by Alex Dire
As they finally reached Walsh's office, they left behind a wake of cut off conversations and whispered awe. Two enhanced V’s guarded the door.
The two guards locked eyes with Rufus and Bronte, uncrossed their arms and rested their hands near their weapons on their belts. One of them spoke. He had chiseled features and short, cropped blond hair. The sharp angles of his face made his blue eyes appear menacing. “I thought we’ve been through this, teacher. You’re not getting in.”
Bronte and Rufus gripped the hilts of their knives. Norman placed his hand on Rufus’, staying it.
He honed his focus on the two Super Vs. He saw their wills floating before him. Smooth and without ridges or angles to grip. He knew he could do it anyway. Or at least he thought he could. That’s what he'd thought last time too. His ability to control vampires was never perfect, but it seemed to be harder now.
He lashed out with the smooth glowing arcs of his own intention and grasped at the two orbs. One vampire was hard enough. Two took considerable effort. “It’s okay. I have an appointment. Let me through.”
The blond soldier’s face slackened. “Of course. The senator is inside.”
The other soldier growled. “Thane! So weak.” Then he turned looking between Rufus and Bronte. “There’s no way you’re getting in here.”
Rufus flicked out one of his assassin’s knives. Bronte did the same.
The unglamored vampire returned the gesture.
“No. Michael, he has an appointment.”
Michael smashed his companion’s face with his elbow. “Fool.”
Norman knew his friends would attack. No love would be lost between them and their genetically altered opponents.
“Wait,” said Norman. “Michael, do you really want to spill blood here?”
“Yours? Quite certainly,” said Michael.
“Would that serve Walsh? Would it serve your master? Killing a member of Walsh's own cabinet? He’d lose the sympathy vote. His plans would go down the drain.”
Michael rumbled through his teeth.
“So would Skeete’s,” said Norman. “It would be a shame to disappoint her, wouldn’t it? A failed coup and all your fault.”
Michael stood motionless for a moment. Norman couldn’t read his face. Were his words working?
His answer came moments later when Michael slid his knife out of his belt and lunged at Norman.
Norman sprang backward, but the large vampire’s speed and size were too much. The brute’s knife slid through the air directly at Norman’s heart.
Norman tried to twist and alter his path as he fell backward. Anything to make that blade miss it’s mark. It happened so fast. The solider was too quick, too accurate. Norman could not match him in this combat.
Michael’s blade pierced through skin, then muscle. But it was not Norman’s chest that sustained the wound. It was Rufus’ arm. The massive soldier had flicked himself in the way, taking the hit.
The three fell to the ground under the weight of Michael’s lunge.
The enemy soldier pulled the knife from Rufus’ arm. Rufus growled through pursed lips. Michael raised his knife for one final plunge. But his hand froze in in mid-air. His arm went limp. His mouth opened in a sad maw. An inhuman scream roared from his throat. Then he was gone, slumping to the side.
Bronte stood behind him with a blood covered knife.
“In the back,” said Rufus, coddling his wound and wincing. “Not a warrior’s way.”
“A simple thank you will suffice,” said Bronte wiping her knife and sheathing it.
“Thank you,” said Norman.
The other guard stared at the carnage that was his companion. His face contorted. Norman felt his grip on Thane's will conflicting with the soldier’s training.
Norman reasserted himself, massaging the warrior’s will with his own. “You did the right thing.”
The soldier's will slipped back into Norman's grip. “Of course.” He opened the door for the trio. As it swung open, doors along the hall opened as well. Heads popped out, looked around, and seeing the dead vampire, quickly slammed their doors shut. Norman and his friends would soon wear out their welcome.
Walsh looked up from his papers as Norman entered. But it was not Walsh that caught Norman’s attention. It was the two figures that flanked him, a man and a woman in the business-wear that seemed to be the standard issue around here. The man was tall and lean. All muscle. The woman, slightly shorter, had her hair cut into a bed of gelled spikes. And both were not human.
The two growled as Norman and his warriors entered.
“Bernard,” said Walsh. “I wasn’t expecting you. How did you get past my guards?”
“I have a talent for that,” Norman said.
