as he waved to crowds beyond police barriers.
"Actually answering reporters' questions throws them so nicely." He gave me a sideways look. "And in some cases revealing? You thought Britain was sensible before today?"
I grinned. "Not so much, in so far as I thought about him at all, sir. I meant China's laugh. But we're about to make someone's day."
An absolutely beaming Mrs Wright was offered a presidential arm to climb the steps, while I gave Mr Wright mine.
"I'm afraid I've probably messed up poor Reverend Jenkins's sermon again, Mr Wright, Mrs Wright. I wonder what we'll get this week."
He smiled and she laughed.
"You do keep us all on our toes, dear. Perhaps you could share the sermon again."
"Or not. I've done quite enough public speaking for one week."
"You shared a sermon, Ms Hauptman?"
"It was more of a twofer, Mr President." Mr Wright patted my arm. "The good reverend got a little excitable about Isaiah last week, and the good lady here set us all straight."
"She has a habit of doing that, sir, luckily for us."
We arrived at the top of the steps, and arms were disengaged.
"So she does, Mr President, and so it is. Thank you for your courtesy to my wife — we're not so steady on our feet these days. And thank you Ms Hauptman, not only for your kind arm."
He gave us nods and escorted his wife past a smiling David and JJ.
"What a charming couple."
"Aren't they? They have a large lumberjack grandson whom Ramona and I abash, much to Mrs Wright's amusement."
"And mine." The Man held out a hand. "Mr Christiansen. Thank you for your response to Director Wiseman. It all seems to be working out so far, but experienced help is very welcome."
"You're welcome, Mr President. No problem, but rescues have priority."
"Of course."
We went in, and the congregation greeted us with applause, which the Man dealt with by smiling, using his volume slider, and thanking them for making another stranger welcome before we sat with as much of a don't-mind-us-and-do-carry-on air as we could manage. Ramona was biting her cheek, and Reverend Jenkins giving me a fisheye, so I smiled sweetly. Besides formal welcome to the Man, Reverend Jenkins managed to keep it normal until she had to mount the pulpit, and sighed.
"I should not be repeating my mistake and trying another extempore sermon, but you do go on making theological revelations, Ms Hauptman, that it seems a solemn duty to confront. But where on earth should I start? Ol' Manitou River? Ghosts? Vampires? Ghosts braided inside vampires? Excalibur? Or what Mr Moreno, who staggers me, as he must all, called grace, rightly as it seemed when I heard him? About all I know is I don't know anything like enough about any of it to say anything sensible, so I should stay quiet. And yet here I am, duty-bound, and with our highest civilian authority listening. Oh well. I'm reminded of that old saying among soldiers, that if I can't take a joke I shouldn't have joined."
There was murmured laughter, including Adam's.
"And that's the one thing I might have managed to wrap my poor aching head round in the last two days, because Friday started with a heart-stopping joke in the name Ol' Manitou River and the way the Mississippi just stopped rolling along for a second, and it wasn't the only one. Vacuum cleaners dropped into the mantle, done and dusted, Mr Hao effortlessly revealing that senator's pure foolishness, and that amazing, absurdly truthful poster." She looked at me. "Ms Hauptman, I knew you had slain a monster but had not envisioned what that truly meant, and I salute your courage." She went back to surveying everyone. "So, there has been laughter, and we cannot doubt the humour is deliberate. But it has been among events devoid of humour and, one would think, of its possibility — though I am reminded that in mediaeval plays showing the life of Christ harrowing hell is presented humorously, drunken devils fleeing as Our Lord kicks open the gates with sandaled feet and enters in. But I can't say I'm laughing at all where Mr Bonarata or Ms Yakovlevna are concerned. So is humour just leavening, a little salt? Or the kind those under great stress use to relieve tension?"
She shrugged.
