Scenes from a Preternatural Presidency

by Bracketyjack

A further sequel to *Earth Shaken* with President She Doesn't Only Fix Cars in the White House and keeping campaign promises. And yes of course coyotes bring change and chaos, but it's *good* chaos ... honest.

3. Chapter 3

3. Out of the Office

PRESIDENTS get any number of excellent perks but as I discovered the hard way they don't get real holidays, only occasional intervals when the rule becomes Do not disturb unless it's Really, Really an emergency — the nuclear-code guys and gals never go away and the daily briefing rolls right on. There are reasons. Then again, the ex-Man had been right that the nation, via all fifty state legislatures, was busy digesting its new Constitutional Amendments, especially the Equal Rights provisions for women and preternaturals with their many implications for hiring, firing, and wages.

It was also temporarily glutted on displays of magical power. The Paramount Tipi continued to dominate the central DC skyline, and had taken to building a complete US with its state-shaped puffs of glamoured smoke, Alaska and Hawaii keeping proper station, before letting it dissolve and restarting the cycle. Skuffles and Jesse had persuaded Ben to create a GIF that had been downloaded several zillion times despite the file-size, and as the exhibition was drawing lines that stretched for blocks plenty of people were seeing it for themselves. All the major networks were still running analyses of the riotous totem pole, using drone-camera footage I'd had to let the Secret Service provide and involving lots more magical stuff as different elements were identified and tales rehashed. It would have made me squirm if I'd listened to it, so I didn't, though my happy Press Secretary assured me there was decent commentary by First People. Being seriously freaked by the sight of several hundred way oversize dire wolves at Sacajawea SP was in there too, however the bloodlessness was appreciated, so all in all not solving any other problem that cropped up with brisk magical impatience seemed like a good plan. Bran pointedly agreed, while Jesse, on a summer break from intranets, relieved by graduating, and looking forward to college, wanted peaceful and interesting things to do, so it really was holiday time, and some ruthlessness with my absurd schedule produced an eighteen-day window between full moons.

Luggage, personal and official, meant travel by Air Force One rather than cloak, but what amounted to private use — and I was so not taking any media along — made me very itchy about all the empty seats there would be, even with the bodyguards and staffers I couldn't ditch. Given the friends who couldn't be asked — Darryl and Warren, as legates looking after the pack, Frank, holding the fort at the White House, and those with inflexible jobs — I'd almost given up on company when Jesse told me Leslie had more-or-less been ordered to take her due leave while I was away. When I asked her if she'd like a free family trip to Europe Jude and Jenna gave her little choice, despite alarm at what colleagues might have to say, and Clay let me know he and Donna had no objection to Sally coming, though I had to insist it was a freebie. Adam and Jude had become real friends alongside Leslie and me, so the only question was where exactly we were going.

Seeing Asil in Spain was on both Jesse's and my agendas, and as he had a large estate in the Sierra de Guadarrama with hunting land, and there was plenty around there to visit, that was alright. Variety was good though, and as everyone thought a week of Italian food sounded fine that joined the agenda. Large presidential parties cannot just book hotels, but a call to the Italian Prime Minister, whom I quite liked, produced a swift offer of a palazzo in Amalfi, though Leslie and Jude gave me looks when I told them.

"A palazzo." Leslie contemplated her coffee. "Just like that. Are you paying for it ?"

"No. I did offer, and was promptly refused because the PM prefers to hold the IOU. The palazzo is a recent governmental acquisition, I gather, ultimately from Bonarata, but he assured me no vamps have lived there lately. It was rented to some Saudi billionaire who moved to Capri and is presently vacant saving a caretaker, but they can lay on whatever we need, thoroughly vetted. The federal budget picks up Air Force One, because I'm still in office, however on holiday, so the bill is only what you spend."

"And food."

"Nah, that's on me, because I can't let anyone else pay for me in restaurants, and will be cooking some of it myself. Proper pasta shops. And a real choice of salamis. Yum."

There were protests but I held that line, and the rest was well-established presidential SOP, as Leslie confirmed for herself, to my amusement and Jenna's eye-rolling mutter about the Duty Thing. Leslie was still chuntering about free palazzi a week later when she found herself boarding Air Force One at Tri-Cities Airport. For a while the fact that Customs and Border Protection sent someone aboard to complete international departure protocols snagged her unease, despite the Secret Service telling her it was also SOP, then Skuffles having a passport of her own — I'd insisted, and she actually managed to look good in the photo — and finally not having to put her phone or tablet in flight mode, all the plane's electronics being thoroughly hardened and Wi-Fi very available. But as the doors closed and we were given immediate clearance, relayed by the captain with information to the USAF fighters that would be escorting us, Jude leaned forward and took her hands gently.

"Lady, you're babbling, because for once life is coming up all roses, and we're neither of us used to that, but it's OK. It's not even magic, more like that guy in Kyle's jug-band saying little miracles happen around Mercy because he was getting to play with the Boss. And unless something hijacks her back to work, you get a way overdue holiday without any CC pain to follow. Time to kick back now, hey ?"

It took her a while, but once we were airborne Jenna drew her into Georgetown plans with Jesse and Sally, and I quirked an eyebrow at Jude, who shrugged.

"Mostly an attack of too-good-to-be-true yips, Mercy. But being SAC Kennewick–Richland just now brings some intense scrutiny, and having colleagues who are bug-eyed envious at your personal relationship doesn't help. She's also been doing way too much overtime."

"Surprise. Have you said anything to Westfield about any of that ?"

"Haven't had a chance. Wouldn't object if you did, though."

"You got it, Jude."

Air Force One having serious comms, and it still being the working day in DC, I took care of it straight away, interested to find that Westfield was well aware of the basic problem, which was my having added an often-resident POTUS with magical habits and any number of VIP visitors to an SAC post that already had to deal with two werewolf packs, one the Freed and the other including the First Gentleman, a seethe with three members of the National Vampire Council, Walla Walla, Medicine Wolf, and the Columbia Restoration, but hadn't factored in the envy. He also thought my disinclination to explain in any detail what would happen at Sacajawea SP with the less sane gun enthusiasts had been a sorer trial for her than I'd allowed.

"I understand and appreciate the strategy, Ms President, God knows it worked a treat, and you had a great deal of credit with Pasco PD to draw on, as well as providing more than enough military support, but it all got pretty intense more than once. And that SAC post is anomalous. As you know, it was created because of the Medicine Wolf Accords and the Freed Pack coming to Richland, and Leslie got leapfrogged in because of her record with your brother and ap Lugh, as well as her performance that week, but with your election she has the responsibilities of a Deputy Assistant Director, at least. And that hasn't happened because it would be too fast a promotion by too many standards, and take her into pure management when she's needed in the field." He sighed. "Which is a symptom, Ms President, of a more general issue. Proactive engagement with the preternatural is the Farouts' business, but the combination of Others 101 with you being distinctly preternatural and doing things differently is making for ad hoc adaptations in many agencies. SAC Kennewick-Richland is just the cutting edge."

"Huh. It must be. And I hear you, ED, so Something Needs Doing."

I blew out a breath, and spent a moment contemplating the mess this was and could become, with some other parameters. I also asked Westfield to show me the organisational structure of the Field Office Leslie ran, asked pointed questions, and made a brisk decision.

"OK. Strategically, ED, I find the distinction of proactive Farouts and reactive, Others-101-informed everyone else clear enough. The problem is mostly me as a magic-using and less predictable POTUS, and that is time-limited, so permanent structural change may well not be warranted. I'll talk to Frank, just, and ask him to convene a meeting of agency directors to talk it through. What if anything really needs doing to contain any degrading of governance, and what would promote lawful efficiency for the next three-and-some or, God help me, seven-and-some years ? And flag it brightly as something my successor will need to revisit between election and inauguration. Are you good with that ?"

"Very much so, Ms President." He looked thoughtful. "It's another cost of Cantrip, really — we've never thought through integration into governance properly."

"Tell me. Tactically, however, I'm going Alexanderish on the Gordian Knot, by Executive Order if I have to. Unless Leslie really objects, and I'll ask her as soon as we're done, let's recognise anomaly. While I am POTUS, and for a while after, Kennewick-Richland is the red-hottest SAC-ship there is, so its holder is the only Senior SAC. Salary to flip to the existing managerial scale, at Assistant Director, intel status a pragmatic executive determination, as necessary, and get those Field Office numbers sorted with decent Supervisory SAs and Assistant SACs. Leslie can tell you who to promote from within, or transfer out, and I'd be grateful if you could accommodate any requests she might have for transfer in. Yes ?"

He thought about it for a long moment, and gave me a thumbs-up.

"Yes, and with thanks, Ms President. The Director will agree. It takes the bull fairly by the horns, and will give Leslie both the clout she needs and something closer to the salary she deserves." He smiled. "Not for the first time, you make me very glad I voted for you. Leslie's going to scream blue murder, though, for at least five minutes."

"Yup. Let's get your Director formally on board and get it done."

Once the Director was up to speed and more than happy with it, and I'd given Frank a call to explain the strategic question, I invited Leslie in with Jude and Jenna, which earned me a severe fish-eye I openly waved away, and further disarmed Leslie by taking her hands.

"Listen up, amiga. Your man let me know something of the problems I've been causing you, because you wouldn't complain and I hadn't thought stuff through sufficiently clearly, and the ED confirmed with some detail. So first, my apologies, and second, some substance to go with them. Jude and Jenna are in because you'll still be an FBI anomaly, just a better supported and defined one, and they need to be clear on that for themselves as well as for you. ED?"

Westfield laid out what the Director and I had just agreed needed doing, mentioning the wider strategic plan, and Leslie didn't scream but did give them both a gimlet stare she then turned on me.

"A new rank, Ms President ? It's nepotism."

"Nope. Pragmatic expediency, maybe, but I don't want anyone else in your role, SSAC, nor for you to burn out doing it. You have been carrying responsibilities well above your pay grade, and still will be, but the gap will be smaller and the support-team bigger and better. So you'll be happier and less frazzled, which is good, and so will Jude and Jenna, ditto. And if you want a downside, for yourself or to tell others, you can regard — and report — it as a sideways promotion, that knocks you out of the usual career path, at least pro tem."

Jude and Jenna grinned, but Leslie glared at me some more and then to the Director's fascination and Westfield's amusement took off an invisible hat.

"That's just sneaky, Mercy."

"Yup. Coyote girl here. How bad has the bitching been, Leslie ?"

She shrugged. "Worse than I care for. Curiosity's understandable, but too many see the fast-track promotion, forgetting the workload, and this will mean more of it. They credit Jenna and Jesse as friends, not you and me or Jude and Adam, and think I'm playing that somehow."

I made a face. "Eeuw. Lunkheads, and then some. But in that case this holiday should give them pause."

"Huh. You'd think. Except, lunkheads."

