by Holly Hook
“Um,” I say, remembering lunch and how Emmy was speaking a lot in the background. We get rolling again, and I sink into the seat. “Yes. She said something, but I had a horrible tension headache earlier, so I had the attention span of a gnat.”
Zara smiles and crosses her legs. “I hear that happens to humans sometimes.”
Heat rises in my chest, and I take a breath, stopping it at my throat. Is that an insult? Whatever. Maybe I won't die unless she's trying to lull me into a false sense of security. And Zara is Emmy's acquaintance. I don't know how much she values that friendship, but there's a chance she doesn't want to piss Emmy off.
“Anyway, Becky Wallace is one organizer for the Young Activists' dinner, where we vet young activists for various advisory panels. These panels stay in Washington for a month and present their issues to members of Congress. This affects upcoming legislation. This year, we’re facing the Federal Agency Reallocation Act. The new set of laws, if passed, will affect how much money each federal agency can receive from now on,” Zara explains. “Lawmakers will review our policies and determine where each agency falls. Congress wants to hear young voices, as they are the future.”
Oh. I get it now. This is exactly what that entitled vampire guy didn't want me to do.
“So someone picked me to be on this panel?” I ask. The limo seems to expand.
Zara nods. “All the major agency heads were there last night. I chose you and Silvia. She's already at the Senate building, where the prospective panelists are meeting. There will be several other activists from other housing organizations there as well. We have attempted to include both humans and young vampires in this process. My daughter is taking part along with some others who are interested in starting their careers.”
I shake my head, trying to get my bearings. “Oh. That's cool.” I breathe out, urging my heart rate to slow. A panel? Members of Congress? That means politicians for weeks. No. I can’t do that. I’ll die.
I grip the seat, and Zara smiles. “Surely you’ll take such an opportunity that won’t come around again?”
Wait. Could I influence the FHDA some more and even help shape this new Act? Could I even help get Congress to attach strings to their funding, such as axe Dream Developers or else? Even if Zara doesn’t want to do enough to stop Dream Developers, I know full well how much money talks.
A tingle runs down my spine. Can I seriously hold that money above their heads to convince them to give Dream Developers the axe?
Poker face, Ember. It won't be that simple, because Zara doesn't think that it can be. She has other ideas, and I have to admit, all the vampires are intimidating. For all I know, it's a ploy to make us humans feel like we have some power.
But I fear I'm going to add some more spikes in that iron maiden I've made.
“What will this all entail?” I ask, trying to use big, impressive words. “And does Emmy know I'm here? I’m due somewhere else in a few minutes.”
Zara looks at the driver through the tinted glass divider. He's still doing his job, and I can see the top of the Capitol building from here. “Of course she does. She likely told you to meet us in front of the hotel. If you need confirmation, you can text her.” There's a hint of, what kind of moron are you? “Emmy went ahead with Maisy and Scott to their next stop.”
“Steve,” I correct.
Another thought hits me. If Silvia is at this panel thing, I can't leave her.
“Should you decide to stay,” Zara says carefully, “you must discuss desired changes to FHDA's housing and loan programs and help us stay on the good side of this new set of bills. You will meet with various Congressional staffers and members of Congress over the next month. You will help the poor find affordable housing through programs such as new types of loans to nonprofits, for example.”
So I'm supposed to toot FHDA's horn. At least, that's what Zara expects. “What do I get from that?” I blurt. Dream Developers getting cut off? Sure, I can do that. A deal is a deal.
Zara doesn't miss a beat as we roll through another intersection. “All panel members receive free apartments during their time here, free food, and supplemental college tuition to cover all costs of attending the school of their choice.”
What?
Free apartment?
Free food?
And I could get enough money to go to Central Florida Technical University even if the worst happens back home?
A chill jolts down my spine.
That means staying here in Bloodsucker Central.
Shit. The spikes are going in.
“Of course, all panel members will have a few days to get settled and decide if they want to commit to a full month in Washington,” Zara continues. “During those three days, you may leave if you wish, and we'll cover your airfare back home. So it's a low-risk deal.”
Or is it a bribe? Maybe I'm just overthinking this and being too cynical. Neutral face, neutral face. “I can try it,” I say. “Who exactly will I be working with?” If Zara won't be there breathing down my back all the time, I might plant some ideas in powerful peoples' heads.
And if I do it right, she'll never know.
“Oh, other activists like yourself from all over the country,” Zara says. “I'll pop in and out to see how things are going. You’ll work with a few children of members of Congress, some of which want to focus on housing. Even the First Son is going to be there. Jeremy Haywood wants to make his debut into government, and he's not sure where he wants to be yet.”
I almost choke. “The First Son?”
As in President Benjamin Haywood's son?
Zara's unshaken. “Jeremy is unfortunately in the Spade Party, but maybe we can sway him while he's young. The Spade Party takes lots of donations from bad actors such as Dream Developers. I believe the CEO of Dream Developers may have given Haywood lots of money, but I'm not positive, as we don't and can't monitor their activities.”