"Both, probably, but also another lesson, I suspect. Ms Hauptman has pointed out before that with the unhappy exception of the Book of Job Christianity does not comprehend within its account of the divine anything resembling the joker in other pantheons — the Norse Loki, Yoruba Anansi, Crow, or our own rascal Coyote." I grinned. "And fair enough — we're hardly obliged. But even very serious Christians didn't always think God and laughter were at odds, let alone incompatible. The poet John Donne, once Dean of St Paul's Cathedral in London, punned on his own name and his wife's maiden name in a poem full of sinner's anguish, and his friend and colleague George Herbert made poems in the shape of an altar and what he called Easter-wings, prayers to be lifted up into God's glory. But somewhere along the way we let ourselves become too staid-and-stuffy, too certain worship must be gravely earnest as well as sincere. And the one thought I had after hearing Mr Moreno was that those moments when despite everything laughter called to us were … I'll say epiphenomena of the grace he saw. We saw. I shan't say more, but I ask you all to wonder about the ways in which laughter might be a sign or form of grace, as I shall, and I'll revisit it when I have something to report."
That was unexpected and welcome, and the Reverend became brisker.
"One thing I can address with more confidence is the desire of some congregants for the Church to take a stronger position supporting SAGE. I've spoken at length to the Bishop in Spokane, and he with others, and the problem is conflicting imperatives. As Christians we must be concerned by the epidemic of murder in our society, and fight it as we fight all sin. Supporting sensible gun control is, however, political, and in this nation there is strict separation of church and state, so it is not felt appropriate for the Church officially to express a view on SAGE. Yet the Church cannot in conscience oppose any initiative with a clear purpose to tackle that epidemic of murder, and is happy to facilitate independent activities by congregants in its support. So in practice, any organising about SAGE any of you want to do can use church facilities for meetings and the like, and I'd be a willing participant, as I will continue to visit our unhealthy relations with guns and all violence in sermons. But the Church cannot offer any formal preference for SAGE over the NRA, however most of us find it a simple decision." She shrugged. "It's a classic Episcopalian compromise, but as a broad church that's what we do, and though we mostly agree about this one, it's still over the political line."
I had expected it, but she wasn't done, and sighed again, looking at me.
"I'm sorry, but I feel I have to go there, Ms Hauptman, because welcome as SAGE may be, you have also been consistently clear attempted murder will be met with lethal force, and we have been viscerally reminded of what that means. And I owe you an apology. Friday night you spoke with unforgettable passion of a … I won't say clear conscience, but a robust conscience, and I can't say I don't understand. But I am very conscious I spent a lot of yesterday telling myself you were busy as an excuse not to offer the pastoral care I should have. So I'm sorry — and it's not the first time I've failed to offer you spiritual solace when it might be needed. I did the same last year, when you faced Cantrip and Manannán mac Lír. Never having killed myself, I have no idea what to say, so I ducked it. And that won't do, if only because when I can think about it at all I know I am deeply relieved Mr Bonarata is truly dead, and those ghosts freed to go on. Such awful malevolence! But I still don't know what to say, except thank you, and to pray for your safety and well-being."
Stifling a curse I hauled myself to my feet, and gave everyone time to turn in their pews.
"No, thank you, Reverend. Your kind of honesty is rare, but beating up on yourself doesn't work so well. And it's not on you, or anyone but Bonarata and those dismissed with him. And uncomfortable as it is for me to say so on consecrated ground, being coyote I am in my nature a predator, and predators kill. So while I am haunted by pity I am not racked by guilt, and neither should you be. You're not a predator, just a good human being, and I'm very happy you have never faced the need to kill. I pray you never will. But it is not an undue burden for me, and the only thing I'm minded to say about that is predators are comprehended by God's creation, and I believe in Salvation by Works as well as Grace."
As I sat again the Man spoke without rising.
"Presidents need to be predators too, ma'am, in some measure. I'll shortly be signing a law to make dismissal of a vampire murder, if it isn't justifiable homicide or legal execution, but I signed off on those deaths in Gateway Park, and so did the FBI and St Louis PD. And I tell you all straight, any harm to any Hauptman would have been a lot nearer my conscience than what happened. I think we — Ms Hauptman, mostly — saved a lot of lives and unlives, in this nation and elsewhere, so for all the haunting I'm not repining. Sometimes having the right beings die, for a moral value of right, is the best deal anyone can get."