“So I’ve heard. I’ve made some new friends. You might want to reconsider your position before you offend them.”
The woman spoke, “His existence offends us.”
These were not Adrian’ wolves. They must be Eric’s minions. Another internecine war to keep track of. Alliances and enemies were too fluid for Norman to trace now. Norman honed his will onto Walsh. He’d do this quick. There was Walsh's orb. Just floating there, so rough and jagged compared to the vampires outside.
Before he could latch on, the two wolves leapt over the desk. The first plowed into the soldiers. The woman landed on Norman, her face inches from his as he fell back to the floor.
Her teeth dripped saliva. “Don’t even think about it”
Norman peered over to his friends. Bronte had blood gushing from her neck. Rufus was pinned against the wall with the wolf digging his fingers in to his throat. Damn it. DAMN IT! The werewolves would rip them to pieces. How the hell did Walsh get wolves? “Stop!”
“That’s quite enough,” said Walsh. “I think Mr. Bernard gets the picture. Don’t you, Norman?”
Norman could glamor him right now, but would he make it out alive? “Your bill.”
“Norman, there’s nothing you can do at this point,” said Walsh. “I’m going to win and the bill will pass. You’ll just have to satisfy yourself with giving speeches at high schools in little towns far from here. You’re no longer a factor.”
“I’m leaving the campaign. I’ll withdraw my support,” said Norman. “Even if I didn't, if congress is so eager to pass your bill, there's no way they'd confirm a vampire to the cabinet.”
Walsh leaned forward, hands on the desk. “Not only will you stay on the team. You'll be the first vampire to register. Publicly and willingly. Congress will be jumping over each other to make sure that happens.”
Norman's fists clenched involuntarily. “Like. Hell.”
“Oh yes you will.” Walsh leaned back in his chair. “I have it on good authority.”
Norman would have to see about that. “Let’s go,” Norman said to Rufus and Bronte. The werewolf released Rufus and blood trickled from the finger wounds. Bronte’s bloody hand covered her throat. It had healed enough so it had stopped flowing in such a gush.
“Next time,” said the woman releasing Norman.
He stood and straightened himself off. He could feel the anger in Rufus and Bronte. Their honor had been soiled.
“Let’s move,” said Norman, gripping their wrists and tugging.
They left. Norman quickly hustled down the hall but Rufus turned back to the room. “Next time,” he echoed, his eyes shooting hate.
Next time. Norman tugged at his friend. Next time someone would have to die.
As they retreated from the building, they once again created a radius of silence. The blood spattered on their clothes did not help. Why did it always come to blood? A silly question for a vampire.
“I don’t like your friend,” said Rufus.
Norman let the sarcasm hang there in the air. If only he did have a friend. He’d find none in this building. Unless…
“Wait,” said Norman as he reached the bottom of the rotunda stairs. He pivoted and climbed up again.
“Where are you going?” said B
ronte. The words rasped through the not-quite-healed gashes in her throat.
“Follow me.” Norman rushed to the fourth floor and sped down the hall, ignoring the reaction of the staffers along the way. He knocked on a door at the end. There was no answer. He inched it open, slowly peeking through the crack. “Hello?”
A head of salt and pepper hair which lay on the desk within jolted up. Garcia rubbed his eyes and put his glasses on. The state representative still had his oddball relics and trinkets displayed around the room. He was weird, but had proven a valuable ally when Norman and the nymphs had battled the enhanced Corps V. at the White House. Norman was glad he was still here. A wide smile stretched across his face. “Norman.” Then the smile faded. “I’m not sure why you came. Everything is broken.”
“I came for your help,” said Norman.
“Can’t see what I can do.”
“Walsh has a secret version of the bill. He’s going to exterminate all of us.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“We need to stop him. He needs to lose.”
“He needed to lose twenty years ago. I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
“Then we need to kill him.”
Garcia straightened in his chair. “I can’t help you with that. You shouldn’t even talk about that here. If that’s your path, then you’re on your own.”
Norman had hoped Garcia's nonconformist tendencies would make him open to the idea. Perhaps assassination was too radical. “What about political opposition?”
“We’re down four points. That’s not likely to change in the next few days. People are scared. It’s when we’re at our least…human.”