Yes. Clearly, you don't. “Yeah. No shock with Andrew Acton.” I'll throw his name under the bus, gladly. “And the President's son? Seriously?” My heart thumps.
I knew Haywood had a son who just entered the public, because my parents griped loudly about him one night when I tried to hide in my room. Something about connections to money laundering. Of course, the bias always flows from my parents’ favorite news network like water from a fire hydrant.
“So, Ember, what would you like to do?” Zara folds her hands on her lap and waits, letting the pressure of silence grow heavy.
The dim landscape continues to roll past, and the two human guards stay quiet, too. I can't even distract myself by looking out the window at the pedestrians.
If I stay, I'll work with vampires.
Politician vampires.
But Zara won't be there all the time, and if any of the other vampires want to please their voters, they’ll listen to us, right?
But Silvia will be there, and so will free housing, free food, and completely free school once I'm done with this.
“Okay,” I say. “I'll check this out. When do we get there?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The answer turns out to be in two minutes, because when I crane my neck to look out the window, I see the Capitol building almost looming overhead. However, we don't go there, but into an underground garage of a large, stone building that's very close to it instead.
We roll down a ramp and...so...many...luxury cars. The parking garage is full of them. The windows lose their tint in response to the semi-dark of the ramp, and Zara drops her shoulders. Even with tinted windows, the sun was affecting her. It's no wonder she was in such a hurry to get me into the limo.
Okay, so it wasn't a kidnapping. The whole thing just looked like one. If I let myself panic now, I won't make this situation any better on myself. That'll just make Zara happy and let her know her power plays are working.
This could really be my chance.
Besides, if she wanted to drain me, would she leave my body in a crowded parking ramp? I might get blo
od on a Mercedes.
“So we're under the Senate building?” I ask. If I remember right, there were two or three enormous office buildings right next to the Capitol. I studied the maps before coming.
“Yes,” Zara explains. “It is open to the public, though few people like you come here during the evening. Many lawmakers are showing up to work now.”
Translation: the place will crawl with vampires in no time, and you peons usually clear out by then.
I gulp. You'd have to be crazy to be here after dark. But I must be a glutton for punishment.
I never meant to play this game.
We park between a large SUV with tinted windows and a Jaguar with even darker tinted windows. A drop-dead attractive man gets out of the SUV behind us, and though he could be one of those two-hundred-year-old senators, he looks not a day older than his mid-twenties. Of course, few vampires make it that far. They have a tendency to chase each other out of politics, get voted out, or worse.
Zara doesn't tell me who he is as he walks away, and we get out in silence. No one makes a move to grab me, and I want to make a comment about how now they treat me with respect, but I keep my mouth shut. Zara motions for me to follow, and I do.
We go past some security guards, both vampires, and put our stuff through a metal detector. Then we go up an elevator, and when it opens again, we're in a wide hallway with huge, ornate wooden doors. A few staff people, mixed human and vampire, walk up and down the hallway, heels and polished dress shoes clicking. Everyone has somewhere to go.
“Why are the panelists meeting here?” I ask.
“The security is necessary, considering who will attend with you. By the way, you're in Room 201,” Zara tells me, motioning to the door closest to the elevator. “Becky Wallace should get you started right away.”
I search for security, and other than the metal detector and guards we passed through on the way into the building, there is nothing in the hallway, at least. Heart pounding, I open one wooden double door, which is unlocked, and I find a dim room made of polished cherry tables, thick curtains, and paintings of angels that belong in a courtroom.
Everyone in here is human. The middle-aged woman from the dinner is standing on a podium at the front of the room, and she nods to me as I nervously step inside. She's stout with curly hair and purple glasses, and probably someone Emmy would get along well with. She offers a smile. “Ember Vonk?”
“Ember,” I confirm as I look for a place to sit. There are six people ranging from maybe eighteen to twenty-two seated at a long table. Silvia waves to me from the end. Phew. She's in one piece and so is everyone else.
No one stares at me as I sit in a wooden chair with a puffy green cushion, so at least my stunt yesterday hasn't spread too far, then. Zara closes the door behind me, shutting me in, and her heels click all the way down the hall. I wonder if she’s going to meet with the young vampires.
At least we're not all together yet, because I still need to get a grip on what's happening.
“Ember, we just got started, but I'll re-introduce myself as the Chief Organizer of the Housing Advisory Panel. My name is Becky Wallace, and I've been organizing since my mid-twenties,” she says with flushed cheeks. “Please bear with me, as I have been running around the building all day.”
I just nod as my body goes limp with relief. If this is a death trap, it’s an elaborate one and a waste of money.
“Glad you made it,” Silvia hisses as Becky struggles with a laptop and a projector.
“I didn't know about this until ten minutes ago,” I hiss back.
Her eyes widen. “You didn’t?”
“Not your fault.”
Becky tells us the same things Zara did, taking us through a slide show as if she’s done this a million times. Becky repeats that we'll have three days to back out of this if we decide we don't want to stay. “I understand they sprang this on a few of you,” she says. “And some of you will have arrangements you won't be able to make work back home. The panel period will last one month, with some of you staying on for other opportunities that may arise. During this time, you'll present your stories to members of Congress and others who have decision-making ability here in Washington. Don't underestimate what you can do.”