There was a silence before the Reverend nodded.
"Noted, sir. And thank you both. I suppose I don't care to contemplate the price good has to pay in vanquishing evil, but that's not very Christian of me either, is it? So perhaps I should take my own advice about humour, and conclude the Lord has indeed had mercy upon us, not least in ending some unimaginable suffering. Now let us pray."
Reverend Jenkins being Reverend Jenkins she asked mercy for Bonarata's soul as well as those of all the dead, and all who had necessarily taken life or unlife, and if I had mixed feelings I didn't much care what mercy God might extend to anyone who wasn't my problem any more. Death pays all debts. Thereafter the liturgy went as it should, and once we were done the Man's respectful but cheery greetings to the Freed drew congregants in. I was amused to hear Mr Wright farewell him.
"A twofer last week, Mr President, and a threefer this. Thank you. You've restored some faith, as Ms Hauptman has. Be safe, now."
The lift carried me over comforting an emotional Reverend Jenkins, helped by blunt soldiers' wisdom from Adam and David, and unyielding severity from Ramona, who in a way at once simple and very twisted shared my outrage about the Wyoming vamps.
"You know what I give thanks for, Reverend? That Cantrip suborned a wolf, not a vamp, and that the Marrok, however a man and so frequently an idiot, is no sort of Bonarata, or I and mine would all be long dead, twice over, for the crime of being kidnapped by irresistible force. I never stopped believing in God, and I've never had to kill a human, but I did learn not all Commandments are so absolute, however they need to be phrased that way. When a devil attacks you, turning the other cheek doesn't work so well, so in my book thou shalt do whatever thou must to survive and vanquish evil. St Michael had that fiery sword for a reason, and so did Mercy." She gave a wry smile. "Having been raised Catholic I'm more into self-flagellation than Mercy, and approve yours, but only in principle. Yeah, you could have offered but it would have been form, as much burden as use to her, so you had reason to refrain. Adam's on the job anyway."
I wasn't sure Reverend Jenkins quite parsed all that but let it go, welcoming belated concern for Jesse, which she handled smoothly. The Man needed to head to DC, and after we'd shaken held my hand a moment.
"I doubt I've taken half of it in, Ms Hauptman, because you do things with more layers than I can count, but I am truly grateful for Bonarata and his ghastly crew, and Ol' Manitou River. Don't forget to feel proud as all get out, because you should."
"Thank you, sir. And I do, with a little sideways. When I asked for 'The Eleven' I was thinking of the cover of Live/Dead too."
His eyes narrowed. "Damn. A … what? Goddess? Over an empty coffin."
"Goddess? Nah. But a magic-user and a woman, and as she's neither skeleton nor ghost I never thought the coffin hers."
"Huh. Something to occupy me in flight, assuming State don't take up every waking minute. And you should feel proud too, Miss Hauptman, Mr Hauptman. I'll see you all at the conferences or Celilo Falls, unless something else happens meantime. What are the odds? Go safe."
Once the Man's motorcade departed, taking all but our own Secret Service squad and a chunk of Kennewick PD, we escaped. In the car I grumbled about going to church to be comforted and preached at, not vice versa, but Reverend Jenkins was only having problems because she was being conscientious while as shocked as most humans, and there were others in the congregation who did know what it was to kill — we had cops as well as vets, and some had let me know they'd felt the ironies, which was soothing. So was the prospect of cooking, and once a cold if generous lunch had been eaten, I got on with it before anyone could interrupt.
I had to field calls while I worked, Bran wanting to check on Asil, who reassured him; Frank wanting to talk about yesterday a little and round tables a lot, with me and Asil; and a cautious Clay, pleased to find me available, to let me know about his call from the St Louis PD captain — mostly, he said, a fanclub meeting. Letting him pass his phone to Sally while Jesse took mine tied it up nicely while I finished trussing a venison haunch with juniper and horseradish, wrestled it into the oven, and set about vegetables. Potatoes would provide necessary bulk, and I recruited people to peel, Anna and Jesse pitching in with greens. When Zee called, pleased by my refusals to draw Excalibur without true cause, I wangled a conversation about its magics as soon as maybe, and passed him to Jill for respectful discussion of grill designs that pleased both. Less cheerfully, Jenny called to say she'd been given a heads-up Senator Stupid was intending to file suit against me as well as Hao, claiming conspiracy and who knew what. She wasn't concerned, if glad Hao wasn't a client, but wary of obstruction that was the real intent. Legal expedition was the Man's province, so I emailed, receiving a swift reply, and left Jenny happier.
