Sketched

by David Alan Jones

  They passed through a doorway and descended two flights of stairs to an area set aside for meeting rooms. Chibueze ushered them into the largest of these. The placard next to the door read The Cardinal Room and bore an image of the red and black bird.

  Rose stuttered to a stop just inside the door as an audience of more than two hundred twisted in their seats to stare at the new arrivals. Matt and Tanner likewise froze, their eyes wide.

  Thandiwe Buhari stood behind a lectern atop a small dais at the front. She wore an African-style gown of emerald and gold matched with a traditional gele headdress that flared back and above her like the crest of some untamed and exotic creature. Thandiwe smiled, and Rose knew at once her expression stemmed as much from her guests’ sudden discomfort as from pleasure at their arrival. The woman knew how to put on a show.

  “Here they are now, my friends. This is Rose Carver, Matthew Snow, and forgive me if I mistake your name, young man, Tanner—”

  “Watts, ma’am.”

  The crowd clapped politely as Chibueze herded the three of them to the dais. Two chairs had already been placed there, and he added a third to accommodate Tanner before taking a seat in the front row.

  Rose, her heart pounding, drew calm to soothe her nerves. She had expected to meet perhaps five or six representatives from the Consortium, members willing to provide a rousing endorsement of the coalition's many benefits, not a room filled with people. Had Thandiwe brought the entire Consortium to impress her? If so, it was working. These sorts of numbers made joining more attractive, though she cautioned herself to avoid appearing too eager. She would need some convincing before committing the Order to anything, and she knew Matt felt the same.

  After the tepid applause petered out, Thandiwe turned back to the crowd and cleared her throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, I know many of you dislike the idea of accepting the Order into our ranks. I admit, their application for membership wants in some respects, but I believe they would make a fine addition to our esteemed alliance. That is why I’ve invited their leaders here to argue their case before you.”

  Rose’s eyes went wide. She turned a questioning expression on Matt and Tanner, who appeared equally stunned by Thandiwe’s words. She raised a hand.

  “Yes?” Thandiwe nodded at Rose.

  “Argue our case? We’re not convinced we should join at all. We came here to make that decision.”

  “Good.” A man in the second row dressed in a fine brown suit shot to his feet. “I say you keep that decision forever.”

  “The chair has not recognized you, Sammy Wolf.” Thandiwe struck the lectern with the flat of her hand.

  “Thandiwe,” Sammy said, stretching the director’s name out in a plaintive moan. “You promised us a discussion, and now you tell me to be silent?”

  “We’ll have a discussion, but we’ll do it by the rules. You want to speak, you raise your hand, same as ever. You understand me?”

  “Okay, okay.” Sammy held up one hand, the other across his breast. “But we are eager to speak.”

  “Show that eagerness with respect.”

  Cowed, Sammy resumed his seat. A woman two rows back from him stood, her hand raised.

  “One moment, Nahla.” Thandiwe turned to Rose. “Everyone gathered here represents one of our coalition groups. I will announce them for you before I let them ask questions.”

  “We didn’t come here—” Rose began, but Matt cut her off.

  “Thank you, Madam Director. We’ll do our best to field whatever questions your members put forth, but first, may we have a moment chat before the meeting starts in earnest?”

  Some in the crowd voiced their displeasure at the delay, but Thandiwe called them to order.

  “Of course, you may. Take all the time you need.”

  “I promise we won’t be long.” Matt took Rose by the hand and led her to one side of the dais opposite Thandiwe’s microphone. Tanner came along, and the three of them huddled with their heads together.

  “What the hell is this?” Rose tried to whisper, though her voice came out louder than she intended. She felt the way she always did right before a firefight: spine stiff, muscles tensed for battle, her body filled with borrowed strength and speed she hadn’t meant to draw.

  “It’s a test,” Matt spoke in the clear, calm voice he used whenever Rose overreacted to a situation.

  Sometimes that worked, and sometimes it pissed her right the hell off. At the moment, she couldn’t decide which would prevail.

