Chapter Sixty-Two
I worried what First People would think of unilateral alterations to Lawetlat'la, and Coyote thought that was almost as funny as the statues.
"Overscrupulous daughter, it's sacred because spirits dance there, it usually has snow cover, and it's a stratovolcano that periodically goes bang. Having a great manitou use it for art is even better, and the spirits are delighted. But I suppose you're all embarrassed and cross about having another larger-than-life statue. At least you have clothes on this time."
"Not really. The Statue of Surprising Mercy turns out to have been useful training. I just don't want anyone thinking I signed off on it."
"Great manitous do what they want. It's appropriate, if you win doubly so, and if you somehow manage to lose still a splendid tourist attraction." He grinned unrepentantly. "Even I've never been one of those. It needs a proper name, though."
It has one. Skuffles was still excitedly smug, and when at a loose end had taken to posing at her own feet for happy tourists, already arriving in numbers. Medicine Wolf can be rather literal, and was going to call it I Walk the Path of Mercy, but I persuaded it to think again, so it is called She Moves Mountains (And So Do I).
Coyote did more laughing, and when Skuffles made the name public so did most people. The Yakama Council extended Lawetlat'la's sacred status to ban climbing statues, and thanks to Mount Adams there weren't many places from which the statues could be seen clearly except the access road through Toutle, so I wasn't looming over anyone who didn't want me to, while the idea of Medicine Wolf expending excess energy in art on a grand scale was one lots of people decided they found reassuring. Still distinctly larger but no longer glowing so much, it had given a long interview to Caroline, saying oversize statuary was an extravagance but things had gone well, commemoration had been in order, and something had had to be done with all the energy, which was about moving rock anyway. Besides, new things to do were welcome in one's nine millions. Pushed by a smiling Caroline, it approved of Jesse's widely shared analysis, strong confidence in federal sincerity being important in these early stages of the Path of Mercy, as the Fae agreed.
So yes, you could say I indicated my preference, but I would have done it were she not running. It had not occurred to me to interfere with plates until she asked. Mercy is one of the most interesting beings I know, and as she thinks you lucked out with me, I think I lucked out with her.
"Very good to hear, sir. And Skuffles?"
Skuffles is interesting too, Ms Taylor, as new kinds are, and has been more helpful than you know. She is something of a scamp, I grant, but that seems to be magical coyotes for you. Besides, she is yet very young.
Skuffles looked smug all over again, and even the steady grind of campaigning couldn't dent her exuberant cheer, for which I was grateful. She ran interference with interviewers who wanted to know how I felt about giant clothed direwolfite me, explaining cheerfully that she adored it, and being all magical coyote had no modesty, while I had a double share. More privately she had an idea that intrigued Adam, and with Jill's pleased help, surreptitious calls, and a visit by cloak we commissioned for Jesse's graduation present a dress with Marcus Amerman beadwork of She Moves Mountains (And So Do I). He was a charming man, happy to be asked, and moved to discover Jill's admiration (and collection of historic beadwork), so though he did cost an arm and a leg I knew whom I'd ask to do an official portrait, if.
Once evacuees were home I resumed campaigning differently on the damaged West Coast. San Francisco hadn't been badly hit, saving elevated freeway, and Irpa called in a bunch of trolls who made themselves useful shifting slabs of concrete to complete demolition and removal in record time and allow construction crews from all over to start rebuilding 24/7. Vanna's presence fed the trolls-in-port-cities connection with New York, and, with a sharp eye on PR Irpa talked fae into being ostentatiously helpful wherever I happened to be visiting. Pixies and brownies turned up where trees had come down, earth slid, and water level altered, restoring verdure to raw slopes and order to gardens, and a surprising number of selkies and merfolk made themselves popular helping along the coast. Things that survived abrupt immersion uncrushed were recovered, and debris cleared from shallower water, while a fleet of USN, Coast Guard, and hired vessels generated a new sonar map, discovering underwater slides. Ap Lugh and other Gray Lords allowed themselves to be seen approving of co-operation, and occasionally lending magical strength to a swifter solution of some problem. They were always fae-exact about not expressing political opinions, while politely agreeing it was advantageous to Fae–US relations to have those who understood the preternatural in positions of responsibility. Asked about Medicine Wolf's statuary The Dagda blandly said he approved of large things on principle, and ap Lugh more cryptically that he appreciated both the urge and the results.