"Among your field staff ?"

"Some, yeah."

"Tell the ED who you want transferred out. He'll be accommodating, and with what promotions and transfers in you recommend. Build the team you want, Leslie, and bed them down. The problem's not going away while there's a western White House in Kennewick, so let's get on top of it. Your meteoric ascent you just have to suck up — you could say the ED started it, when he requisitioned you from Nevada, but he did that because of your rep from Boston, and for all I was one cause your present post was created, it was entirely your superiors who hustled you into it with glad cries of relief. Quite right, too. But if you really have an attack of the Duty Thing, and want sneaky, I can put my hat back on and ask why you're hesitating about a presidential directive."

The glare returned, but Jude laughed.

"She's got you there, lady. And you know who you want out."

She did, too, and if I'd been joking about duty it still had leverage with her, as did the open approval of Westfield and the Director. With the principle accepted the Director rang off and I left her and Westfield to it, taking Jenna and Jude, who gave me a grateful hug.

"Can't say I'm sorry, Mercy, because I'm delighted, but I didn't mean to start your holiday with more work. And big thanks for whacking the problem with a stick."

"De nada, Jude, and my bad for not noticing there was a problem."

"You've been kinda busy."

"Even so. I shouldn't drop friends right in it without noticing."

He shook his head. "Only you, Mercy. And with you doing so many trips to state capitols we haven't had a proper kick-back meal together for a while, saving your blow-out after Sacajawea SP."

"Right. Time to fix that too."

Air Force One is equipped with galleys that can do food for up to a hundred people at a time, and though I was happy for catering staff to deal with bodyguards, staffers, crew, and the rest of my necessary entourage, I'd had ingredients stocked, annexed a work area, and enjoyed myself making a Tex-Mex meal to get us in a Spanish mood. The staff were surprised but pleased I was willing to talk, if only about food and how any of them came to be airborne presidential cooks. Asking them to sedate the media next time any were on board crossed my mind but not my lips, and virtue was rewarded when I was given a really interesting idea about adding celery root to mashed potato to serve with some kinds of stews. I grilled arrachera to join peppers, onions, and pico de gallo, with extra jalapeño for those who liked it, and by the time we were refuelling at Andrews AFB I could serve very tasty fajitas that pleased everyone. Leslie was flummoxed by how much her salary had just gone up but very relieved by the reorganisation, and Adam strongly approved my response to the problem, which gave me warm feelings.

It was the first holiday Adam and I had taken since our River Devilled honeymoon, however I'd circled and criss-crossed the nation both campaigning and pushing ratifications, and though Leslie had had annual leave soon after we'd dismissed Bonarata she'd mostly spent it sleeping and hosting Jude's younger sister and her family — which had been good, but with kiddos about not so relaxing. Jenna was funny about her cousins, and we did wider families, including my sister Ruthie's man problems (did they actually like her or just want an in with me ?), and the many cousins Sally could claim (Clay having four sibs and Donna three). The table had to be cleared to let us get back in the air, and an early night in proper beds meant we woke soon before a morning landing at a Spanish military base near Segovia.

As the guy who came aboard to sort immigration was taken aback by Skuffles having a passport, though I'd mentioned it, it was handy that the Spanish PM had accompanied him, however my heart sank at that news. He tried to draw me into some NATO handbagging, then trailed his deep desire to reclaim Gibraltar from the Brits, before getting to the real point, involving Spain's autonomous regions, the central government, and Asil now being able to speak in certain respects for all EU werewolves. At that point I held up a hand, called Asil, who was unsurprised if unamused by the PM having intercepted me, and happy to boomerang it on him. Ringing off I told the PM that it really wasn't US business but as he'd involved me he could follow us to Asil's and we'd get it sorted.

"Alas, Ms President, I am due back in Madrid."

"Sir, I'm here, you've chosen to be here, Asil's estate is only a hop away, and I'm not having my holiday interrupted again. It's now or never."

I'd stopped the Secret Service from shipping any Beasts to Europe, but they had flown in some of the armoured SUVs we used when I went hunting with the pack on full moons, and the PM had his own, much less impressive motorcade that could slot right in. I'd have liked to watch the increasingly mountainous scenery, but let it roll by in peripheral vision while speaking to Asil about what he needed and would prefer, and when we got to the beautiful estate with a house that was at least half-castle I had to let Adam and Skuffles look after Jesse and the others while they were given a tour, finding myself closeted with the PM, his aides, Asil, his elder son, Hussan — the younger was being diplomatic in Germany — and an anxious duty staffer from State. The core issue was thoroughly intractable, because the Catalans and Basques were objecting to Asil speaking for their wolves without consulting on every last comma, while Asil had no interest in allowing even national governments much wiggle-room over things he might negotiate for wolves or other preternaturals at EU level, and was far more exercised by the Brits' self-mutilating removal from everything he'd so far managed, which was a lot. No-one could do anything about that, but while I couldn't change anyone's mind I could rearrange political calculi, and with Asil and Hussan ostentatiously translating into Catalan and Basque made a joint call to the regional leaders making it very clear that Asil had US support and they didn't.

"What you need to consider, Señora, Señor, is that in demanding oversight of preternatural negotiations you imply you could choose to veto them. If we were talking about Jewish or dark-complected EU citizens would you be claiming a right to decide what they were and were not allowed to do ? No ? Then kindly stop spluttering and explain why you think you do have that right with werewolves."

I gathered that wasn't what they had meant at all, though what they had meant was notably unclear, and made it crystal that while I wanted Paths of Assertion and Mercy everywhere, those were to start with highest-available-level matters, which in continental Europe meant the EU, not Madrid, let alone Barcelona and Bilbao. US states were just as autonomous as any bit of Spain, able to do most everything except currency, defence, and foreign policy, and had not been given any kind of voice except the ex-Man's in the Medicine Wolf Accords, so they should both go figure. I made them happier by letting the PM know he should also have gone and figured, and despite the State staffer's twitching also made it clear to all three that while I was in office they'd find the US a deal more receptive to reasonable requests if they'd already taken maximally proactive steps to safeguard the preternatural from prejudice in their own jurisdictions. After which Asil and Hussan could whack them all handily by noting that wolves' ongoing negotiations and questions arising about preternatural federalism and subsidiarity, what could be regional or local and what really couldn't, would be a real-time case study for Georgetown U's inaugural Others 201 major, and that while this year's undergraduate enrolment was maxed out, next year's wasn't open yet and there were still graduate slots on their new Preternatural Relations master.

"Asking us about running your own Others 101 would have been more productive than demanding regional veto rights over transnational interspecies decisions," Hussan told them, speaking English for my benefit though my conversational Castilian Spanish is OK. "And unlike the Council in Brussels, you still haven't done Werewolf 101 or you wouldn't be trying to give my father orders."

"Never a good idea," I agreed, "unless you're the Marrok. I wouldn't try it, nor Skuffles. And then there's the consideration that both these wolves are more than a thousand years older than all three of you put together, so you could try some simple respect for elders."

I had the cloak on and put enough in my voice they knew I meant it, so after letting the regional leaders go there wasn't much more fencing with the PM about some G7 issues before I managed to get him on his way back to Madrid, and was rewarded with a proper hot chocolate.

"Thank you, querida." Asil gave me a rueful smile. "That was helpful, however unwelcome an interruption for you. The Basques and Catalans cannot stop Brussels, but they can jam Madrid up."

"I bet. It's bad enough having 50 states where I do have popular majorities."

Hussan laughed. "But you have been wrangling them magnificently, Mercedes. All European media have been most exercised about a preternatural president inducing so unexpected an outbreak of US sanity."

"So have US media. But I was advising myself to stop whacking things with big magical sticks before Bran joined in, so I really am on holiday, if I can get to it."

And for a few days, I did, mostly. After getting my own tour of the semi-castle and grounds, which were wonderful and included greenhouses with roses new and old, I caught up with the others and found them raring to go. We spent the afternoon in Segovia, checking out the Aqueduct, which predated even Asil, and the Alcázar and cathedral, which didn't, and about which he and Hussan had very interesting things to say. The only problem was that 'we' included a bunch of Secret Service agents as well as the Spanish VIP protection I couldn't refuse, and there being only one very large magical coyote with a skulls-and-roses ruff we rapidly acquired large crowds of gawkers. Almost all were kept at a distance but the Cardinal-Archbishop who came at an ecclesiastical gallop while we were in his cathedral couldn't be politely ignored. I declined to discuss ongoing problems the Vatican had with several US Cardinals, and countered with an enquiry about his attitude to the Bonarata Papers that had him shuffling before letting him get his selfie with me and an unimpressed Skuffles. Asil rescued me by saying he did not, as a Muslim, feel comfortable spending more time in a Christian building, however he had rather liked both de Hontañón architects, and while the cleric was blinking we skedaddled back outside and got to wandering disruptively around some shopping streets. Adam and Jude between them bought half-a-dozen pairs of espadrilles, Leslie found a skirt she liked, Jesse and Sally went for some tees, and I'd just spotted a cheese shop when Skuffles spotted a pickpocket working the gawkers and about one second later was sitting on him, jaws holding a hand in which the wallet he'd just dipped was still clutched. A certain amount of enthusiastic Spanish confusion ensued, before some very surprised local police, amid a deal of head-scratching, accepted my recorded dictation of the statement they could hear Skuffles making, took thief and weirdly delighted victim away, and the Mayor managed to horn in to thank us for upholding law so swiftly. As reporters were present in numbers I gritted teeth and gave the man a rather longer photo op than the Cardinal-Archbishop while briskly answering questions before Adam got his head together, my phone pinged, and I extricated myself, claiming business. An unrepentant Skuffles agreed to ignore any further property crimes she might notice, as long as there was no violence involved, but the cheese shop had still shut, so we adjourned to a famous local restaurant run by someone wolf-connected to eat cochinillo.

The presentation of suckling pig squicked Jenna and Sally, not unreasonably, but the meat was delicious, the vegetables crisp enough to please a pixie, and the wine went with the whole meal perfectly. The next day, once I'd had my thankfully dull brief, we went with mixed feelings to see El Escorial, a vast sixteenth-century royal palace named for and designed like the gridiron on which a saint was roasted, and the Valle de los Caídos, a vast monument Franco had built for the victims of the Spanish Civil War — using Republican prisoners, and in the process killing them in large numbers — before having himself buried there. Both were architecturally impressive and aesthetically chilling mausolea, very Catholic celebrations of violently sentimentalised death, and I spent time talking to Jesse, Jenna, and Sally, Asil and Hussan often contributing, about my sense of that history and the politics that churned about the monument. Paul Preston's searing work on the holocaust of their Civil War was in there, with the very many people who'd gone into exile for decades, and some painful jokes about Franco that were still relevant because what if anything to do about the monument was a huge national headache, although they had now moved his body. As Spanish and international media had tracked us in force I had to give a press conference before we could get out of there, and though I didn't say aloud that I really disliked almost everything about Franco's creation, I did give them a soundbite about the problems of memorialising US and other violent history.