  “They’re testing us to see if we’re good enough to join their little club?” Rose wrinkled her nose at the insult. “We have over two thousand members.”

  “Yes, they’re testing us,” Matt allowed. “But it’s more than that. They want to know who we are. Are we snobs, only willing to ally with them because we’re in need, or are we humble enough to appreciate what they have to offer?”

  “We know they have numbers,” Tanner said.

  “I’ll admit this is a fair-sized group, but—” Rose began.

  Tanner shook his head. “Didn’t you hear what the director said? Each person here is a representative for one of their member groups. This isn’t the Consortium; it’s like their ruling body.”

  Rose let her gaze wander across the waiting crowd a second time, her estimation of the Consortium’s benefits realigning as her gaze roved across the many faces. Even if each one represented just a hundred other succubi, they would number more than two thousand, a conservative estimate considering Thandiwe had said the Consortium boasted members from many different countries.

  “Exactly,” Matt said, watching her expression. “I think we’ve been looking at the question of joining the Consortium completely backwards. If what Thandiwe said is true, they’re the ones with something to offer.”

  The truthfulness of his words echoed in Rose’s ears. After their failed attack on Alice, and with Piper going increasingly rogue, the Order needed allies it could trust. More than that, it needed allies with the strength to defend it against a rising tide of shadowy, indistinct enemies.

  As it turned out, Matt’s calm voice had worked. It usually did.

  “Okay,” Rose said. “Let’s make our case.”

  “Are you prepared to go on?” Thandiwe asked as the three of them resumed their seats.

  “May I ask a question first?” Rose broadcast her voice with a minor draw so people in the back of the room could hear.

  “Of course. We encourage it, always.”

  “Does this body represent all members of your Consortium?”

  Thandiwe nodded. “We are missing only two at the moment: the representatives from Chad and Grenada.”

  “And each member here represents more in their respective countries?”

  “Thousands.”

  Rose watched Thandiwe watching her. She struggled to keep her face placid but knew she failed when a self-satisfied grin curved Thandiwe’s lips. Humility weighed so much in that instant, Rose feared it might crush her. She felt duped, and Thandiwe’s smug reaction wasn’t helping. Rose wanted to storm from the room in a huff, or maybe draw speed and blow the door off its hinges on her way out.

  She did neither.

  Running belonged to her old self, her slinker self, the woman who dashed off at the first hint of difficulty or strife. Rose had buried that identity in the fear factory, exchanged it for a life of duty to others of her kind. She wouldn’t go back now if a legion of fear-fueled succubi stood before her. So what if joining the Consortium meant smothering her pride and enduring Thandiwe’s condescension? Rose’s pride stood on the proverbial house of sand. Yes, she ran the Order, but truth told, they weren’t a large operation, and though many of their members took their oaths of fealty seriously, an equal number did not. Slinkers had heart; they just couldn’t always find it when needed.

  And as for Thandiwe’s smug attitude? Hadn’t she earned it? She knew all along what the Consortium had to offer Rose and her little band of misfits. Rose hadn’t even bothered to listen
. Instead, she prejudiced herself to the Africans, ignoring their entreaties until the Order’s need became dire. From her perspective, Thandiwe probably felt justified since the foolish American succubi had finally come calling after repeated attempts at setting up a meeting. And why shouldn’t she feel a measure of satisfaction? She had been right. Rose had been wrong. Humility might weigh a ton, but it wasn’t a patch on hindsight.

  Rose straightened in her chair, turned her gaze to the crowd, and drew a deep breath. “We’re ready to chat when you are.”

  They fielded questions from the Consortium’s leaders for the better part of two hours. To Rose’s surprise and relief, few of them showed Sammy Wolf’s blatant distrust for the Order. Many, like Thandiwe, favored the idea of adding Americans to their group. They saw it as not only an opportunity to create close ties in the States, but a vehicle for enticing new members in the future. Many people knew of the Order’s wins against the Indrawn Breath and Rose’s personal exploits both on the battlefield and in daily life from the Drawn graphic novel. Adding her to their ranks could—probably would—woo reticent prospects. That idea seemed to warm the crowd to the Order’s cause. Even Sammy nodded when Thandiwe pointed it out.