The Fae also finally opened their embassy in DC, as the research facility I'd suggested. Baba Yaga invited us to the opening, and even from outside the transformations it would effect were obvious. A Downtown corner building had been glamoured early mediaeval, like the barbican at Walla Walla, and the design on the huge wooden doors was suspiciously reminiscent of the West Gate of Moria, with a stylised tree and stars. There were more trees from Underhill in the garden, including stonethorns, which looked like rowans with multi-coloured blossom, and sight of the Man, assorted ambassadors, and a swathe of the Beltway enjoying superior finger-food and wine while mingling with Gray Lords and trying to disguise deep unease at all the swirling magic was entertaining. So was a quite informative display for visitors that included a glamoured copy of the Fountain of Uphill Justice with no explanation attached, and a mundane library open to accredited scholars that held poetic texts in any number of dead languages, scholarship the Fae approved, and, in so far as they were willing to reveal it, their history as they saw it, with particular attention to US residence. They'd checked with the Man, and the end-point was the fullest account yet of the Medicine Wolf Accords and a statement of hopes in walking the Paths of Assertion and Mercy. Preternaturals who no longer had to conceal age and historical witness were invited to contribute to holdings, and Frank given a Fae Embassy Library Award they'd invented for his work chairing round tables. It was all very hopeful, but I had to deal with the Oaf's ambassador, and was annoyed by the concerns he expressed.
"The desecrators are being prosecuted, sir, because they desecrated. Nationalities are irrelevant. Any offender would be prosecuted, and as you don't do sentences with hard labour, an expiation First People require, they'll serve time here. Don't look for any remission, sir, and tell your boss if he really thinks I'd bend sacred law to persecute other British citizens because he was rude, he's even more offensive than he's already shown himself. Feel free to quote me."
He wasn't happy, but the Man had shown me CIA analyses of the loud British tabloid protests about their unfairly persecuted lads, and public opinion there, which did not closely match, and next day made clear he would not intervene when the offence was blasphemous and everyone on planet had seen the warning signs. If the judge forbade repatriation that could be appealed and would be a matter for the courts. He ended by quoting me, sacred meaning sacred, period, and when asked I thanked him for doing the right thing and got back to campaigning.
Being way ahead in polls meant I didn't need to do big-stadium speeches and instead visited slate candidates, drawing crowds and using rolling coverage to put national pressure on local problems. Thanks to the cloak I could make multiple visits each day, and bounced round the crazy quilt of the Lower 48, fitting in Alaska and Hawaii, with the great benefit of disallowing a travelling media pack and bringing out different journalists everywhere. I talked to employees and business-owners large and small, women's groups and men's groups, libraries, unions, and colleges, nature and art clubs, PDs and FDs, hospitals and health centres, military units and Big and Little League teams, interspersing pool interviews, and while plenty of problems were intransigent for real reasons a surprising number turned out to be eminently fixable when the world's cameras focused on them. Bureaucrats found themselves obliged to accelerate decisions, counties and townships discovered they did after all have available budget, aggressive developers backed off, a few smaller PDs did some foot shuffling and agreed to revise officers' training, and a larger one under FBI scrutiny decided on reflection that proactive self-improvement was wiser than stonewalling. It was pleasing, though the pure selfishness, foolishness, or ignorance causing problems wasn't, and it fed the positive, as well as the increasingly exhausted and dazed media.
