by Holly Hook
Table of Contents
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
Thank You!
Also By Holly Hook
Presidential Vampire
First Sun
Book One of the Presidential Vampire Series
By Holly Hook
Copyright 2021 by Holly Hook
CHAPTER ONE
I am terrified of politicians.
And, thanks to a flight delay, I'm landing in the snake pit after sunset.
The plane lowers as my stomach rises into my chest, and I dig my fingernails into my dress pants and let my breath blow on the window. I can see the distant Washington Monument from here, all illuminated with a blinking crimson light on top. Figures the bloodsuckers would choose that color.
Good job, Ember. Look where your temper got you. My plan was to prep for college this summer, not get chosen by an advocacy group to yell at the government. Only, I can't go to college if I don't go through with this, so it's not like I have a choice. If Dream Developers bulldozes my suburb and forces my family out, I can't go to Central Florida Technical University, since my grant doesn't include housing. Honestly, who thought a federal grant like that was a good idea?
I blink, and the Washington Monument goes in and out of focus.
Oh, yeah.
I slowly release my dress pants. I take a breath as water rises to meet us. Then concrete and runway lights replace the river. This isn't about the grant. I'm lucky to have that.
Thunk. The plane lands, and we're zooming down the runway and humming to a stop.
This is about stopping Dream Developers by cutting off their government support. Unfortunately, Homes For Life thinks I'm the young woman for the job.
A few sleepy passengers jostle in the rows in front of me. A man in a suit grabs his bag from under his seat and cradles it the same way I'm clutching the binder that contains my speeches. Sweat sneaks in between my fingers. Shit, shit. This is real. We're in the lion's den.
The pilot speaks over the intercom. “Welcome to our nation's capital. It is ten-forty five P.M. Please remain seated until we arrive at the terminal.” He sounds happy. Of course, he just has to wait in this airliner and take off back to Orlando, where there aren't nearly as many bloodsuckers.
We reach the terminal, and nervous shuffling surrounds me as the lights come on and the others crammed into the economy class gather their luggage. I've traveled light and only have a duffel bag with my laptop and some clothes. I stand, ears ringing. Breathe out. Emmy Jackson says we'll be safe. She's been here before. And there are some humans in the government too, remember?
But Emmy also planned for all of us speakers to arrive in the middle of the day.
I'm one of the last to deplane. I brush past people as I walk down the jetway, eager to use the bathroom before I call a cab and pray. The airport's like any other I've seen and I find a restroom, do my business, and splash water on my face. My dirty blond hair's a mess and I've got bags under my eyes. I comb my hand through it, procrastinating, before I drop my shoulders and straighten.
“You've got to get to the hotel. Get with it.”
I have to look confident here. Homes For Life thinks I managed it when this mess started back home.
I make my way past mostly empty terminals, shops with metal gates down, and lit signs welcoming tourists to the daytime version of D.C. What airport is this, anyway? I'll ask later. The faster I'm at the hotel, the better.
After following a couple of business people who seem to know where they're going, I walk down some steps and reach the front of the airport. Swallowing, I stay inside and sit on a bench, pull out my phone, and use the app Emmy suggested for ordering a cab. At least that's easy and Homes For Life will reimburse me. My phone gives me instructions on where to walk and wait outside, and I'm glad the traffic island I have to stand in isn't creepy at all. Other people wait for cabs, and it's well-lit, and so far, everyone's a human resident or business person who got delayed, like me. Two women huddle together and a man scrolls through his phone, finger leaving sweat marks that evaporate in the summer air. Safety in numbers.
My cab will be a gold sedan and my driver's name is Juan, according to my phone.
My cab pulls up and I recognize the license plate number on the top. But the guy driving? Is he human? I stare at him as he creeps to a stop, but at least that's normal when you're trying to make sure you don't make an ass out of yourself and get into the wrong cab. Young dude with a ghostly beard that matches the picture my phone gave me. Yeah, it's Juan, and he rolls to a stop and nods. His eyes lack that red, veined look I've been dreading since this morning. He's human.
Of course he is. No vampire will ever work the gig economy. That's for us common folk.
I get into the back. Juan's not talkative. He just gets driving, following the GPS to the hotel address I've put into the app, and we zoom out of the airport. My throat turns dry and I have little to say, either. We go around some dark curves, following other thin traffic, and then the landscape turns into lots of apartment buildings and colonial-style architecture.
Is that the Capitol over there?
Yep. It looms over the city, lit up. Inside, I know, Congress has gathered for the night.
I'll be there in two days.
Before I can lean over to throw up in poor Juan's car, the road curves and sweeps the Capitol out of sight. Then it's all upscale downtown buildings, restaurants, and cramped intersections.
I let my muscles relax and keep control of my gag reflex. It's just a building. A large, looming building full of vampires who gather each night to keep life crappy for the rest of us.