I made a call myself, and Medicine Wolf dropped by to read me so far as Chinese and other manitous were concerned. It had direct contact only with neighbours, wandering manitous like Guayota were unreliable, and there wasn't any kind of transoceanic manitou bulletin-board, but it had no objections to passing my request upwards and would talk to Ol' Manitou River about a countersignature.
Contact across the Bering Strait might be possible, Mercy. I will talk to the spirits. They were happy on Friday, and happier yesterday, so they may oblige. Many ghosts also heard you, so you might ask them also.
I took that under advisement, and left a voicemail for Hao with a heads-up about the Senator before asking if he minded me giving his number to the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the PRC, offering a brief explanation with my advice to Marsilia, and spent happy seconds imagining his face when he heard it. That tickled memory, and after collecting Adam and guards we headed to the gate, ignoring surprised reporters, and went to the Andrews' house. Sending the fruitcake had been wise, and although Mr Andrews said he understood why we hadn't been forthcoming he appreciated formal apology for having misled a neighbour. He also had sharp questions about the local seethe, which we answered, and Adam had bought him a Glock and wooden rounds.
"We don't have anti-vamp shotgun shells, Mr Andrews, because only a heart-shot works, so I've taken the liberty of asking the FBI to register this Glock in your name. Your license is good for it in the house, though not concealed carry. I can ask them to change that, if you'd like."
The old man turned the gun in his hands, then a wooden round.
"You said these were grown for you, Mr Hauptman?"
"For us, Mr Andrews, yes. Mercy tells me the wood's stonethorn and the softer outer layer's so it doesn't jam in the rifling."
"Huh. But this sort of pistol isn't cheap. I don't see you got any obligation to pick up that tab for me."
"It would be our pleasure, Mr Andrews." I spoke carefully. "And Adam didn't pay retail price. We needed the plastic-and-polymer design because most fae can't hold iron, so we've given Glock a fair bit of business."
"I bet. Still sits wrong — neighbourliness don't have a price."
"No it doesn't, Mr Andrews, but we won't miss the Glock or rounds, and though we hope you'll never need them we thought you and Mrs Andrews might rest easier knowing you have them." I noticed something through their windows, and kicked myself. "And there was something else, because as you know we have a garden staff and not enough for them to do."
After a moment, Mrs Andrews spoke, blushing a little.
"I can't quite manage the garden as I used to, dear, it's true. And Sam has a harder time with the mower than he did — pushing it just catches his back wrong. But we should pay for any service."
"Surely, but with earth fae that means leaving out milk and cookies. They're slowly learning what to do with money, but it has no intrinsic appeal. I expect you've heard me say they dine with us Sundays? My table's full today and I can smell the joint you're cooking, but if you'd like to come next Sunday you could meet Nuthatch and Pirandella, the senior brownie and pixie, and talk over garden help you'd be glad to receive and cookies they'd be glad to find on your porch. They're neighbours too."
Neighbourliness outweighed caution and an embarrassment I didn't understand, and asked Adam about once we were back inside our gates.
"Not sure, but I'd guess it's a future president looking after them."
I filed that to think about, and threw myself into cooking. By the time Penny, Dwayne, and Don turned up with Caroline, Al, and Vince, supper was under control and gingerbread cooling, so I joined them around the table. They were all a little uneasy, emotions still raw with shock, and as first beers became seconds I decided it needed broaching.
"It's alright to be angry with me. I put you at risk and wouldn't disclose details, however I didn't have much choice. And with the way it worked out you all have some trauma. You were closest to the epicentre, so you might also have some … lingering nerve-jangle, maybe, from proximity to magic. I pulled hard on Underhill and other magics kicked in."