Senator Less Stupid bravely offered a second debate, with — he sounded wry — stringently predetermined rules. I agreed, and allowed him home advantage, an eastern venue with news anchors from ABC, CBS, and NBC moderating. Skuffles agreed not to speak unless spoken to or about, and we got to it in early October. As his people had no real strategy on core policy issues, and I wasn't interested in being anything but clear, even when sideways, stilted one-minute questions and answers developed into argument, as much about priorities as policies, and he pushed as hard as he could at my biggest weakness, foreign policy. I could dance around conversations I'd had with foreign leaders, cite Asil's work and the thanks Italy made public, and invoke Canadians and Mexicans, but there were issues he knew more about, and I thought he made fair sense and scored some points. But he was in a basic tangle about the need to go green, committed to minimising change and disruption when most had realised half-measures wouldn't do, and except for demand to bring troops home from various messes we were involved in the election really wasn't about foreign policy. The media scored it as a points victory for me, thought I'd been courteous in refraining from pointing out the obvious, and lauded civility on both sides, but it was an irrelevance to the polls.
What wasn't was Jesse, who had approval ratings close to my own. Her audience for intranets was sky-high, real-time and evening broadcast, and emailing kiddos had slammed the Colorado riparicide way up the political agenda, some farms having already been bought by Arizona and California and closed, returning water to dry bed. Jesse was also explaining her reality, week by week, around whatever the topic was. Very few non-magical humans had as broad an experience of the preternatural, never mind its multiple higher echelons, and she had done a great deal to put vamps and their terrors in perspective, ranking them well below Gray Lords, angry trolls, certain other fae, and out-of-control wolves, and interviewing Stefan with some sheep in material shared with Living Free and Bloodbound. Irpa had been on too, about West coast repair-work, and by satellite Asil, to report on European wolf affairs before talking about the curse of longevity and his experiences of the US. Adam and I were still concerned Christy might show, but she moved from seeking oblivion in Reno to seeking it in Las Vegas, still pretending Jesse didn't exist.
Others weren't, and Adam and I were very proud when the American Library Association announced it was giving Jesse a special award for outstanding contribution to national educational experience and practice. It made her thoughtful for a few days before she told us over dinner what she wanted to do. Yes, she'd had a chance she'd seized, but why wasn't tech capability applied more widely by schools? A permanent schools' intranet, as between school libraries that had strong ALA links, would be a valuable tool for Others 101, so why wasn't everyone hammering on PBS's door, and asking me and Frank for promises of federal backing? She and Stallings expected the intranets to continue until she graduated, she was serious about Georgetown U., a Foreign Relations major, and Others 201, and saw no reason not to pull things together sooner than later. Neither could we, though there were complications, and after consulting Jenny and Andrea I started making calls.
The result was a teleconferenced meeting, with White House counsel as well as Jenny, Andrea, and other lawyers present, between us, Charles and Anna, Frank, Georgetown U., PBS, the ALA, Stallings, Wiseman, Clay with Chief Rodgers, and Feds working on scent admissibility, including Westfield. Jesse had with Frank's and Stallings's help written a long proposal all had seen, combining active Georgetown U. sponsorship and teaching use of intranets with urgent development of Others 201 for their Foreign Relations major, and using the Duckpond Fund to draw disadvantaged juniors and seniors from intranets into the programme. A short section declared her own interest in enrolling, deferring to the application process but noting she would, if admitted, in effect be arriving with her own cohort, and it was not foolish to think graduates would be in high demand, meaning maximal financial and social trickledown. There wasn't a paper problem, as even excluding her maxed Civics scores Jesse's GPA was very decent, and Georgetown were clear her acceptance was well within established parameters, however strongly self-interested, and they were flattered to be chosen. Jesse and Andrea had been brainstorming with Irpa and all sorts, and had ideas about Others 201 that sat Georgetown up, antennae quivering, while I'd had enough conversations to say various foreign leaders might be glad to address the programme, if recruitment was open to their nationals, and senior preternaturals would be willing to lecture but not mark. Certification and documentation of scent evidence was an obvious project, plugging into pragmatic law and politics while giving the FBI-led multi-agency team working on them a strong impetus, so after thrashing details everyone was sufficiently happy Jesse wound up with permission to start rolling it out.