“Here you go. The hotel is right over there,” Juan says, motioning to his right.
We're stopped at the curb, and my hotel, the Citizen, stands between two other tall buildings like an unlucky Siamese triplet. It's all glass and lights, but thankfully the front entrance is pretty much up against the street.
“Oh. Thank you,” I say, nearly dropping my binder.
Then Juan looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Enjoy Washington. It's not as bad as they say. Just make sure you see the sights during the day and don't go anywhere alone at night as an out-of-town visitor.”
I nod. Gee, thanks for the reminder that we're in Bloodsucker Central. “I won't. Thank you, again.”
I get out and Juan is cool enough to wait as I go directly inside, without passing Go and without collecting two hundred dollars. Sure, vampires live off the blood donations we pay as part of our taxes, but things happen. It's an open secret.
The hotel staff are human, too. The two women working the front desk get confused at first as I tell them my name, but then I remember that I'm rooming with a buddy to keep costs down for Homes For Life. I look at the clock on the wall. Five after eleven. Emmy will be in bed by now, and the other activists had dinner long ago.
“Look under Compton,” I say, remembering the girl's last name. Emmy emailed all of us speakers a list. I'm rooming with someone I've only talked to over our Homes For Life Zoom meetings.
The woman clicks her mouse. “Oh. Right there. You're listed with Silvia Compton. You're in room five twenty-one.” She hands me a key card in a sleeve. “Dining room is to your left, and we serve continental breakfast starting at six. Have fun here. Just wait until morning to go out, and you'll be fine.”
Reminder Two. “Thanks.” The problem is that I won't be able to get away with that.
I can breathe now. The elevator takes me up to the fifth floor, which is quiet, and I unlock the door, apologizing as I step into a still-lit hotel room. Then I drop my duffel bag with an exaggerated sigh.
“Hey. You're finally here.” There's a young woman on the far bed, already in PJ's with dolphins on them, and she must be nineteen or twenty. Barely older than me, then. So I'm not the only young speaker. She's got dyed black hair, hardly any figure, and bony shoulders that betray months of hunger and hardship. A nose ring glints in the light as she stands. “You must be Ember. Sorry I'm not decent.”
“Ember Vonk,” I tell her, giving her a friendly handshake. At least I won't be alone here. “And don't worry. It’s no one’s fault my flight got delayed.”
“I'm Silvia Compton. I bet you heard we'd be sharing a room already,” she says, rubbing one eye.
Yes. Silvia mentioned that Dream Developers bought and bulldozed her run-down suburb already, forcing everyone out. She's stuck in a homeless shelter while the rich assholes build condos most of us will never afford. On government loans.
Now they're coming for my neighborhood. They just have to get a new state law passed letting them sweep in. Unless we cut off their funding, it's only a matter of time.
“It's no shock. I'm glad someone's here,” I admit. “So, ready for two days of fun and adventure? Step one. Yell at the Federal Housing Development Agency for giving government loans to Douche Developers. Step two. Yell at their specific lender. And step three. Yell at Congress. That's not nerve-wracking at all.”
Silvia snickers. “We won't be yelling at all of Congress. Emmy said we'd probably get staffers for that meeting.”
Vampire staffers. I flop down on my bed. The ceiling slowly spins and the hotel room is full of framed photos that hammer home where I am. The Monument. The Lincoln Memorial. The White House. Well, at least Lincoln wasn't a vampire, but he got killed for fighting them during the Civil War, and then more of them entered government during Reconstruction. “How did I get into this mess?”
“Well, you gathered people in your neighborhood to protest Dream Developers and someone hooked you up with Emmy?” Silvia sits on her bed.
True. Emmy Jackson is the director of Homes For Life, an activist group trying to stop these asshats. All I did was start a social media group and a website. Stop Dream Developers. It was all so we could write letters to the (mostly human) state legislators. And then Emmy called me to start some group training sessions, which turned out to be How To Talk To Politicians, In Person.
And then Emmy called me a natural.
Cue ominous music.
“Fair enough.” I do a fake snow angel on the comforter. “I made my bed, and it's an iron maiden. What else was I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs and let them screw us?”
And let them take the only thing I have going in my life? I keep that part to myself because Silvia has nothing going in her life, and nothing left to lose.
“I can tell you're stressed. So am I,” Silvia says, folding her hands. Then she springs up. “But it will be fine. People talk to the government all the time. Let's hit the lobby and see if there's anything to eat. Or Valium to calm our nerves.” She's got a nice, caring voice, and I know right away she's an older sibling. My brother Mike would have said the same.
I'm dead tired, but I'm too wired to sleep, especially since we're going to face down two of the top human fears tomorrow. Is politics one of them? If so, I've got a trifecta. “Yeah. Food might help me conk out.”
“Emmy saved you some taco salad, too.” Silvia points to the fridge.