"I've been talking about this with First People, African Americans, and the section of the Department of the Mississippi Basin that's tasked with ethnic history, race relations, and problem-solving, and it would not have been helpful if, say, I'd asked the Fae to have the Paramount Tipi endlessly show re-reruns of Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull annihilating the 7th Cavalry, or the very grim reality of the Trail of Tears, though both need remembering. The Tipi makes its point anyway, and showing Elder Spirits is a much better deal. Isn't the bottom line that memorials should help to reconcile, and whatever its architectural merits or religious status this one clearly isn't up to that job ? We will be doing some memorialising of our dead from the Indian Wars, with statues and other markers, but we decided restoring bison migration was a better way of remembering them than one giant stone anything, and I'm told the spirits agreed. Medicine Wolf and Ol' Manitou River certainly did. Think about it, hey ?"

I left them to it, and when we got back to the estate Asil let me soothe myself by helping out with the cooking before we sat out on a wide terrace to eat way too much tapas of many, many kinds, and drink more excellent wine. Amid wandering conversations, the day's sights weighing a little, Jenna gave me a thoughtful look.

"Mercy, did you really consider having the Paramount Tipi show the Little Big Horn ?"

"For about two seconds, Jenna. The ex-NPS guy really annoyed me, and Custer was not a nice man. Any particular reason you ask ?"

"We've been wondering about a national memorial to slaves in the US, to balance that amazing one in Ghana that shows their chained departures, but even before you added Amerindian practices to the mix it gets surprisingly tricky very fast."

"Because ?"

"Very different conditions in different slave states, all those white owner-fathers and milk-half-brothers and well as Uncle Toms and Black Mammies, and a whole bunch of very different African tribal traditions."

"Plus no-one can agree where it should be or what it should look like." Jude shrugged. "Me either. I like the idea, in abstract, but Jen's right about the problems in practice and you've got a real point about bison being better than a big obelisk in the Dakotas or wherever."

"For First People, yeah. Adam quite likes the Vietnam wall, but for slaves that sort of naming is impossible. Maybe it needs to be a very abstract memorial."

Jenna and Sally agreed, and both had interesting things to say about Sho'ah memorials they'd read up on for exactly that reason, no wall being able to take six million names even though almost all were known, as most slaves' names weren't. But Asil had a different perspective on memorials, though he was not unsympathetic to their politics.

"The problem with Franco's grand folly is that it was always meant to be more about him than anyone else, and is — hence the overbearing scale, sense of brutality, and former crypt, with the unfitness for purpose of the whole. And it is all a folly, for oblivion is not to be hired — memorials come to dust with everything else, even mountains. Ask Ozymandias." He gave me a look with more humour in it than usual. "Franco would have been very envious of hundred-foot direwolfite you, mi princesa, because rock so dense will resist erosion."

I blinked and drank wine. "More loco him, Asil. But I don't suppose he'd approve of either slightly oversize layered-microbead me or life-size-but-on-top-of-the-giant-totem-pole me."

He grinned. "It seems unlikely. But I do, greatly. Jesse is right about tedious men in black, and that totem pole and tipi are yet more of your inimitable style."

I would have headed him off that subject but Leslie kept him amused by blowing some steam about Sacajawea SP, with the problems of reassuring very jumpy Feds and PDs when you weren't at all sure yourself what would happen, and the stunned silence there had been when it did. Only Adam, Jesse, and I had ever spent any real time with Asil, and Adam and Jesse were deep in Georgetown stuff with Hussan, so though the others were careful to mind their wolf protocols and avoid staring and other things that annoy, Leslie, Jude, Jenna, and Sally were also into developing knowledge and friendship with their host, respecting amazing age and disinclination to remember things but seeking to understand the work he was doing and why he'd become willing to do it — and, I realised, wondering what they could get him as a guesting gift. That being a very good question I'd solved by raiding the White House wine-cellar, once we'd headed for bed I sent Leslie a text saying that if she and Jude cared to add a case of something good that would get better to its stock, they could have a case of something that already had from among the ones I had stashed on Air Force One. It amused Adam, but buying things for 1300-year-old werewolves is quite the challenge.

We were late setting off next day because my brief was joined by my carefully polite but bothered ambassador to Spain, who let me know the Spanish judiciary was not so happy to have a witness statement dictated by one president for another, and that I'd reignited and spun sideways the national debate about the Valle de los Caídos, which several major players were now suggesting should be glamoured to look different.

"If they can find a willing fae, that's their problem."

He blew out a breath. "Naturally, Ms President, but as they have no direct contact I rather suspect someone may make a request of me. Or you. It's a hot-button issue and you have grabbed imaginations."

"I am not a broker for Gray Lords, Ambassador." I thought about it, exchanging a long look with a sceptical Skuffles, and sighed. "Except when I am. Hold on."

It was early enough in Spain that a call to Walla Walla wasn't too impolitely late, and Gwyn ap Lugh looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"Mercedes Elf-friend. I had thought you safely on holiday, Skuffles's very proper attitude to thieves notwithstanding. Is there a problem ?"

"Not yet, Gwyn ap Lugh, though it turns out neither the Policia Municipal nor the judiciary much care for four-legged witness statements by mindvoice, or maybe it's just presidential ones. Either way, as I recall, the Gray Lords would like Underhill's sovereignty recognised by the EU, which has been very cautious or perhaps wilfully slow on the matter."

His eyebrows stayed up. "We would, and it has. Some caution is fair but they are irritatingly inclined to consider us as yet American. Has something changed ?"

I explained what had induced my call, making him smile, and while he summoned Baba Yaga I brought in Asil, starting a brisk discussion that had today's duty staffer from State looking as if he might faint at any moment. All it really came down to, though, was my empowering both the Ambassador and Asil to tell anyone who asked that no, I wouldn't ask the Gray Lords anything whatever on Spain's behalf, d'oh, but as I was all for everyone recognising Underhill's inviolable sovereignty I had made sure that any delegation anyone cared to send to the Fae embassy in DC would be politely received, and could certainly make available the experience of both State and Farouts, if wanted. As I'd suspected, and Asil agreed with relish, a member state looking to establish diplomatic relations with Underhill on its own behalf, while Brussels was foot-dragging and the Fae had no wish to appoint more than one ambassador, could make for all sorts of interesting Europolitics he and the Gray Lords could exploit. Nor did ap Lugh think glamouring the Valle de los Caídos as whatever the Spaniards could agree on, if they ever did, anything but a trifling price, and found the whole thing amusing.

"Only you, Mercedes. I enjoyed your words about memorials, but I had not foreseen them offering such swift opportunity.

"Just as long as I'm not involved in any of it, Gwyn ap Lugh, nor Skuffles. NATO aside, EU foreign policy is so not our business."

Nor was Asil's laughing suggestion that Franco's towering Christian cross be glamoured into an Islamic crescent, though it made us all grin, and as I didn't want the staffer to explode I managed politely to end the call and declare the brief over. For the rest of the day I forgot politics, because our destination was the National Park around Peñalara, highest peak of the Sierra de Guadarrama, and besides being serious mountain terrain, very beautiful as well as chilly, there were eagles and vultures to be seen. The trails we used had been closed to everyone else, rather to my regret, and Adam and I continued the woodcraft and wilderness training we offered Jesse whenever we could. Jude and Leslie were both experienced hikers, and had taught Jenna some, as Clay had taught Sally observation and first aid, but they listened happily because animal forms and heightened senses meant we saw it all differently. My Secret Service squad being wolves made them softer-footed than one might expect, but the Spanish VIP squad were less so, and the sheer size of the party ensured that larger animals kept well away. My nose still found a snow vole or three in the dense broom and juniper scrubland the Spanish called matorral, and Skuffles found a badger sett not far off the path, but said its occupants were asleep. Lunch arrived by Secret Service drone, a first for me — really tasty bocadillos de cerdo, short baguettes stuffed with pork, bacon, roasted vegetables, and cheese that packed the calories hiking needed, and I amused myself and others by planning a Spanish menu that disdained cutlery for a White House dinner.

The afternoon saw a stiff climb to a glacial cirque, returning by a different route, which had Jenna and Sally feeling the strain but therefore feeling good as we approached the guarded section of car-park in gathering twilight. I was feeling my own legs, not having done much hiking of late, but came alert when a radio crackled and the senior Spanish guard listened to a rapid-fire message with a grimace before heading over.

"Señora Presidenta, we need to get you out of here. A tourist family using another section has failed to return as planned or respond to messages, and many searchers are heading in."

Adam, Skuffles, and I exchanged looks for one long second.

"That's appreciated as an idea, sir, but one thing preternaturals do is S&R. A family with a child?"

"Si. Two under ten." He stopped, looking appalled. "But we cannot … you cannot …"

"Yes, I can. Lost children trump politics. So do lost adults. What we need is something to scent them, so you need to talk to anyone who's dealing with dogs, or get someone to grab sheets from wherever they slept last night."

Adam and I had actually discussed something very like this with the Secret Service when my special wolf team was established, because I remained on the KPD's roster for scent forensics, so they didn't argue when Manannán's Bane summoned the cloak, though the Spanish squad was having kittens, and I promptly took three agents Underhill so the two with the best scent skills could strip and change in what amounted to no time at all Overhill. A puzzled Underhill came by while I was waiting, and after some explanation told me she was looking forward to Gwyn ap Lugh tweaking European sensibilities, and expressed sympathy at the latest interruption of my holiday.

"Your joining such a search will attract yet further interruptions."

"I know, Underhill, and it annoys me, but those mountains are high and cold. If they don't have shelter the kids won't last long, or even if they do." I gave her a wry smile. "Several times today I've thought how nice it would be to be able to go coyote and explore it all properly, with my nose, but this wasn't quite what I had in mind."

"I dare say not." Rose-coloured eyes twinkled at me. "Yet it will make you even more popular. Perhaps Gwyn ap Lugh will be asked to glamour this dead dictator's cold Christian cross as another large and warm version of you."

My appalled look only amused her, and she cheerfully agreed I could bring any rescuees through the Garden, so with two agents safely on four legs and their clothing packed by the third I could make farewells and head back to the carpark, arriving only seconds after we'd left. Even so Skuffles was already on a phone held by Jesse, telling the equally appalled Spanish PM that rescue really did trump protocol, and why didn't he think about just how negative being known to have argued against freely offered bi-presidential preternatural help would be ? Things improved rapidly only because the local S&R boss arrived with a bunch of people and equipment, heard Adam's terse offer with only one slow eyeblink, and started snapping instructions that saw people who already had bedsheets and some clothing for their dog-teams bring them to us. The dogs themselves were still a half-hour out, but he was efficient. GPS co-ords for the last known position of the lost were rapidly provided, and he spread out a map with overlays.