When she did, making plain it would happen regardless of November, and listing Duckpond Scholarships and Bursaries that could be applied for, social media went crazy, and gave me pleasing if overdue revenge when #JesseForPresident(AsSoonAsShe's35) went viral. Jesse suspected me, but I was innocent and cheerfully told her aiming to be the first mother and daughter to hold the office was a worthy ambition, and her chosen major would make her a very interesting candidate … but no pressure. Adam looked horrified, but I made it up to him later.
I can't say the furore died down but with the new school year underway Jesse had plenty to occupy her time, besides setting-up a staff to process Duckpond applications. She was happy her constant guard was, on school premises, down to Dan and the Joes, though the Secret Service kept an eye on travel. Ap Lugh and Underhill granted me let to take Dan and the Joes through the Garden, and Jesse came with me Saturdays, wherever I was going, drawing kiddos of all colours, with a wide demographic of older first-time voters. Interviews and everything I heard said she was the biggest factor still driving registration, through her own charisma and kiddos nagging parents into action. Jesse's strategic advice had been to combine a kiddo's ability earnestly to ask why? in endless succession with polite refusal to accept excuses, and that was working, as were the ways of dealing with self- or other-harming adults in authority. Social service and charitable interventions were up, and Adam and I as moved as Jesse by letters she received thanking her for changing and saving lives.
Sundays I rested, as Christians should, and Reverend Jackson had thankfully backed off from extempore sermons, though the reporters' trespass prompted a return to enclosure and wider sacralisation. The Cascadia 'quakes and She Moves Mountains (And So Do I) occasioned a relapse, with threshing sledges, mountains, and statues rather than chaff that mixed more metaphors than I could count, but she hit the nail on the head all the same by concluding that what Medicine Wolf had really said was to be not only thankful but vigilant, looking ahead from the greatest possible height. She'd also done as asked about magic and miracles, and been sensible about what was clear, what wasn't, and what couldn't be. Conceding Christ might well have worked many miracles using magic, she suggested Lazarus pointed to more. True, he might have been comatose, but she didn't think so, and none of ghosts, zombies, vampires, rejoining magic, and rapid healing amounted to the divine power of restoring life, let alone what souls were graced with through the Resurrection, so whatever magic did in the world, or technology, the real miracle we looked to was post-mortem. At my request she posted the text on the church website, I quoted and linked it in a long email to registered supporters, and it took off, prompting spirited religious debate that broadly agreed and was relieved to have new clarity.
It was a happy development I carried into the final week, offsetting a persistent gloom. I'd thought I'd accepted probably winning, but faced with its imminent reality the lunacy seemed more apparent than ever. Adam felt it too when we had another teleconference with White House counsel present about changes that had to be made to the way we handled business interests and Clean up the Basin! I surprised everyone except Adam by saying I had no intention of closing the garage, even if I could only do a day a year, Zee had agreed to look after my few but longstanding customers, and it could become a base for the motor pool of a western White House. Adam's far more valuable security business was trickier, and though it helped he already had federal security clearances up the wazoo, as First Gentleman the reasons he had them would have to be wrapped in a great deal of insulation from improper presidential influence. So would Clean Up the Basin! funds, but protocols Jenny had in place were nearly adequate.
Having already visited all fifty states, and Puerto Rico to highlight its disenfranchisement, I tried in the last days to keep up the necessary fizz with trips to smaller reservations I'd missed, allowing more posters to be revealed, gave a final interview — steadfastly refusing to assume or give any further opinion on heroic statuary — and over the last weekend made visits with Adam, Jesse, and Frank and Rachel, to Golden Gate Park and Lexington. Both Irpa and Jeremiah were leading in polls, Irpa with a greater margin thanks to high visibility after the 'quakes, and with the symmetry of beginning and ending the campaign those paired visits served to start a national get-out-the-vote drumroll.