Dwayne shook his head. "I'm not angry with you, Mercy, just shocked silly. You told us what you could and we knew there was risk, if not why. Angry with Bonarata, maybe, for having existed, but that's foolish."
"Not so much. Vampirism is parasitical, and parasites are an affront."
"You could say." Dwayne sighed. "But it doesn't get me anywhere. And I'm still trying to digest your concern with the money PBS has taken. I mentioned it to their lawyer, and he became a lot more generous. You're better than any Union rep."
"It shouldn't take my name, Dwayne, and I have a card you can play direct. I was thinking you should do a documentary, if I can wangle it with Stefan — Living Free and Bloodbound. And there's no reason you three couldn't make it independently and offer them first refusal."
That livened things up, and Caroline's embarrassment at her fees for hunt photographs, which she'd shared with Al and Vince, opened up the real issue, the tangle of work, politics, self-interest, and radically destabilising crusade I'd become. Feeling embedded involved a sense of being professionally crimped, despite my not asking them to do anything they wouldn't anyway. Shock had brought it to a head, and they got into it among themselves until Jesse coughed.
"What do I know, but it sounds like you're chasing your tails. Remember the pic of Mom I took the first day of the Accords? On the stool there, beer in hand? Well, should I have made enough money to pay my college tuition ten times over by snapping Mom when she was letting worries drift away? By some lights, no — but she was looking good, I wanted the image, and once we had it, why not? You're all doing amazing jobs in difficult circumstances, so if hazard pay falls into your laps, why fret? Same goes for the politics — you aren't giving Mom any kind of pass, and when we were setting up the intranet you were all pleased with pushing a big green and tolerant agenda any which way. Has that changed? Then what's the problem? And why are vamps any more than a side issue, now resolved?"
That left them scratching collective heads, and Asil laughed.
"Anyone who can endure all Jesse has and call vampires a side issue, now resolved has to command one's attention. And we should talk about what you wish to do with me on Living Free and Moonbound, Ms Ligatt. With my inner calm since Medicine Wolf healed me, I have a special concern with those newly cursed to live as wolves."
The idea of Asil being healed rather than omega'd struck me hard, but a glance at Charles told me the conversation should be with them. Vegetables needed cooking, and while I was about it earth fae turned up, hesitant at less familiar presences but happier helping to lay the table. Pirandella and Nuthatch drifted over.
"Problem?"
Pirandella spoke quietly. "We wish to say how glad we are you vanquished the Master of the Undead, and be certain you have taken no harm doing so. You have lost weight."
"Letting slow time run through me burned a lot of energy, but I'm good. And I've been meaning to ask you to let the Freed's earth fae know their dwellings and tunnel have retrospective permission."
"We will tell them." Nuthatch laid a hand on my arm. "You are truly well? Underhill buzzes with tales of black witchcraft that smirched Excalibur, and of your duckpond and geas laid on the Gray Lords."
"I expect it does, Nuthatch. The Dark Smith cleansed Excalibur of all stain, and by Gwyn ap Lugh's word saw the very last of She of Livorno dissolved and burned. All may admire the Untenanted Duckpond of Valorous Impossibility. In due course it will be a safe place for Excalibur. The geas is no-one's business save mine, the Gray Lords', and Underhill's but know that all outbalances all."
I got soulful looks.
"Yet it is said a debt was admitted, Mercedes Elf-friend."
"It was, Pirandella, and settled with the geas. Perhaps you might say I have been teaching Gray Lords what it means to be an Elf-friend. However all fae are bound in their natures to strict dealing, if they have friends they are friends, and friends do not scruple over every last drachm of balance. I promise all is well, and nothing imperils our friendship."
This time I got intense scrutiny, followed by a bow and curtsey.
"Truly, then, all honour to you, Mercedes Elf-friend. The oldest magics gather under your hand, and we rejoice it is so."