"They are Chinese, man 42, woman 38, a girl of 9 and a boy of 7. They were not well-equipped but did have proper boots and water. They also had phones but no call has registered, Señora Presidenta, so if they are conscious, they are most probably in the area with no signal." It was shown in the overlay, and there were nods, including mine. "They left from here, heading north" — his finger traced their route — "and were last seen climbing this arroyo, just after 14.30. The obvious destination would be the mirador, there, but a French family who reached it soon after 15.00 did not see them, nor the vigilante del bosque who came down the arroyo from the mirador 30 minutes later." He shrugged. "They could have left the path anywhere, and the matorral is easy to get lost in, but there are intersecting arroyos, here and here, they might have taken. Also here, but that way would have brought them back towards a signal. What is you wish to try, Señor Hauptman, Señora Presidenta ?"

"Adam ?"

"No time to integrate everything, sir, so we're additional and pre-emptive only because we can be faster. With the two agents who've changed, and Mercy and Skuffles, we have four superior noses, and the other agents are also wolves, so with Asil and me there's strength to evacuate any injured and the kids. Cloak will get us all there in seconds. Communication ?"

Several radios were handed over, with bodycams for those staying on two legs, and after a swift hug for Jesse, reassurance to Jude and Leslie that holding the fort with the girls was their best service, and a long, careful sniff at bagged bedsheets and clothes, for which I had to go briefly coyote, very glad of the deal-with-clothing magic, we went. Emerging at our higher altitude destination we were all struck by how swiftly temperature was dropping, and when I went coyote again, trusting cloak and clothes to follow me, wherever it was they went to, the smells exploded. Pushing aside hunger pangs from quick changes and all the interesting scents I didn't know, I could just detect the ones we wanted, and so could Skuffles, though neither four-legged agent could pick them out, and we led off up the arroyo, its creek only a thin trickle, trying to sort out the mother, father, and children. It was confusing, because (I worked out) both children had regularly been falling behind, then catching up only to slow again, and two had been chewing strong mints while one of the others preferred liquorice. At the first intersecting arroyo the scent kept right on, but at the second, just before the trail steepened sharply for a stretch, they had stood for a while before turning up the smaller and seemingly easier arroyo, and we followed, Adam radioing it in.

The agents had caught the strengthening smell, and could spell me leading, but with the light failing it was Skuffles who found the point at which the lagging boy had left the track for the matorral, leaping the creek bed. Some bounding ahead by the agents, Skuffles, and me, with Adam loping alongside, told us the others had gone on for nearly a quarter-mile before realising they were one down, and had not retraced their steps anything like far enough before leaving the path themselves, in entirely the wrong direction. Skuffles explained to Adam, who briefly looked heavenward and went Alpha to direct the reluctant four-legged agents to follow the three, with Asil and two two-legged agents, while the other two came with me, Skuffles and Adam to look for the wayward boy.

Tracking scent along a daylit trail is one thing, in the matorral at dusk quite another, and the pungent junipers didn't help. The boy had wanted privacy to pee, but gone too far and got turned around, walking nearly parallel to the path for fifty yards before realising he was lost, trying to backtrack but angling away on a slight downslope. Being kid-sized he'd also gone through gaps I could manage easily but might have held up Skuffles if she hadn't been purely magical, and did slow Adam and the agents. He'd also fallen at least once, tearing cloth and leaving blood, though that trail didn't last so it wasn't too bad an injury. Then the wind shifted a little and Skuffles's head and mine came up simultaneously, nostrils flaring.

Wolves!

"Where ?" Adam's head swivelled. "Gray wolves ?"

Yes. Quickly, now.

I'd already taken off, following the suddenly clear scent of scared boy and more than one wolf, and Skuffles was right behind me, weaving between juniper boles, heading into a steep-sided gully and through some low shrubs to emerge in a small clearing. On the far side was a big old juniper, and the kid had managed to scale the bare lower trunk into the highest branches that would hold him — driven by sheer terror, probably, because around the base were a half-dozen fair-sized tawny wolves with white throats. Whether they were serious about wanting dinner or just curious about the small human in a tree I wasn't sure, but they were all very surprised by a charging coyote, especially as I was projecting all the dominance I could muster, and even more surprised by Skuffles, who added a low growl, fur and ruff standing on end like a cat's as all the roses became skulls clattering teeth. It was way louder than a rattler's warning buzz, and with more human noise as Adam and the agents caught us up the wolves sensibly legged it, vanishing into the gloom. I headed over to the tree, seeing a phone by its base, and peered up, Skuffles coming to join me as her ruff fell silent and subsided. A bone-white face looked down, eyes as big as saucers.

It's alright, we're here to rescue you, not eat you.

The face jerked, but there was no comprehension visible. My Chinese was non-existent, but as Adam and the agents entered the clearing Skuffles vanished, returning a few seconds later.

Méiguānxì, wǒmen shì lái jiù nǐ de, bùshì chī nǐ de. Nǐ bèi kùn zài nàlǐle ma ?

That won another jerk, followed by a nod that became another stare as Adam came up beside us.

"You found him. The wolves ?""

We scared them off, but he's stuck up there. Over to you, Adam.

"You're sure about the wolves, Skuffles ?" Both agents had weapons drawn. "I didn't see them but I can smell them."

Still running, I should think. There's no threat.

Deciding enough was enough, I felt carefully for the clothing-magic, and changed, relieved when everything reappeared as it ought, including the cloak, and stooped to grab the kid's phone.

"Skuffles went scary on them — six Eurasian wolves. Skuffles, I dunno where you got the Chinese but can you tell him Adam'll climb up ?"

Nope. I just got Baba Yaga to translate 'here to rescue not eat you' and 'are you stuck?'.

Adam and I both blinked.

"Baba Yaga speaks Chinese ?"

And almost everything else.

"Right. Let's just get it done."

Adam could simply jump to catch the lowest branch and pull himself up, but the kid was shaking so much that getting him to let go of the tree took a moment, and rather than climb down Adam simply jumped, wolf legs absorbing the shock easily on the soft carpet of juniper needles. It probably didn't help the kid's fear, but it was fast, he grabbed the phone I offered him as if it was a talisman, and we waited only to radio in our imminent arrival, with the need for a Chinese speaker, before I took us out of there, passing through a new rose-grove in the Garden of Manannán's Death that blocked any view of the triad. Adam gave me a look over the kid's head resting on his shoulder, but we went straight on to the carpark, emerging into a glare of arc-lights and a babble of emergency personnel. Some medtechs peeled the kid off Adam, and as I scanned for media — fortunately not yet present — the S&R commander headed over, exchanging rapid-fire Spanish with one medtech before giving us a nod so deep it was almost a bow.

"Señoras Presidentas, Señor Hauptman, muchas gracias. That was exceptionally fast work."

I was pleased by the plural, wondering who'd said what to him, and so was Skuffles. "Magic makes some things easier, sir. Did you know you have a wolf-pack up there ?"

He stared, and Skuffles and I told him what we'd seen, interested that the news pleased him considerably.

"There have been some claims of sightings, Señoras Presidentas, but nothing so precise. Their usual range is further north, in Leon, but numbers have recovered a little. We are the richer." He shrugged. "But we still have three humans to find. Señor Moreno says your agents have the scent still. I can debrief you while we are waiting, if you permit ?"

That SOP we understood, and Jesse, Sally, and three Fishers listened while we each ran through what we'd seen. Skuffles and I took longest as we had the scent trail to discuss, with deductions about how getting lost had happened, and though the bodycams had caught neither the wolves nor anything at all Underhill Adam's tree-climbing and swift descent were entertaining. Finding that media were excluded here, though gathering somewhere else in the Park, Skuffles was persuaded to demonstrate her piloerection talents and ruff-skulls' massed rattle.

It combines a cat-trick with a snake one, but it works, so why not ? And the glamour likes being useful.

"I don't think anyone was objecting, Skuffles. Good one. Irpa will like it too."

The S&R boss shook his head, more in wonder than negation as fur smoothed out again and half the skulls became roses.

"Those wolves are probably half-way back to Leon by now. Is there anything else to report ? Then my sincere thanks, again, to all. I had read of preternatural S&R, and that you, Señora Presidenta, still do police scenting when asked, but … well, seeing is believing."

None of us minded talking about that while we waited. Even better, there were more bocadillos, and the medtechs reported that the kid was OK physically, however scraped and bruised, but they were still waiting on a Chinese speaker. Duty staffers have their uses, and within a couple of minutes I was talking to China's ambassador in Madrid, who despite his astonishment offered thanks and let me put the bemused kid on. Something that sounded pretty imperative, but not unkind, started a flood of words and tears, and the ambassador offered some soothing before the kid gave me the phone back. He was still in shock and probably hot water, but the ambassador assured me he knew he was safe, the search for his parents and sister was in full swing, and an embassy representative was on her way. The kid had mentioned wolves as well as werewolves and coyotes, so I cleared that up before graciously accepting one more round of thanks, saying lost kids always had priority, and ringing off. Leslie gave me an unwillingly amused look.

"Watching you get presidential with someone else is way better fun, Mercy. And you gotta give that ambassador big points."

"Yup. Gotta give him some cover too."

I stressed the duty staffer again by dictating a priority FYI email to China, explaining briefly, praising the ambassador, and offering personal assurance that it really was S&R, not anything sneaky or nefarious. It was the middle of the night in Beijing, so I wasn't expecting a reply, but within a few minutes did get an acknowledgement of receipt from someone on his night staff assuring me it would be flagged up first thing in the morning.

"China's a sensible man, and there's no point stirring needlessly."

I was saved further enquiries about that by an abrupt radio crackle and Asil's voice saying they'd found the three but the father was in bad shape, having fallen and given himself concussion as well as a broken arm and collar-bone the mother and daughter had been too scared to leave him, and were hypothermic as well as frantic about the boy, but uninjured. Asil had GPS co-ords, but the man's injuries were going to make this tricky even if the parents spoke English so we commandeered an immobilising rescue stretcher, and Adam came with me. Mother and daughter were both eating emergency rations Asil had carried, and too strung out already to be further freaked by our arrival, for which I gave thanks. My agents had the father's arm splinted and strapped, but moving him onto the stretcher made him barf, which we'd expected, and as soon as he was done and we were sure his airways were clear Adam and Asil picked up the stretcher one-handed, wolf-strength keeping it level and their others free to hold the cloak. Two-legged agents picked up mother and daughter, four-legged ones grabbed the stalks the cloak provided for them, and off we went again.