We again went for music in Bison Paddock, and the weather blessed us. All the musicians had been writing non-stop for months — manitou songs, vamp dirges, Excalibur rock, Amerindian Blues, Path of Mercy anthems, Cascadia ballads ranging from traffic laments to moving mountains, lunatic jams delighting in the preternatural, and just awesome times songs — and seemed intent on playing them all as up-tempo as each would take. Irpa had preternaturals out in force, but other communities were as well — pink, green, ethnic, you name it — all still very charged by the success of the evacuation. No-one's volume sliders were of much use, but Skuffles commanded attention to lay out practical details of networks Irpa had in place to ensure anyone who wanted to vote could, even if housebound or ill, and reach out to first-time voters, old and young. Then we got back to the music, still urging people on, not celebrating assumed victory, and I eventually got the laughing musicians to play some swing so Adam and I could dance. He brought wolf speed and strength to the Lindy Hop, so we set off a lot of rather less snappy imitation and sent viewing figures for instruction vids on YouTube through the roof.
That high energy again set up a lower-key exhortation in Lexington. We had to change venue to the largest stadium they had, and the cheering section was way louder than it had been, but I pulled out one last serious speech, confronting and exorcizing some of my own visceral reluctance in staring at impossible probability, with why that was actually a good thing. However I needed no divine explanation for great manitous, I was very clear both were telling us the planet had had enough of our careless, needless, often incidental pollution, that we were already so far gone technology couldn't cut it without a paradigm shift, and magic was the only one available. It was emergency action, calling on and costing everyone, human and preternatural, but it was that or bust, we were all in it together, and the trick was to make golden opportunity of urgent necessity by using the shake-up to tackle our other worst problems, the needless interrogatives that spilled into hate and sectarian or blindly partisan division, building bridges with Irpa, drawing on long experience with Jeremiah, never forgetting education with Frank, and thinking sideways with me. Or if you wanted it simple, when you're in an impossible fix the rules need changing, so it's coyote time.
Half the papers nabbed that as their election-day headline, which I thought lazy, but it amused Coyote, who came with Adam and me when we and bodyguards went to vote. The Secret Service guys had voted postally, but Jill had shifted registration when she became resident, as had Brent, Dan, and the Joes. There was a long line I happily joined, smiling at a silly number of cameras, and my grinning PR guru Da kept them amused with complaints about not having even one vote himself, despite having three forms, and wouldn't one for each be reasonable despite their collective lack of birth certificates? A poor Elder Spirit couldn't get round the gross injustice of being disenfranchised by reshaping bits of an active volcano, so really, what was to be done? Jill gave him a very bearish look, remarking her relief that terraforming was not his province, or Great Ghu alone knew what anywhere would look like, but it was grist to his mill and there was more laughter than most polling stations had heard in a while.
Jesse had to stay outside, so Adam and I went in shifts with guards rotating, and she took over entertaining the media with Coyote playing straight man and being proud of his Graught. The deed itself was swiftly done, with an abruptly hollow stomach, but the ballot paper was as usual enormous, and I zapped through other races in which I had a vote, for assorted First People, Washington, and Warren. Outside I gave a brisk interview while others had their turn, cheerfully admitting nerves — D'oh! try it for yourself — and explaining I'd left Excalibur at home because magical swords didn't quite get polling stations, which was as it should be. Then we detoured to a billboard and revealed Coyote's last design, less advertisement than admonition, showing She Moves Mountains (And So Do I) in dawnlight that lent my cloak some colouring though I had snow on my shoulders and head, with the legend EVEN MEDICINE WOLF CAN ONLY WORK WITH WHAT'S THERE, and below it Your jobs do not end today. It puzzled media more than it should, but Jesse set them straight, reminding everyone this was, she hoped, the beginning of action, an empowerment to answer, not an answer in itself.
"Mom does plenty of awesome, but the biggest is that she gets other people to do things right. And other people is all of us, no matter who gets to vote or doesn't. Time to start if you haven't, or continue if you have."
Since their Sacred Space debacle Fox had been wary of engaging me, but one of their loonier talking heads was among today's pack, and either hadn't taken Jesse's measure or was feeling lucky.
"Doing things right depends, Miss Hauptman. And whatever we're collectively pretending in this madness, a lot of Americans' jobs are going to end today if your stepmother is indeed elected."
There was probably going to be more but Jesse sliced into a pause.
"Not so, ma'am. Their jobs will change, because their minds already have. You should try it."