  The subject of vampires, however, presented a stumbling block for the entire assembly.

  “They are not like us,” the representative from the Republic of Palau said. The thin woman wore a violet business suit and a small hat that accentuated her short hair. “They aren’t meant to congregate. They cannot be trusted.”

  “Do you hear how prejudiced that sounds?” Part of Rose shrank from defending the Order’s ties to Piper and her growing coven queendom as she called it. Despite Rose’s suspicions, and the doubts of her most trusted friends, including Piper’s own daughter, Piper might not have killed Barbara Griffith. Rose had no proof to the contrary, and Piper vehemently denied the allegation when confronted. They could all be mistaken.

  Could.

  Rose glanced at Matt, who nodded his agreement—she was going the right direction.

  “A white American woman telling a room full of Black folk they’re prejudiced?” Sammy waved his arms up and down at the ceiling. “That’s one for the record books.”

  “I didn’t—” Rose began, but Thandiwe cut her off.

  She smacked the lectern with a resounding blow. “No more outbursts, Sammy, or I’ll have you hauled out of here.”

  Sammy bowed his head, lips pursed in a conciliatory fashion.

  With the crowd silent, Thandiwe turned to Rose and the others. “I understand your treaty with Piper helped you overcome the Indrawn Breath and destroy the fear factory.”

  “Yes, it did,” Rose said, grateful for the defense.

  “But I’m afraid I must agree with most of our members. Vampires are loyal to two things: their sires and themselves. We have seen it many times in all of our countries. Wherever the vampire is allowed to flourish, the nation suffers. They are a blight on the Earth. Their votary chains are too easily built and span family ties, giving them many lines of power for every one person they bite. Only their inability to easily reproduce has kept them from long ago usurping succubus rule the world over.”

  A large woman on the third row dressed in a pink and lavender skirt mated with a navy blue shirt stood, hand raised until Director Thandiwe acknowledged her. “That isn’t so with Piper Ross. From what I’ve heard, she has many children. No one knows the exact number, but I’ve heard ten or even fifteen.”

  “This in a world where two created in one century is considered a miracle,” Thandiwe added.

  The crowd broke into scattered conversations, some heated, some loud, all urgent.

  Rose needed to do something if the Order had any chance of retaining the Consortium’s dwindling favor. She stood, both hands raised, and said in a booming voice, “We will not break a treaty we signed in good faith.”

  Everyone quieted, all eyes on Rose. Some appeared shocked, others impressed, but no one looked away.

  “When my people—when I—had no one to aid us, when we thought our last hope had died in Mexico, Piper Ross extended a hand of friendship. No succubus came to assist a group of poor slinkers whose families had been kidnapped and tortured. A vampire did that. I’ll admit, things haven’t always been perfect between our two groups, but we honor our promises. And isn’t that worth something to you? What sort of members do you want in the Consortium? Ones who break their deals on a whim, or when a mishap befalls them, or when some more enticing deal comes along? I call that false faith. I wouldn’t respect it, and I hope you agree that’s a bad way to run a coalition.”

  Silence hung in the room as the stunned audience watched Rose minutely, probably wondering if her tirade had fully abated or if the mouthy American would start up again. Satisfied she had at least spoken the truth even if it ruined her chances of gaining the Consortium for a partner, Rose plopped back into her seat to wait. She had no idea what to expect.

  “Good job,” Matt whispered. “Even if we lose this chance, at least they’ll know we stand by our principles.”

  “Thank you, Rose, for that impassioned address,” Thandiwe said without a hint of irony or condescension in her tone. “I respect your loyalty. It is a rare thing these days. However, you must understand, should we covenant with you, our agreement will include the Order and the Consortium alone. We will make no treaties with Piper Ross or any vampire.”