This time the swirl of medtechs was much bigger, and their clear concern for the father not a good sign, but the kid's expression when he saw his mom, and hers in return, were worth a lot. A military air-ambulance was minutes out, and as it landed and soon clattered off again towards a Madrid hospital I wondered how big a bill the parents would face, dictated an update to China, copied to the ambassador, and checked on my four-legged agents, who'd changed back and been urgently supplied with bocadillos. Finally I told the senior S&R guy that if they needed any follow-up they could try us tomorrow, but we had no desire to talk to the media about any of it, and were out of there.

The media, alas, did not share our disinclination, especially as it was silly season, and exploded globally with yet more bad puns on my name, whoops about big good wolves and coyotes, laboured ironies about wolves rescuing children from wolves, and column yards of … overexcited bull covers it. The besieging press pack was so big the next day that Adam, Skuffles, and I had to let Asil and Hussan take Jude, Leslie, and the girls to mediaeval Ávila while we ran through it all for more reporters and TV cameras than was remotely reasonable. The Spanish PM also turned up, again, ostensibly to thank me but with both eyes on the photo-op as well as bending my ear some more. It made me grumpy, and I flatly refused to allow Secret Service agents to be interviewed — d'oh! — or to deal with anything beyond the actual events of yesterday except the principles of integrated preternatural S&R, and Eurasian wolves, Canis lupus lupus. By request my brief had included a summary of where the EU was at with wolf conservation and management — staffers really do have their uses — so we could say things about a pack returning to the Sierra de Guadarrama for the first time in nearly a century, and push the idea of rewilding, as well as whacking at EU members who did very little to protect their residual wolf populations. Whatever the ones Skuffles had scared off had been about I glossed as curiosity, not hunting behaviour, and so did she. And though I wasn't dropping Wolf in this one, I did quote him on his children recognising human ones.

"I doubt Romulus and Remus happened quite the way the tale has it, people, but I'll bet it had a basis of some kind in fact. And while I know you've had some scandal here about false claims of wolf-predation on sheep, as well as real cases, there is still nothing wrong at all, and everything right, with having animals about that humans have to be wary of. Especially as all animals still have to be a great deal more wary of us."

Adam added observations about what wolves did and really didn't do, and Skuffles some mindbites of her own, but I had to deflect pretty pushy Chinese state media who wanted detail on the family, and seemed unsure if they should be condemned for reckless behaviour or fêted as celebrities. One earnest male in particular repeated questions about the father's injuries, and I decided enough was enough.

"First, sir, it is not my place to violate anyone's right to medical privacy. Nor is it yours. And second, people get lost in mountains all the time. We're just glad we were able to find these ones and get them to safety, and while we all wish them well, and a swift recovery, now they are safe they are no longer S&R business, which is the only capacity in which any of us were involved." I shrugged. "I did briefly put my presidential hat on to alert the PRC's ambassador and procure a Chinese speaker, and he can talk about that if he wants and his government allows it, but otherwise it was just S&R. You're all excited only because it happened to be me, Skuffles, Adam, and Asil, and as we've already done that for nearly an hour, we're getting back to our holiday."

After managing to shoo away the PM one more time, and an early lunch, Adam and Skuffles did get some down-time, via a long walk around the estate, but I spent a while taking a call from an admiring China, who accepted the lost had been unlucky, if suboptimal in equipment and responses to problems, and assured me they could afford the sizeable rescue and medical bills and would face no official consequences, adding that I had quite overset the ambassador, both by calling him in the first place and by remembering to warn Beijing. My Chinese approval ratings, already surprisingly high for a POTUS, were up again, apparently, and having already agreed in principle that some state visiting might be in order we discussed putative timings a little. He was half-sympathetic to my problems with actually having a holiday, suggesting I try it in his system, and I liked him well enough to admit that my coyote had really enjoyed a proper run, however I disliked the media consequences. All that was followed by another while talking to State, who'd got around to appreciating the positive consequences of a POTUS rescuing Chinese nationals, and wanted to know more about whatever Asil and Gwyn ap Lugh might do to Madrid and Brussels a shorter while talking first to the Director of the Secret Service, who didn't care for presidential S&R, then an intrigued and amused Frank, who observed that I was hogging global headlines even when nominally off-duty and a longer but more enjoyable one talking to Wolf, pleased to hear me defend his children, albeit European ones, and genuinely curious about the wolves, as well as quizzical about Skuffles borrowing behaviour from cats and rattlers, but I think that was just his usual amour propre. "Whatever works", I told him, and finally got back to something resembling holiday via a swift change into shorts and a tee, and a lounger on the terrace.

The chance to read good fiction mellowed me considerably, and time stretched out in the sun helped muscles that were stiffer than they should have been. When Adam and Skuffles got back to the house he was happy to join me while she went off to (she said) check on the wolf-pack, which earned her stares from both of us, but was her business as long as she wasn't seen. Down-time with Adam was always good, and we were wondering about vanishing to our bedroom for a while when the Ávila-explorers returned, reporting way too many churches in any one space and with pictures to prove it. As I'd been entertaining most of the world's reporters they'd had a pleasantly media-free time, and as the sun set, temperature dropped, and conversation segued to nibbles and wine, then spit-roasted wild boar to continue the pork theme, with still more wine, a good time was had by all, though I had to listen to successive reports of North Korea firing another missile into the Sea of Japan, and rattling sabres at the South Koreans, until someone at the Pentagon decided it wasn't going to escalate any further, at least for now. On the upside, Skuffles returned saying the wolves were fine, a consolidated pack numbering eleven in all with two breeding pairs, and one of the females was pregnant, so that was good, and between Korean updates I dictated an email to the Spanish PM, asking him personally to pass the data on to whomever needed it, which made Adam grin.

We managed one day in Madrid without any major incident, mostly at the Prado, which was a knockout, though I did get into a food shop that had any number of specialty olive oils, but the next, our penultimate in Spain, was for Adam, Skuffles, and me dedicated to werewolf-business. Asil's slightly younger son, Khalid, had returned from his German diplomacy bearing some new agreements that would shift things in Brussels, and though it was mostly wolf-business, that was in some measure Adam's, while Asil wanted his take on several things, including serving female wolves and how to goose army structures that kept women away from combat. Skuffles and I were there because the US had a serious interest in maximally developed EU Paths of Assertion and Mercy, while dominance issues between packs of differing nationalities could become bothersome, and European wolves in more than one place were in something of a mess anyway. French ones were still working out what not having Chastel around meant for them, except fewer needless human kills, Italian ones coping with post-Bonarata upheavals, including vamps still in bewildered shock, and British ones had finally decided who would succeed Arthur Madden as Master of the Isles, speaking for them with Asil, when Brexit had made EU decisions unenforceable. My leaning on the British Oaf of a PM would only put his back up, but other pressures were possible — NATO was very fond of its serving wolves, and as the UK needed new trade agreements with the US a lot more than we needed them, I didn't in the least mind adding some conditions and incentives, while doubting that the Oaf's train-wreck of a government was actually capable of doing anything sensible. Nor was I unwilling to receive European wolves in DC or Kennewick, if it would accomplish something, and trusted Asil not to ask if it wouldn't, or was just a sop to wolf-egos.

"It is a fine line, querida, but occasional demonstration of formal US support will be needed." Asil shrugged almost as elegantly as Gwyn ap Lugh. "The dominance you and Skuffles demonstrated at Lenka Yakovlevna's funeral is widely known to wolves, but still makes many blink, knowing you are coyote. And there is likely to be a large meeting during the coming winter, here, I hope, which perhaps Skuffles might attend?"

With my presidential ruff on, Asil, or just to goose them ?

"Are those mutually exclusive, Skuffles ?"

That discussion was a headache, but after some explanations from Asil and Khalid, and commentary from Adam, I agreed they might not be, within fairly strict limits, including no publicity of any kind, no fights ditto, and keeping the Secret Service in the loop, even if State wasn't entirely. Skuffles gave me a look at that one, but I wagged a finger.

"Un un, maxi-me, you know the rules. If you're going in state, you're accompanied. Very Important Coyotes have entourages."

We change the rules, Mercy.

"Not on this, we don't. Do it presidentially, and it's on record even if the record's so classified no-one except us is allowed to read it. Plus you really don't want me to have to bring State in on this one."

Adam got it and had no desire for Skuffles to become a wolf-enforcer anyway, however Skuffles herself had no objection. He was also amused by a coyote scaring wolves, while I was ambivalent at best, but that wolf-heads not infrequently needed knocking briskly together was unarguable, and as we were dealing with Alphas Skuffles's dominance put her on a very short short-list of the capable. The politics of an EU–preternatural accord that excluded the Brits also had some attractive upsides, for Asil and the EU as much as for me, and on those State would have to be briefed, but I could do that if it all happened. Finally, there was a conference call with senior Alphas in various countries, which beyond the actual agenda meant fielding more questions about Skuffles's moment of Segovian vigilantism, glamouring the Valle de los Caídos, rescuing lost Chinese families, and looking out for Eurasian wolves. On those, and rewilding in general, I passed on some comments and advice from Wolf, who'd said he didn't mind me giving Asil a contact email, and the most pleasing bit of the day was giving all the European wolves good reasons to push assistance for their natural brethren, enforcing protected status and sensible management. It would be uphill work, especially in Greece and the Balkans, but conservation was, at least officially, on everyone's agenda, while werewolves were good at giving things teeth.

Before dinner we gave Asil the cases of wine, which pleased him, and I added a small carving of a moose Bran had asked me to relay, and I'd bet he'd done himself. Asil thought so too.

"He is tweaking my tail a little, querida, and knows I miss the larger game in the Cabinets. But he is reminding me also that I am still pack."

"Do you want to transfer to a Spanish one ?"

"Not in the least. It is far better to be independent here, and I intend to return to Aspen Creek once this work is done." He smiled, voice becoming wryer. "For a while, at least. As Bran predicted, I miss the Cabinets, and the snow."

"And moose ?"

He laughed. "Even in the Sierra it seems tame here, and the deer have been without wild wolves for so long they have become very easy pickings."

"Huh. Try them when you're coyote-sized."

"An option I lack." He shrugged. "I am not bored of the politics, yet, mi princesa, because we are getting something that truly matters done in the wonderfully long shadow you are casting, but my wolf is less content. It thinks the sky here is too small, but really it is just that I am spending too much time indoors."

"Tell me." I didn't like adding things to my schedule, but Asil was a friend. "Clear it with Bran, and next full moon I can cloak you to Aspen Creek and back. No promises about more, but you can always ask."