Coyote, Skuffles, and I were not the only ones to hoot laughter, and if leaving media behind was impossible, giving them a good soundbite let us get to lunch with the Freed and my volunteers, at Benny's in Richland. It sat wrong, but to keep the rest of the media out — and by early afternoon the mob had swollen so much the Secret Service called in the SEAL unit to reinforce Richland PD — I had to accept Caroline and Penny broadcasting a speech about volunteers having coped magnificently with a candidate doing things differently and a toast of thanks. They were all on exhausted highs, rightly proud of themselves, and though Adam and I had half-hoped to get away before media began calling states from exit polls at 3 p.m. Pacific, Benny had the TVs on, the atmosphere was warm and electric, smelling magnificent, and it didn't happen. By then more than half the Columbia Basin Pack had drifted in, many businesses closing early to let people vote, and we decided with a shrug that doing election night in a pizza joint was different enough, warned Caroline and Penny, and settled in to watch the media explode with numbers.
Within a few minutes it was clear turnout was pushing eighty percent, everyone thought I'd taken Indiana and Kentucky by frightening margins, and Jeremiah had trounced his opponent — a direct blow at the main parties confirmed by a shocked concession after the rash of further calls at 4, which thought I had Florida, Georgia, New Hampshire, South Carolina, Vermont, and Virginia by similarly absurd margins. Bursts of excited talk alternated with reflective moments, and I fortified myself with another pepperoni-laden pie Benny offered on the house.
"Buy a million, get one free, Mercy."
"Thanks, Benny. It's quite the slogan. You should talk to Uncle Mike—I'm told he goes in for Unhappy Hours at double price."
"There's a thought. But nah — like everyone, I prefer coyote jokes."
And they did. At 4.30 North Carolina, Ohio, and West Virginia were added to my nominal tally, and the mass of calls at 5 swept a green tide across the Mississippi Basin from Alabama to North Dakota. I was staring when Jenna and Sally dragged their parents in, all looking sheepish.
"Mercy, Mom and Dad didn't want to come because they feel like they're horning in. Same for Sally. Like you, the Feebs, or KPD are gonna care, right?"
I understood perfectly, and like Jesse appreciated the ex-kiddo force majeure that had got them this far, but also knew how Leslie and Clay would be thinking, and raised an eyebrow.
"Off-duty?"
Clay was, but Leslie waggled a hand.
"On call if preternatural celebrations get … over-exuberant."
"Well, that's most likely to happen right here, Leslie, so I'd sit down and have pizza and beer. The ex-kiddos have the right of it."
Tables were pushed together and chatter swelled. Other friends arrived, Warren and Kyle, Tony as his shift ended, Zee and Tad, bringing Uncle Mike and our earth fae, solemnly excited, Samuel, Ariana, and Frank with Rachel, plus a talkative posse of Yakama elders led by Jim Alvin, Calvin waiting on them. Somewhere in there actual declarations started from counties and states with smaller populations and fully machine-countable voting, tallies every bit as asymmetric as pollsters had said. Given the amount of pizza I'd eaten it was not possible for me to be hollow, but my stomach had moments of serious confusion, and I held Adam's and Jesse's hands.
As larger races declared the pattern was strongly slate, though the variety of candidates and posts made for plenty of genuine contests, especially where incumbents were popular and electorates smaller. But at state and federal level both main parties were being pruned hard, losing offices they'd long taken for granted. Governorships, mayoralties, federal and state senatorships, and more urban districts were going to slate-independents. Rural was patchier, but there was plenty of green everywhere, every demographic analysis confirming absolute popular majorities at all levels. When Mountain Time states kicked in at 6, with late-closing New York, my called electoral college votes passed 270, but I made Adam hold off on crates of champagne he'd produced.
When West Coast tallies were added, though, I received a private call of concession from Senator Less Stupid, relieved it was over and rueful about the severity of the rebuke to both parties, but clear the thing was now to make new policies and priorities work for everyone. He'd be in touch about my kind offer when he'd recovered, far away from the public eye, and once I'd told him I wouldn't be saying anything until declared results added up to 270 electoral votes, he offered congratulations, we did mutual thanks, and willingly called it a day.