  Rose wanted to argue, but she knew better. Matt was right. The Order needed this deal. If Piper had ulterior plans that included usurping American Society, they would need strong allies to combat her.

  “We understand and fully agree,” Rose said, glancing at Matt, who nodded again.

  “Very good.” Thandiwe motioned at Chibueze, and he hurriedly wheeled a flat-screen onto the dais. “We shall now take a vote for including the Order in our ranks.”

  “You’re voting now?” Rose stared from the crowd to the director and back again.

  “Of course.”

  “Doesn’t anyone want to deliberate?”

  “We just did, girl. Now we vote.” Thandiwe held up her cell phone for the audience like a piece of courtroom evidence. “You’ll see Chibueze has updated the voting app. You may now simply click the star-shaped icon to vote yes, or the—” Thandiwe stared at her phone in consternation for a moment and rolled her eyes. “Or the poop emoji for no.”

  The people laughed, no one louder than Chibueze, and set about tapping at their phones.

  Thandiwe switched on the TV, which showed a real-time representation of the vote count in the form of a simple bar graph. The two columns stood almost equal, with about twenty percent of the final tally counted.

  Rose squeezed Matt’s hand. “I came in here on the fence about joining, and now I’m scared to death they won’t let us. Am I being charmed out of my senses and I don’t know it?”

  “No. This is what getting your worldview turned upside down feels like. I’d laugh at you if I wasn’t experiencing the same thing. We need this.”

  16

  Manipulation

  Rose looked over the crowd from a corner of the mobile stage and whistled under her breath. A sea of faces stared back, at least twelve hundred according to her team’s initial count, with more people trickling in as the band warmed up. The smell of freshly cooked hot dogs and bratwurst made her mouth water, reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day. There had been too much to do, too many last-minute details to hammer out for a rally of this size.

  Three weeks of advertising, acquiring permits, and spending cash like water had culminated in transforming part of Atlanta’s Centennial Olympic Park into a nighttime festival. Granted, the bulk of people in the crowd probably showed up to flout the open container law and drink a beer unmolested by the Atlanta PD—one of those permits Rose had acquired—but if all went to plan, they’d leave here convinced to vote for Gloria Torres.

  “I told you an open-air venue was a good idea.” Chuck Folsom, senior senator out of Arkansas,
spoke with an even deeper southern drawl than Torres. “You make these things fun—an event folks enjoy—and the humans turn up in droves.”

  “They turned up because you’re here,” Rose said.

  “I don’t draw these kinds of crowds by myself.” Torres shook her head, her eyes sparkling with delight.

  Unlike most politicians, Chuck Folsom enjoyed an unheard-of approval rating in Congress, especially in the deep south, mostly owing to bills he wrote dealing with poverty and job protections. Whereas other succubus senators relied on charm to woo constituents in person, which would inevitably wear off, Folsom earned legitimate respect for his work, and he genuinely seemed to care about people, even humans.

  Rose attributed Folsom’s empathy to his upbringing. Folsom’s father became a prominent banker in the 1890s, defying the ruling class in that business by innovating bank services. Because his father played the game well, the family managed to avoid the elite’s wrath and slowly insinuated themselves into Society. Though Folsom benefited from this move, he never forgot his youth as a second-class citizen slinker in the early 1900s. Thus, when Thandiwe Buhari, whom Folsom had known for the better part of a century, and to whom he owed several large favors, asked him to back Gloria Torres’s bid for a Senate seat out of Georgia, he contacted Rose and Matt immediately with a strategy.

  Folsom, dressed in a dark suit with an American flag pinned on the left lapel, made a sound between a grunt and a laugh. “They didn’t come for me; they came for the hot dogs. Free food’s an attractive lure in the south, especially anything highly processed and stuffed with trans-fat.”

  The band on stage, some regionally famous group Rose didn’t know, started in on a new song. If you could call it a song.

  “I thought these guys sang country,” Rose said to Veronica Briggs, a succubus stage manager on her crew.

  Veronica covered the mic in front of her lips. “They are, ma’am. They do country rap.”