He was touched, so we parted the next day in excellent humour, and as there was nowhere nearer Amalfi that had long enough runways Air Force One took us to Naples International. I do not want, ever, to have to drive in Naples without a police escort clearing the way, but with one we had an easy run to a freeway that took us past brooding Vesuvius to Pompeii, for very decent lasagne followed by a happily classical afternoon investigating the Parco Archeologico and, when the media began to catch up with us there, the Villa dei Misteri. Lots of people have written about the disturbing effects of seeing what the volcano buried so swiftly, especially the plaster casts of spaces human and animal bodies left in the ash, and they were on the money, but the mysterious frescoes were more entertaining, as well as rude. Why a woman would want to suckle a goat was a good question, as was what the goat had thought about it, but as the media caught up again we kept that discussion for motorcade privacy as we headed a little inland and took a seriously windy road over the flank of Monte Cerreto. Views were fantastic but the goat question lingered, less for the weird eroticism than as an example of just how much history we didn't know, those frescoes being pretty much the only evidence there was about any Roman initiation rites — a whole stratum of regular life, at least above a certain level of wealth, that was just blank and would probably stay that way. That got us on to the way digital drafts weren't going to be archived the way paper ones could be, until scenery reclaimed attention as the Tyrrhenian Sea came back into view, we dropped to the coast road at Castiglione, and wound south to Amalfi.

The palazzo was high in the spur of buildings that climbed towards the Torre del Ziro, with views over the cathedral and Piazza Duomo, and if a lot smaller than El Escorial still managed palatial very nicely. Given the steepening slope there wasn't much garden, but a side-terrace with a view over the blue, blue sea had sufficiently restricted overlooks that the Secret Service didn't mind me sitting or eating there. Better still, we did delivery pizza, having canvassed recommendations from a local with the Italian VIP squad, I hit the jackpot with a multi-salami spicy meat-feast, and my greeting from the Italian PM was a friendly call wishing us a good time. He asked after Adam and Jesse, and when I discovered he was on holiday himself, a little east of Naples, I invited him and his family to dinner the next evening, if he could make it. He checked with his wife and happily agreed, so I asked about any dietary needs or strong dislikes, and we rang off. Adam gave me a quizzical look

"You want more work, love ?"

"Not much, but I told the ex-Man I'd be diplomatic, and you know I find foreign policy the hardest thing. Cooking helps. Plus, there's some G7 stuff for which I can't count on the Oaf's support, so Italy's would be useful."

"No peace for the virtuous, then."

"Surprise."

"Leaves me well out of it, Adam. Now this I could get used to." Jude had long legs stretched out, a wineglass in one hand and the other resting on Leslie's shoulder. "The Columbia's a fine river, but I do like me a sea-view with boats."

Boats there were, mostly expensive leisure, motor and sail, but I could see a couple of working trawlers and a small ferry heading in from Capri.

"With you there, Jude." Adam was foraging a cheese-board, comparing smoked and unsmoked Caciocavallo di bufala. "Sails are good."

"Un huh. One benefit of Chicago was lake views. Nevada was way too dry."

"And the Tri-Cities aren't ?"

Jude grinned at me, and others laughed.

"We could surely use less rain shadow, but the river's there, and the coast's only a few hours away." Jude drank wine, and gestured. "It's odd, though. That sea goes to the horizon just as much as the Pacific, but you know one's a sea and the other's a big, bad ocean."

We thought about it, and Jesse shrugged.

"Hard to disentangle knowing one's the Mediterranean and the other's the Pacific, but I expect it's the fetch."

"The what ?"

"Wind fetch, not fae doubles. How much flat sea wind has to blow over before it hits land. A longer fetch is mostly why oceans have bigger waves than seas or lakes."

"Huh. Lake Michigan does pretty big waves when it wants."

"When the wind's from the north ?" Jude nodded. "It's a long lake. Plus, Upper Michigan and Canada don't get in the way enough."

I was relaxed enough that that gave me a minor fit of giggles, setting off laughter as I wondered aloud how either could get in whose way more satisfactorily. Michigan was easy, but the Canadians really didn't do much in the way of obstructing, except pipelines.

"There's not much elevation heading south either, Jesse. I've felt it in St Louis — double-nineties in the summer because there's nothing taller than a skyscraper between you and the Gulf of Mexico, and sub-zeroes with wind-chill in winter because ditto between you and the North Pole. The Tri-Cities really aren't so bad, despite the aridity."

"Un huh. Amalfi's still better."

It was, and stayed perfect next day, with clear skies, warm sun, and a pleasant sea-breeze as the morning heated. I'd done some hard bargaining with the Secret Service, and though Skuffles opted out, uninterested in serial shopping, we actually got to walk down into Amalfi, with an oversize squad including wolves on four legs for the scare value. We visited the cathedral, and more importantly a whole string of food and kitchen shops. The locust swarm of media were kept at least a street away, and the Italian VIP squad co-ordinated clearing shops while we were there, which shopkeepers didn't mind because I gave them some serious business as well as free publicity, and granted permission to pass on to the media anything they liked so long as it was true. Discovering that permission from our first stop, a macellaria where I went for some spicy meatballs and a great deal of salami, the media flacks wanted everything — which meant they weren't traipsing after me, so I actually managed, cumulatively, to thin the swarm some. Next was a bakery, then a pasta shop that widened even Jude's eyes, and after choosing some fresh spinach fettucine and angel-hair for the evening I got into pasta machines with the delighted owner and wound up buying two, one for Kennewick and one for the White House. They were top-of-the-line electric Imperias, designed for smaller restaurants, but with a wolfpack to feed semi-industrial quantities were often in order, and though I'd never hesitated to use dried pasta — you try making ten pounds of spaghetti for one meal — having the option would be nice. It hadn't occurred to Jesse that you could spend more than three grand on a pasta machine, but I consoled her with a basic manual Imperia that cost less than a hundred bucks and would do small quantities nicely.

"Do I need a pasta machine, Mom ?"

"You should always have one handy, Jesse. Making dough is quick, and a machine means you can have spaghetti in 15 to 20."

"So does take-out."

"They don't use fresh pasta."

"Huh. Point. It's heavy, though."

"Yup. Five or six pounds. Imperia use steel. There are aluminium ones, but they bust quicker. That one will last, if you look after it."

She was still dubious, but the owner agreed with me whole-heartedly, so three pasta machines were rung up and we headed to a pasticceria for some consolatory chocolate. There were also consolatory sfogliatella, bomboloni, struffoli, and zeppole, as well as apricot-and-apple crostati that smelled so good I bought five for our evening dessert, and we staggered out to resume the culinary odyssey at a charming erboristeria, which smelt wonderful and sold seeds as well as young plants, and — at last — a cheese shop. Very many more things were despatched palazzo-wards, and half-a-dozen large wheels of this and that would be collected with the Imperias to be taken to Air Force One, which had the senior agent shaking his head as he sent the message to the squad guarding it.

"Cheese collection, yet. Ma'am."

"Count yourself lucky. Even before I was elected I used a squad of SEALs to deliver a fruit-cake."

He blinked. "You did? Who to?"

"The Andrews. They didn't have to x-ray it, though."

Adam and I had a lovely time with another charming owner, and Jude liked his cheese despite a weakness for Pepper Jack. Leslie and Jenna were better pleased with a seafood taverna where we had a well-earned lunch, then it was a pottery shop with many Mediterranean styles on show, a wine-shop (which meant more deliveries to the airport as well as the palazzo),a souvenir place for things to give friends and cousins, and some pricey boutiques where I bought an absurdly expensive but lovely silk blouse for myself, a ditto shirt and tie for Adam, and with Georgetown in mind a double ditto linen skirt for Jesse that hit mid-calf and swirled very nicely but still had sensible pockets. There was another Sally looked at wistfully, and despite her honest protests I bought it for her. Climbing back up the Via Torre delle Ziro she was embarrassed but grateful, and we had an interesting talk about the strains of financial imbalance. Clay made decent money at Kennewick PD, if way below what a good homicide detective deserved, but Donna didn't earn, and both her father and Clay's mother had died of very expensive illnesses, meaning with the many sibs there hadn't been much for either to inherit. There was also still a mortgage to be paid, so though Sally was an only child there wasn't much jam available. Jenna had more, because both Leslie and Jude earned, and he'd inherited property from a grandparent, while Jesse had a trust fund in the millions from her Heuter damages and the photo of me she'd taken during the Medicine Wolf Accords, as well as fees and royalties she collected from National Geographic. So did all the Freed, with whom Sally spent a lot of time, and even Josh and Sara were on their way, 31st Amendment tees selling as fast as Jesse predicted.

"Mmm. Money's tricky, isn't it, Sally ? Your dad tried to pay for your trip, and for staying at the White House in term time, but I headed that off. It'd be illegal anyway. But he'd bite me if I offered charity."

"So would I, Mercy, however I'm not giving the skirt back."

I grinned at her. "Rightly, on both counts. And it's not what's needed. That would be your own income."

"Oh yeah. But the only big paydays would be for stuff I can't talk about."

"Huh. Not necessarily." Ideas spun. "Jesse as First Daughter can't do consultancy, but you and Jenna could."

"Consultancy ? About what ?"

"Sally, how many humans have met Underhill ? Been given a liferose ? Met Gwyn ap Lugh ? Or Purity ? Hang out with wolves, trolls, pixies, and brownies ?"

She shrugged. "I get that, but who needs the advice and would pay for it ?"

My smile was more predatory than it should have been, but hey, they'd annoyed me and been rude to Asil. "Some Basques and Catalans, for a start. And who knows how many people who want to glamour the Valle de los Caídos into anything else. The Fae will be happy to have better-informed supplicants too, so it's win-win all round."

Once we were back at the palazzo I brought all the others into the conversation. Adam liked it, Jesse loved it, giving me a hug that told me she'd been aware of the money issues, Skuffles was amused, and though Jenna had the same instinctive balk at personal profit as Sally she could see the point, while Jude and Leslie were immediately clear that she was more than entitled to it.

"Honey, I've asked your advice on the preternatural more often than I can count. And Sally's and Jesse's." Leslie held her daughter's hands. "It bugs me that I can't bill the Bureau for it, because it's saved lives and money, but there's no way. This would even things up some."

"Huh." Heads turned to me. "If Jenna and Sally registered as a company you could hire them, Leslie, and nepotism be damned. They're two of only four living people to hold a liferose. But let's clear the decks."

Swift calls caught a surprised Clay and Donna at breakfast, who after some inevitable chat about hogging headlines while on holiday listened hard. Sally hadn't yet turned 18, although she'd graduated early and would in another week and some, and Clay wanted to see the wording of any contracts, concerned about time-management, but they were happy in principle. So were Gwyn ap Lugh and Asil, in more than principle for their own reasons, and while both White House counsel and Jenny were very clear that I could not make any direct referrals, even with my hat nominally off, they agreed Jenna and Sally were entitled to offer their expertise and that anyone wanting to contact the Fae, or senior wolves, would be very well advised to hire it. As Asil had already agreed to Let Things Be Known in certain Spanish circles, that was fine, and after kicking it about some more Sally and Jenna sensibly decided they came as a pair or not at all, and would go for it, though both goggled at me when I told them to set their minimum fee at a quarter-million USD for individuals, and a full million for governments.