When I went back to the main space Alaska and Hawaii had been added, talking heads were trying to get their own around a clean sweep, and after making some calls Adam served champagne over my muted protests, and commanded attention with a crackle of Alpha dominance shot through with complicated joy.
"Ladies and gentlemen, all media-called but undeclared states confirm substantial popular majorities in every sample, however they're still counting, so whatever the exact figures Mercy and Frank have done it." I loved him even more for remembering Frank in that moment. "She only becomes eligible Thursday fortnight, but barring an act of God I give you the most popular and very best President-elect any of us have ever seen, or will again. She's got way too many names to list, but Mercy covers it nicely, whatever my not-exactly father-in-law keeps on saying."
Coyote was laughing and a lot of champagne going down when Adam set our glasses aside, swept me into his arms, and gave me a kiss people still talk about. There was fear and joy and pride in it, but mostly lustful love, and it settled me as nothing else could have done. President-elect Me was still me, we were still us, and as soon as he let me breathe again Jesse was swept into a three-way hug that decorated a lot of front pages. The noise-level was silly, but as more data came out and senior responses began, nationally and globally, interest in the commentary sharpened again. My absolute-by-a-way popular majority wouldn't mean unanimity in the electoral college, given the way different states did things, but for all practical purposes the map was one colour. I couldn't begin to say job done, but it really was job properly started, and anything else had to wait because the graphics had done something to the Freed and they went into hug mode, holding me with an intensity I recognised but could never predict. Then I had to face Caroline and Al's camera, balancing exultation at the whole trick with gravitas and holding the line about not pre-empting formal declarations. Adam and Jesse helped, with Warren and Irpa, also waiting on confirmation of predicted landslides, but it was Ramona (with a grinning Skuffles beside her) who put something into words, when Penny asked about the Freed's reaction.
"Some is the submissives, Penny, stress pulling out need, and bodyguarding's stressful even when nothing happens. But yeah, there was more. It's … well, call it unity, I suppose. But it makes me think of the first time I ever saw Mercy." Ramona drank beer. "Between the caged and their cagers, the tortured and their torturers, there's absolute division, so in that mine there was Us and there was Them. That absorbed the ones who were illegals, with its own us and them, and the racial mix. Then the torturers got freaked and legged it, leaving us in the dark for what felt like ever, until suddenly we weren't and a bunch of wolves walked in, Alpha power everywhere, and Mercy in the middle, wearing cloak and feather and carrying Manannán's Bane — not in charge, she said, just taking point that week, but she was calling the shots and everything changed for us. Now we are true pack, knowing our wolves in free health and joy, and we have money, a house, hunting ground, earth fae and guardian trees, occupation, kin in work, and college educations waiting. And a true community or communities, with the Columbia Basin Pack and other wolves, here in Richland with neighbours and the PD and FD, and in ourselves and our wider kin. You've seen it on Living Free and Moonbound."
Penny nodded. "That's true."
"Un huh. So, we know very well a lot of people worked hard to save us, not just those who broke us out and have generously looked after us, and we are grateful in full measure to all, but we also know it was Mercy. She'll tell you, honestly as she sees it, her part was all coyote luck and being stubborn, with a side of overdue revenge on Cantrip and Heuter, but Asil's right it's actually grace. And she did it again with Bonarata, not in charge, just taking point once more, not St Michael wielding the flaming sword but a Madonna of Coyotes, gracias a Dios — yet the point was to bring vampires in from the cold. Now she has done it a third time, on the largest scale, and threes matter in all sorts of magic."
Ramona pointed as the solid green map appeared yet again on the big screens with formal and projected tallies of a landslide, as in earthquake.
"Just look at it. From caged isolation to free community, and from free community to that, to know we are a part of us, that the US is us as we collectively are it. Think of our journey, and you will know why we hug Mercy when we must. And thank you, everyone, as I thank me, for being us today, and making the sane, sideways choice."