They wouldn't say more, and I was left wondering but not, I found, disturbed. Their thinking was one of the mysteries, but lesser fae had rarely been high on any Gray Lord's agenda, and I understood both had been worried by resentments some Gray Lords had been left with. Once food was served, Adam and Charles carving haunches and many hands helping with vegetables, all earth fae gave bows or curtseys and raised their glasses of water.
"Mercedes Elf-friend, we honour your great deeds this week, Overhill and Underhill, and gladly rejoice in them."
I found myself blushing. "It was a joint effort."
"You did a great deed Underhill as well, Mercy?"
Vince's eyebrows were high, and I waved a hand.
"Excalibur and my cloak did, Vince. Not human business."
"And you had nothing to do with it? Right." He shook his head. "I've been thinking about what you said, Mercy, and I'm not angry with you, or anyone so far as I can tell, but my world got rocked hard so I am running a little scared. And no offence, but one thing is you got scarier. I'm sorta used to you having seven-league boots, and I know this isn't really true, but it was like you dropped your glamour for a few seconds, as much as Irpa, and turned out to be way bigger than we knew."
I blinked, but Asil laughed.
"That is true power, amigo. The Marrok is not a tall or heavy man, but he can seem as large as the sky and as weighty as mountains."
"Huh. Maybe, Vince. I had a lot of power running through me that wasn't mine."
"It was yours to wield, mi princesa. And you are indeed about twenty feet high in Times Square, not wrongly."
"Tcha." I flapped a hand, earning a grin. "And it wasn't dominoes I was lining up, Asil. It was ducks, and the trick is persuading them to sit, and stay sat. That's another reason the duckpond played in."
There was silence, before Charles gave me a very brotherly look.
"You think Bonarata was a sitting vampire duck, little sister?"
Skuffles yipped amusement and I closed my eyes for a moment.
"You could say, Charles, but I'd rather you didn't. I do not want to think about bloodsucking ducks, and nor should anyone."
"Oh I dunno, love." Adam grinned at me. "It makes me think of politicians and you sure have them lined up."
"Et tu, Brute ?"
"Think about this morning. Their power, collectively, is enormous, but you Alpha'd them all the same."
"The world leaders?" Caroline looked between me and Adam. "Huh. Anything you can say off-record?"
"Sorry, but no." I shrugged. "Classified."
Adam waggled a hand. "Pretty much, Caroline, but I meant what I said. Power spoke truth to power and made it stick. Which reminds me — Charles, did you and Ben have any luck?"
"Not immediately." He looked at Caroline and Penny. "The Italians grabbed more vamp data under encryption."
Penny nodded. "I heard the President say the US was giving technical assistance. You're it?"
Anna laughed. "One small part, Penny. Many security satellites are busy. Charles just likes hacking things, as do Baba Yaga and the CIA."
"Only when it is my patriotic duty." Charles kept a poker face as he laid one large hand delicately over his heart. "And I do not hack. I merely investigate security failures."
"Classic!" Jesse pulled out her phone to make a note, Anna laughed, and Charles struggled to hold his stony demeanour. "You should do deadpan more often, Uncle Charles."
His face was a picture even before Skuffles and I lost it and dissolved into coyote giggles, leaving Jesse the field.
"What everyone's forgetting is that Mom's vengeance is legend. Ducks, dominoes, whatever — what matters is Bonarata made it personal, and that was the last mistake he'll ever make because he not only got done and dusted on global TV, he got vacuumed. Bloodsucker to dust-sucker as sea god to duckpond. Go figure. And you pretty much won the election at the same time, Mom."
"Un huh, Jesse. No-one does that until November."
"Right. Except check your website — registration went into overdrive again Friday, so assuming they all mean their ten bucks you have a popular majority for any turnout up to 64%, and the last time it was above that was 1908. So I hear you about assumptions, but I'm still thinking that after I graduate a local commute to Georgetown for their Foreign Service programme sounds good. I should talk to Frank — there ought to be an Others 201, and they'd be the place for that."
The silence was broken by a long sigh of pleasure from Asil.
"So they would, querida. Another fine idea. It has been so long since I've looked forward to the next hundred years."