“I'll thank her.” I have the feeling Silvia will be the cool water to my inferno for the next two days. How does she have such control? Maybe Emmy thought we could balance each other out.
Silvia dresses in the bathroom and emerges in worn jeans and what's probably the nicest sweater she owns despite it being July. We head down the elevator and find the hotel lobby and dining room empty. Even the two women behind the reception desk have vanished. White tablecloths rest on all the round tables, and all the chairs are upside down, but there's a snack bar that's open and lit at the back of the room.
“I'm so glad Homes For Life is paying for everything,” Silvia says with a relieved sigh, practically salivating at the snacks. Silvia pauses like she wants to say something more, but raids the snacks, scans them, and slides her credit card into the reader. “It's like a stressful vacation.”
“No shit,” I peruse the goodies. “Maybe it won't be so bad tomorrow. I've memorized my speech, and Emmy thinks we might get to sit on a panel while we talk. That would take the stress level down.”
Silvia slaps me on the arm. “See? You won't have to lie in a torture device.”
I pay for my food with credit, since I don't want to dwindle my meager college savings. I don't realize that Silvia has gone quiet until I turn to cross the dining room.
Two suited men straighten out chairs at a round table, and I'm struck by how dangerously, drop dead gorgeous they are. They're beyond what any mere human could accomplish, even with a perfect diet and hitting the gym daily. Both appear to be in their twenties, and their suits mold perfectly to their bodies, enhancing their broad shoulders and hinting at the perfect abs underneath. Their faces look chiseled and their matching beards have that pointed, demonic look. These guys are flawless, living gods.
Silvia stands frozen beside me, staring like a deer who's not sure what to do, and my heart leaps into my throat as I study them. My body lights in my sensitive places, betraying me, urging me closer to the predators. Sweat breaks out under my shirt.
No. Stupid body. These are--
One guy flashes a wicked smile at me and Silvia as he holds the top of his chair. We must look like shit compared to them. How long have they been there, watching us in silence?
He's got dark eyes, but the red, veined look in his irises is obvious. Yes. He's got the telltale signs. The spell breaks, and I pull myself together.
“You know,” the guy says in a wicked, smooth, and knowing tone. His teeth are very white, very perfect, and very pointy. “This city eats people like you.”
CHAPTER TWO
“They were just trying to get to us,” Silvia says the next morning as we get ready for Operation Shame Washington. If they're even capable of feeling shame.
I don't want to admit that those two bloodsuckers got to me, and I've been rolling those words in my head all night, waking up over and over. Those vamps were probably lobbyists here to make sure their companies can keep making record profits. They weren't locals. But that doesn't make it any better. Lobbyists know how things work here. And Dream Developers uses them, so I know they're scum.
I sit on my bed, pulling up my nylons and rolling my black slacks down again. “They did a good job. There. I admitted it. Now let me get my foot irons on and we can meet the others downstairs.” At least my dress shoes aren't heels.
“That was my first time seeing vampires in the flesh, too. At least the FHDA hearing is during daylight,” Silvia says. “Most people there will be human, so they had to adjust the time. Emmy said it would be a
bunch of industry people.”
“I hope.” In direct sunlight, vampires are weaker than humans and don't feel well, so they stay indoors during those hours. I stand, flipping my binder open to my speeches. Then I let out a breath. I've got this. It's not as if vampires will try anything in public, right? They didn't buy their way into the world's governments over the past millennia by being idiots.
Of course, I wonder why they bother with democracy at all.
I take one last look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I've chosen dark, stormy blue for my blouse and a sharp gold necklace that belongs to my mother. I've conditioned my hair to a severe shine and I have to admit, I look like I can take on the world. I almost look like a pro. Heck, I've even applied makeup, an event as rare as the alignment of the solar system.
“You look ready to kill,” Silvia says from the doorway. “We're going to be fine. And watch. When we get down to the lobby, Emmy will tell us to breathe.”
I snap up my binder and remember my mission. FHDA needs to stop giving Dream Developers super cheap loans. They need to know Dream Developers is destroying lives, not making them better. That's it.
Silvia holds out her transparent, flowered skirt she's got over her nylons. She looks like one of those blue and black butterflies. I tell her all is fine, and she forces a smile. “Thanks? My aunt loaned it to me.”
We head downstairs into the morning light, and we find the other speakers from Homes For Life gathered around two round tables, choking down breakfast. Business people, all human, sit around as well, scrolling through laptops and tablets. There's no sign of the two vamps from last night.
Silvia and I are the only people not in our fifties or up, so we've always been out of place in Homes For Life. I walk past Steven, who carries a cane, and Maisy, a fiery older woman who has a rolled-up art piece on the table. There are five of us speakers, including Emmy. Dream Developers have no problem kicking out old folks so they can build their condos close to schools and entertainment.
By the time I get a plate, I'm steely and want to kill someone. It's not just my future on the line. I've got to grab that flaming sword or I won't make it through the next two days.