"If you let them pay peanuts, they won't listen. Gouge them hard enough to command attention before you say one word." Adam and Jude both gave thumbs-ups. "Screen for the stupid and impossible before you accept any client. And offer Irpa, or if she prefers another troll, or Ariana, ten percent of every fee to read through written advice, but have a disclaimer in big print that says good faith and all due diligence blah blah, but any and all voluntary contact with fae, wolves, or vamps is entirely at the contactor's own risk." There were more thumbs-ups, including Leslie's. "Talk to Andrea about that, and until you're up and running tell her to put it on my private account. Once you are, and Sally's turned 18, you can become formal clients of Jenny's." More ideas spun. "If you juggled it right, you could have Georgetown hiring you to lecture Jesse's class."

Their faces were a picture, Jesse thought it a hoot, and Adam wasn't far behind, so I retired to the kitchen to cook up a storm. Most of what I had planned was quick, though some chopping needed to be last-minute, but meatballs needed time, and I did them in a mild — for me — arrabbiata sauce with tomatoes, garlic, and chillies that had all been growing yesterday. While things simmered I grated frozen mozzarella and a local parmesan that came strongly recommended, before throwing together side-salads and a choice of herbed dressings. Half-way through Jesse drifted into the kitchen and gave me a hug from behind, tattoo-Adam giving me a goofy wolf-look from her arm, before leaning against the counter.

"The media are going to say things about nepotism, Mom."

"Yup. And I'll set them straight when they do."

"That will be fun."

"Un huh. If it wasn't preternatural stuff I'd think otherwise, but it is, and it's simple fact that Sally and Jenna have more experience of the preternatural in general, and the Marrok and Gray Lords in particular, than most everyone else. It's also good politics — you heard Gwyn ap Lugh say he was glad putative applicants could get sensible advice."

"I did. Does the Fae embassy get a lot of formal approaches ?"

"No, but when Baba Yaga's in DC she gets plenty of curiosity and not-so-subtle soundings, which is why she mostly stays away, and things will widen fast enough when the EU does recognise Underhill's sovereignty."

"That I get." Jesse cocked her head. "I've been thinking that besides fae amour propre, there are probably quite a few half-fae, maybe full-bloods too, who stayed Old World."

"Me too. Gwyn ap Lugh hasn't said much, but didn't disagree he had consular interests. There are fae investments in a lot of European firms as well, Charles tells me. And eco and conservation issues some fae at least find pretty hot-button — old places of power, I think."

"Un huh. Irpa's had some things to say about the Brits messing with Stonehenge." Jesse grinned. "You think the builders had troll help ?"

I laughed. "It'd explain a lot, but people were probably crazy enough even then to drag huge stones for miles to build a whatever Stonehenge is."

"Oh yeah. A cathedral, in its own way." Jesse took a long breath. "But I'm procrastinating, so there are two things. If Jen and Sal are incorporated as consultants, how will that sit legally with involvement in any glamour-tattoo recommending ?"

I blinked. "Pass. Is any imminent ?"

"No. A ways off, probably. I was thinking down the road."

"OK. Why should it be a problem ?"

"Suppose someone we wanted to recommend had kin who wanted to consult."

"Huh. Cross bridges when you come to them. And keeping the consultancy fee seriously stiff will reduce the chances."

"True. We still want to talk to Underhill about it, though, to be certain she's good with it all."

I gave her a long look she returned, and courtesy was critical with the fae, so I nodded. "Alright, Jesse. Check with Gwyn ap Lugh, and I'll take you as and whenever. What's the other thing ?"

"Thanks. And money. Dad and Leslie have just about convinced Sal and Jen you were serious about the fee scale, but they're having trouble digesting it. Even for Jen a quarter-mil is way more than both parents' salaries combined, and for Sal and Mr and Mrs Willis that kind of money will be revolutionary."

"Yup. She'll want to spend it on Clay and Donna, and all those cousins, and Clay at least will object, strongly. Donna too, probably, though she might be persuadable about some larger-ticket items, and maybe the mortgage. Can't say about the cousins."

"Me either. And why am I surprised you'd thought through that far. Advice ?"

"Is a dangerous thing. So are getting between parents and child, and counting chickens before they hatch." I shrugged. "Then again, there's no law that says trust funds have to be set up by parents for children. Talk to Jenny, Ramona, and the Freed about that one."

"Will do, and that's a good thought. But mostly I wondered if I should try to talk to Mr Willis."

"Mmm. Tricky. Ask your dad and Jude, but for my money, unless Sally asks you to, leave it to her and Jenna." Curiosity twitched. "What would you tell him, if you did ?"

"That once the idea of having real money sank in, after the court award, not offering to pick up tabs has been hard, and if you and Dad were getting by on Mr Willis's salary I'd be pretty insistent."

"Un huh. I get that, Jesse, and I've wanted to throw money at Clay and Donna too, if only to replace that clunker she drives with a hybrid, but you know it won't do. The consultancy might, though."

"Might, yeah. You're the best, Mom."

I got a harder hug than expected, thought the money thing had been bothering Jesse more than I'd realised, and made a mental note to talk with Adam, but my guests would be along shortly, and all but the last-minute stuff was done, so once I'd made sure the table was properly set it was time to change. I wasn't going formal, but did shift to a Navajo long-skirted but short-sleeved summer dress with geometrical patterns, while Adam showered and changed into a fresh shirt and slacks.

The PM was prompt, his wife an interesting musicologist, and their two early-teenage kiddos wider-eyed at Skuffles than they wanted to let show but polite with it. All spoke good English, Jesse, Jenna, and Sally soon broke any ice with the kiddos, and the PM got into education with Adam and Jude, leaving me to his wife, who with mild apology wanted to sate professional curiosity about how I'd used music campaigning. I was always good with conversations about the Grateful Dead or the Boss, as were Leslie and Skuffles, while we were all a little amused by the gender-split when they came with me to the kitchen. What I was doing was simple but needed some fine co-ordination, and Skuffles kept up conversation while I chopped bunches of four kinds of basil very fine, mixed them in a big bowl, cooked the angel-hair pasta slightly al dente — not so easy with pasta that fine — zapped it with the grated mozzarella, put the two together, dished eleven small bowls, and added a garnish of rainbow pepper.

Relieved by my own first forkful and general noises of appreciation, I gave my guests a quizzical look.

"It's hubris for a coyote-girl to cook pasta for Italians, but I can't not with the fresh food I can get here. Genuine opinions ?"

The PM quirked an eyebrow. "Your purchases today have already boosted Imperia's share-price, Signora. So would this if stockbrokers could taste it. It is as delicate as I have ever had." He tasted carefully. "Sweet basil, Thai basil, cinnamon basil, and … Rubin basil ?"

I was amused to boost Imperia and impressed by his palate. "Spot on, sir. The last two are rare in the US, so I bought seeds our earth fae will have fun with. And the delicacy is because next up is some rather sturdier polpette arrabbiata."

I served them over the spinach fettucine with parmesan, side-salads, and extra chilli available for me, Jude, and whoever wanted more heat. The musicologist went for it, and the older, female kiddo, everyone else was happy with the restrained version, and all offered compliments. We talked food for a while, but when the PM gently slid towards political issues I let him go there, and with Adam added a little wolf diplomacy on Bran's and Asil's behalves. Italian wolves having been monumentally helpful in the run-up to Bonarata's dismissal, they were in good official odour but at odds with both the Vatican, which remained extremely cross and embarrassed by the Bonarata Papers as well as conflicted about the preternatural, and the Northern League, which seemed to think itself automatically appealing to macho wolves, and really wasn't. Pan-Italian wolf unity was thus a very desirable thing, but as they didn't have a Marrok or anything like, co-operation tended to be ad hoc. Asil and sons were helping with that, and though the PM was broadly up-to-date Adam and I could give him different perspectives, as well as a heads-up about Fae impatience with Brussels dragging its feet.

With the crostati, which tasted just as good as they'd smelt, we got onto more mundane and green matters, and the ex-Man had been exactly right about dividends because there were things we both wanted from the G7, and other things where mutual back-scratching was possible. Breaking Bonarata's drug- and people-smuggling networks had given Italian police a huge opportunity against mafiosi they'd gone after like terriers, while the new unconstitutionality of automatic weapons gave my Feebs and PDs a handy chunk of probable cause with our own mafia types, which could make for a nice synergy. There were also intel things I couldn't talk about with others present, but I could make him an appointment to talk to the Director of the CIA about those, and did, before we got onto NATO, briefly, and assorted migrant crises. The USN weren't much help with the Mexican border and I had no problem with units that were in the Mediterranean anyway helping around Pantelleria, though the only real answer was righting the economic imbalances and political repressions that drove migrations — on which the US had a truly dismal record it would be good to improve. Jesse had views on that, migrant kiddos being exceptionally vulnerable to every kind of danger, and she was making some excellent sense when the paving of the terrace slammed into our feet and chair-seats into our backsides, glass shattered,the table rattled and shook, with the whole palazzo, and power cut off.

The Secret Service being the Secret Service, and Italy full of seismic stuff, we'd actually done Earthquake 101 during the flight from Spain, so we were safely on the far side of the terrace as dislodged roof-tiles dropped and broke. Parents were holding children, I had Jesse and Sally, and Adam was scanning the hillside above us, eyes wolf-yellow, Skuffles beside him, but though some rocks clattered down there was no bigger slide. and slowly tremors ebbed, aftershocks spiking among them. The senior agent came through the terrace doors with the head guy from the PM's protection detail, both with small but powerful LED flashlights, plaster coating their heads and shoulders, and I offered reassurance that no-one had anything worse than smarting feet and bruised rears.

"Sure, Ma'am ?"

"Un huh. Any of your men hurt ?"

"No, Ma'am. We're good."

"Lucky. That felt 7 plus. Is there much damage inside ?"

"Ceilings all over, and windows, but who knows about structural integrity ? You should all stay outside for now, Ma'am.

The PM had been trying his phone while listening to his guard, and turned to me.

"There is no signal, so the mast on Monte Cerreto is either down or without power. The sergeant says the whole of Amalfi is dark. Do you have anything that'll get me in touch with Rome ?"

Even as he spoke the lights flickered and came back on, though everywhere else I could see stayed dark.

"I do now." I looked at my agent. "That's our emergency generator ?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good work. Do you want me to stay outside badly enough to shift the com centre out here pronto ?"

"I do, Ma'am, and it's on its way."

Even if I was allowed to tell you whatall was in the com centre I couldn't, its tech being well beyond me, but it came in its own armoured case, and we cleared one end of the table while two agents lugged it out and its tech guardian-guy set it up. The PM looked at me.

"You brought your own generator, in case ?"

"The Secret Service did. SOP, about which I am presently having warm thoughts."