I gulp.
Yep. I just dug myself in deeper, thanks to that guy from last night. Maybe I would have done it without him—I probably would have since I'm so pissed off—but I at least would have come in here with my pants on.
“Each one of you has a compelling story I heard about,” Becky says, panning over us. “That's the game plan. Share your stories. Start with exposition, introduce your conflict, and finish with a call to action.”
I've heard this before from Emmy, but that's not what I'm worried about.
Will we meet the vampire panelists tonight?
I gulp. My throat's dry. I'd feel safer in a circus ring with tigers. They wouldn't tell me to go to my mud hut before they eat me.
“Congress is currently working on the Federal Agency Reallocation Act, and will vote on it in about a month,” Becky reminds us. “These bills will add and remove funding from dozens of agencies. Lawmakers are looking to cut funding from agencies that are corrupt or overspending, and giving money to others who are doing a good job. It’s all about getting re-elected, and I will admit now that the Senate and House have Spade Party control, so cuts are likely. If all goes well, President Haywood will sign it into law.” She lingers on that tidbit, letting the meaning hang.
Yes. Emmy must have told Becky about Dream Developers and the corruption at FDHA, and she’s hinting at how we can solve our problem.
Becky continues with her presentation. Silvia leans forward, almost drooling at the fancy glass apartment building shown on-screen. What other option does she have? Her homeless shelter? This is Silvia's one chance to get revenge on the millionaires who made her life hell.
“And there you have it,” Becky says an hour later. “Safety will be our number one concern, and I want you to feel welcome here and take part in our nation's future. Before you leave for tonight, we will cater you an Italian dinner in the Luncheon Room just down the hall. Please collect your binders and your materials, and we'll head down there to meet the First Son and others who may join you on the Housing Advisory Panel.”
Tingles sweep over my palms, and I grip the table as I get up. “I can't believe this.” My pulse thuds in my throat. What if I make a complete ass of myself?
The other attendees, two guys and four girls, seem nervous, too, and I'm glad I haven't had the time to dwell on this.
Silvia and I stick together as we walk to the door and down the hall. Becky leads us around a corner and we walk past lots of closed, dark wood doors until we reach one that has a man in a suit standing out front. He's wearing shades, too, and he’s definitely a vampire judging from the perfect skin and body. Secret Service. Of course.
Sweat forms on the back of my neck and the back of my blouse sticks to me. I bite my lip, careful not to draw any blood.
And then Becky holds the door open and nods.
Silvia and I step into the cream-colored dining room last. Our group fans out. Plates already wait on our side of the table.
But on the opposite side—
Five young vampires face us from behind placards, but it's the one in the center who makes me stop dead in my tracks.
JEREMY HAYWOOD.
His name, as if his ego isn't big enough, practically screams out at me as I find myself eye to eye with the gorgeous nightmare from the Young Activists' Dinner.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Ember? Ember? Talk to me,” Silvia says from outside my stall.
I drop my binder on the bathroom floor, where it slides under the stall to where Silvia is standing. “Fuck! Is that good enough?”
“I know you're nervous. I am, too. I didn't know we'd be meeting President Haywood's son,” she continues. “Everyone's feeling it. But if we go in there and get it over with, I don't think we'll
regret it. This could be good, or it could just be the government making us think they’re listening to us. Either way, I think we'll be fine.”
How can she not freak out? I sit on the toilet, shaking. And I'm never getting off again. I don't care if I end up with my skin growing around the porcelain like that woman in the news a few years back. Only my skirt is still on, so that won't happen.
“Ember? Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“Maybe?”
I almost kneed the First Son in the groin. And I accused him of being an entitled moron to boot.
Sure, he deserved it, but my instincts were right about his entourage. I would have died if I'd defended myself. Those four guys with him...they were...shit. My subconscious knew it before the rest of me did.
“You just ran out of there like you were sick.”
“Of course I did!”
Silvia’s shoes click back and forth. “Okay. Take one breath. Right now. We're going to take this one breath, and then one step, at a time. It's just dinner. And Becky will be there.”
I do as she says and get some oxygen into my lungs. “Step one completed.” I swallow. “Silvia?”
“Yes?”
“Jeremy Haywood. He's the guy I bumped into in the hall, when I left dinner last night.”
So much for absorbing any oxygen. The ringing in my ears comes back as Silvia takes her own gasping breath.
“Shit, really?”
“Yes, really.”
Silvia paces again, and I watch her shadow move along the floor, drifting like a dark ghost. “Well, we have to go back to dinner. At least Becky’s running it, so that's a point in our favor. We probably won't be the only people there Jeremy will look down his nose at.”
Yes, that's true, and I didn't see Zara in that room unless I blanked. I force myself off the toilet and straighten out my skirt. Silvia has a point, and not to mention, we'll look weak if we don't go in there with our heads high. That'll hand more power to Jeremy than he already has. And that thought sends heat pumping into my palms.