One satellite-bounce later I was talking to Frank, who promised to call Clay so he and Donna wouldn't worry, then the USGS, followed by the Pentagon, while the PM had a separate line to someone in Rome, and things did not sound good. The USGS had the 'quake at 7.3, close to an Italian record, and worse, with a very shallow epicentre some 50km north-east of us, on the eastern side of the Monti Picentini. They thought Mercalli intensity would be extreme, which the Pentagon's reports of power loss observed from space tended to confirm. It was out all round the epicentre, though that included a chunk of parkland and mountains, and in streaks and patches between Mondragone, Candela, and Agropoli, including bits of Naples as well as the peninsula — which the USGS said would be landslides taking out transmission towers, and resulting surges blowing sub-station circuit-breakers. The Pentagon had IR and other satellites that didn't need daylight retargeting, and as feeds became available I authorised hooking them through to geophys and S&R people from the INGV, Vigili del Fuoco, and Soccorso Alpino that the PM was talking to. The Admiral who was Chair of the Joint Chiefs got points because he'd anticipated me in ordering both USN carrier-groups in the Mediterranean to head for Naples at top speed, and as the true scale of the damage began to become clear I asked him to get USAF and Army resources in Europe moving.

"Helicopters, medics, and engineers, please, Admiral. Give any Europeans who need it a lift as well."

I called the German Chancellor, who knew it was bad but not how bad, and left her kicking their resources into higher gear, before repeating the process with other European leaders, including the Oaf. He was still an idiot, and had not yet been briefed, which spoke volumes, but the Brits have some first-rate S&R teams, as well as the assets to move them at high speed, and someone listening at his end knew enough that when I relayed the USGS modified-Richter and Mercalli estimates, with the depth, buttons were pushed and calls made. I also spoke to Bran and Asil, who would set Italian wolves in motion. Broader EU responses were kicking in, and despite a fish-eye from my senior agent I turned over extra lines to the PM so he could check on his parents, with whom he and his family were staying, and who were shaken but OK. He then set up a teleconference, and I joined the others, who'd been watching silently, nibbling cheese rescued from the table and drinking wine or bottled water someone had risked collecting from the kitchen. Adam held me for a moment, and when I sat Skuffles cocked her head.

Do we need trolls ?

I sighed. "Maybe, Skuffles. There are going to be villages that have been flattened and cut off. I feel it too, but if we do it here, how do we say no to whoever gets the next bad one ? So also maybe not. But as the PM needs the lines just now, go find out how Irpa feels about any request, and Gwyn ap Lugh's opinion ?"

Will do, Mercy. Back in a few.

Skuffles went, and I fielded questions from the musicologist while she held her kiddos, Adam held Jesse, Jude held Jenna, and Leslie held Sally.

"US military assets aren't a problem — they serve, by definition — but with the Fae there is the question of debt. Trolls are pretty easy-going, by fae standards, but Gray Lords aren't, and one misplaced word in a request to Gwyn ap Lugh could leave Italy owing a great deal it couldn't pay. And I'm sorry to be blunt, but while a discovery of trapped living might be enough to warrant fae help, recovering dead isn't. I know it seems cold, but sometimes I have to be, and so do the Fae." I borrowed Adam's bottle of water for a moment. "This is big enough and almost certainly bad enough to ask the question, hard, but any answer still has to wait for specific targets."

"Si. That I understand." She sighed, waving a hand. "And I have thought before that when you have produced a most surprising magical answer to some problem, the response is not a well-earned thank-you but a calculating question about another problem."

"That's the one, Signora. And finding those lost tourists in the Sierra makes this harder now. I've been having to restrain myself from whacking more things with big magical sticks anyway."

"You're whacking this with big mundane sticks, love." Adam loosened one arm from Jesse to rest a hand on my shoulder. "And however inappropriate, I'll confess to getting a kick out of seeing you redeploy carrier-groups and every US chopper in Germany."

I gave Adam a look that made him and Jude grin.

"Forget it. Carrier-group foreplay is so not going to happen."

The laughter had too much edge, and though no-one lost it, it was close-run. A word with the senior agent, hovering equally about me and the com centre, generated hot drinks from the kitchen, with bread and salami to give stomachs something more to occupy them, and as the night cooled we acquired blankets and jackets. Skuffles returned, telling me Irpa and a dozen trolls would come if asked, but Gwyn ap Lugh was, while sympathetic and concerned, very cautious about large scale provision of aid. Within moments she, Jesse, Jenna, and Sally were arguing advantages and pitfalls of fae assistance in natural disasters, all making sharp points, and with the distinction of rescuing the living and recovering the dead snagged Adam and a couple of agents on wolf willingness to deploy to scent the difference. The listening kiddos were fascinated, and the boy asked me how one could tell.

"The living breathe, meaning water vapour, heat, and CO2. The dead don't, plus they cool, and start to smell different very swiftly. Scent's not easy, and debris-fields are complicated, but any consistent source of warmer, wetter, and CO2-heavier air can be found by a trained wolf. Trained dogs, too, but they can't talk."

Further questions had me trying to explain how complex picking scents apart could be, a welcome distraction that didn't last as the PM came across, his face white and strained, and let his wife hold him.

"It is terrible. Avellino is rubble, and Solofra with most of Nola and everything between. We will be lucky if the death-toll stays under six figures." He rubbed his eyes. "The only good thing is that schools and offices were empty. Power to the Sorrentine Peninsula is out because a big landslide south of Cava de' Terreni took down two pylons, but they are on it as a priority. I must get to Rome, but the coast road is cut at Vietri sul Mare, as are at least two of the roads over the Monti Latteri, so the army is sending a helicopter for us, to the ferry car park. The police say the road is clear that far at least."

"And you take what good news you can get. God be with you, sir, and don't hesitate to ask for anything US forces can provide."

He said he wouldn't, offered tired thanks for food and aid, and they all made swift farewells. It was a sorry end to what had been a pleasant evening, and with guests gone the Secret Service wanted us out of there too — even if the palazzo remained structurally safe it was going to need a great deal of cleaning and redecorating, and staying would use resources the Italians were going to need, so I didn't argue in principle but did nix diverting a chopper when we had time to use the coast road around the peninsula. As the clattering of the PM's chopper came and went some checking via DC told us the coast road was cut only between Vietri sul Mare and Cetara, though all three roads across the spine of the peninsula were out, so after some cautious packing, with way too much plaster dust involved, we went.

The drive was eery, lack of power making darkness palpable, though surf gleamed and some houses clearly had emergency generators. The SUVs had a satellite link so I was monitoring the emergency response, and if the occasion was grim there was a certain satisfaction in military efficiency. Once we crossed the spine of the peninsula, descending towards Montechiaro, a signal returned and Sally promptly called her parents, while everyone's phones bleeped with incoming messages of concerned enquiry. That kept us busy until the still patchy lights of Naples came into view, but damage assessments kept getting worse — the first isoseismal maps of Mercalli intensity were showing a maximum XII within a 15-km radius of the epicentre, and swathes of X and XI around that, where buildings of all ages and designs would have been sheared at ground level and come straight down. Beyond that damage was still severe, but far more people had been able to get out of buildings, though there had been a lot of injuries and deaths from falling tiles and glass. There was also a red-flagged USGS report, saying the epicentre was further south, the magnitude greater, than anyone would have predicted, and they suspected a new extensional fault, meaning major aftershocks and further events were more likely than not so S&R should be cautious. It had already gone to the authorities who needed it, but meant the Secret Service wanted us in the air as soon as we reached Air Force One, and I had to put my foot down. When the Director grudgingly agreed being onboard away from any buildings was adequately safe and rang off, I gave the senior agent a look.

"Did they pick up my cheese … yesterday?"

He gave me a look back, but checked, and they had, as well as my new Imperias, so it was only waiting for whatever daylight revealed. No-one was sleepy, so though I kept an eye on military sitreps we watched on Jude's recommendation a Brit movie from 1946, called A Matter of Life and Death, that was clever and funny. Around 4 a.m. Bran called, relaying a request from the Neapolitan Alpha, and I cloaked him and four of his pack to a small village close to the epicentre which was cut off and had nowhere a chopper could land. Satellite imagery suggested devastation, and was right — every house and the small church were rubble, and there was no-one alive any of us could smell, though plenty of death. We did collect two traumatised dogs and an injured cat, but that was as much rescuing as we could manage, and I took the wolves back to the S&R centre that knew where they could most help before returning to Air Force One.

The news imagery at dawn was just as bad as expected, but though tens of thousands had died rescues were happening, and the influx of military and police choppers and pan-European S&R squads meant there were now teams working everywhere that had been razed, however they weren't finding many survivors. The media had discovered where I was, and as no-one doing S&R was remotely interested in talking to them they were cluttering up terminals and irritating people. Stifling annoyance, I spoke to the PM, who'd added red-eyed to white and strained, then the airport boss, and a press conference was set up outside the admin block.

I made a simple statement of sorrow for deaths and destruction, and enforced a moment's silence before giving them what I had on NATO, US, and Italian resources, including wolves. That generated sensible questions and appreciation, but they wanted personal stories, so yes the PM and his family had come to dinner, and it had been fine, until. What had been served they could work out from ingredients I'd bought, if they really thought that today's burning question. And no, we wouldn't be staying, as Italians had better things to do than worry about our presence. There were also questions about preternatural aid, and as someone brought up the troll clearance in SF after Cascadia I took that bull by the horns, shuffling points Jesse, Jenna, and Sally had made.

"That was collapsed freeway, without bodies, in a city Congresstroll Thorsden calls home and now represents. And it wasn't magic, it was strength, for which trolls have to be full-size. Sure, if trolls have solid footing, they can clear a debris pile quicker than anything except heavy machinery, but trolls are heavy machinery, and the same cautions about triggering further collapses applies, as well as aftershocks or a further event. If we knew of trapped people Fae might be willing to assist, and that's one reason I've waited here, monitoring rescue work, but they are not an emergency service and lack the numbers to deal on this scale, let alone worldwide. Italian and other wolves are already helping, with scenting and strength, which is a boon, but as I once told ED Westfield you can't shoot an earthquake, and you can't magic it away either. Period."

I'd had enough, and refused a follow-up.

"No. I'm tired, upset, and getting cranky, so you can all go do something more useful somewhere else."

I waited another few hours, taking calls from the German Chancellor and French President, appreciative of US aid, but by late morning no-one knew of anything that might need preternatural intervention, so at noon I gave the OK, we took off for Andrews AFB, and everyone went to bed. We were awake for the second leg, to the Tri-Cities, and over the Mid-West I was watching Irpa, already wearing a tee that said Trolls are heavy machinery, being interviewed about the bridge in Detroit when Jesse ended a call with Tad and flopped down opposite me and Adam.

"Urk. So Spain was good, and Amalfi was lovely, until. Where are we going next year?"

Adam and I exchanged a long look.

"Camp David", I told her, "and no-one is going outside the compound."