“Then show them hope,” said Norman. “Call a press conference, right now. Show them another way.”
“Norman.” Garcia took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “I’m here because I lead a very particular district of people. I’m from them, and they believe in me. Everyone else thinks I’m a crackpot.” He waved an arm, displaying the relics he’d collected. “I can’t help you. Not politically. Not publicly.”
Once again Norman was confronted with no options but one. Kill Walsh, and do it on his own. Was there really no one from the human world to help him? Garcia was his most powerful ally, and he was essentially neutered by his own reputation. If Garcia put himself forward, the public vetting would be swift and quickly turn into a public lynching. His past would sink him before he had a chance to catch on. He’d never be able to assume a position of any power quickly enough to outpace his reputation. Was instant power possible? Norman’s mind swam through a soup of bad options. A choice emerged.
“Perhaps you can, friend.”
25
October Surprise
Hours later, Norman sat on a plane with all the shades drawn. He hadn’t even needed to glamor the stewardess to convince her he had extreme photophobia. It was sort of true.
Still, he shifted and fidgeted in his seat. Flying during the day was dangerous. He was surrounded by light with no way to get underground, the last refuge of all vampires.
Rufus paced back and forth along the plane. Most passengers’ eyes traced him as he passed. A steward approached the massive soldier and asked him to stop. Rufus made quick work of the man’s will.
“Can I count on Rufus?” said Norman.
Bronte shifted in the seat next to him. “He’s loyal.”
“Yes. But to whom?”
“To Chancellor Harding. Who else?”
“Acting Chancellor,” reminded Norman.
“Indeed.”
“I sense you don’t feel the same way.”
“Rufus is the greatest fighter I’ve ever met, and I’ve been at this a while. But he’s stuck in the old structures. Things have changed. We’re not fighting to gain control of the VU, we’re fighting just to make sure there’s such a thing as a VU.” She clenched her brow. “What’s even left of the old parties?”
“I never liked the parties or the VU.”
Bronte’s lips dropped to the slightest frown. “I swore my life to it.” She looked down at her lap a moment. “But that’s over now, isn’t it?”
“Something tells me you’re a little more flexible on the issue than Rufus.”
“No choice. More and more, I think Chancellor Harding is a relic.” She looked up into Norman’s eyes. “You may have found a path to the future for us.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. It’s more likely that our future holds a fiery death or a piece of wood through our chests. Just like the war.” She straightened back up in her seat. “But I’ll follow you, though. Until it all sorts out, or we’re dead.”
“Why?” asked Norman.
“No choices.”
Everyone seemed to be in the same trap as Norman with no choices. People do desperate things in those circumstances. If he left things alone, he’d be the first on a list of vampires for registration and extermination. If he fought...well, there was no way to fight. It seemed the only way was to take the problem out at the top. Walsh needed to go. But that didn’t really solve the problem. There was a whole line of succession to worry about. He couldn’t take them all out, could he?
Norman closed his eyes and found his zone. The plane was filled with hundreds of floating orbs, their surfaces full of traction and their arcs of intention angular. Norman reached out and gripped them all. A few seemed to worm away from him. Why had this become so hard? He reached deep and grasped the stragglers. They were his.
“This is a very nice flight, isn’t it?” Norman rose from his seat. The passengers nodded in unison. “Everything is going fine. You will not be alarmed by anything I do. It will all seem perfectly normal.”
“What are you doing?” said Bronte.
“Hijacking this plane.”
An hour later, the plane landed in Kansas, hundreds of miles short of its original destination. A little persuading in the cockpit and the pilot convinced the ground crew that a mechanical problem required a premature landing.
Rufus didn’t like it. He’d posted guard at the back of the plane to insure compliance in case anything unusual happened. Now that the plane was down, he rushed through the isle to meet Norman at the cockpit door. “We’ll be noticed. We have no chance.”
“Not 'no' chance,” replied Norman.
Bronte chuckled.
“Sun sets in ten minutes.” Norman knocked on the cockpit door. The latch clicked, and it swung open.
“Yes?” said the pilot.
Norman gave the man’s will a little tug. “Tell them you’re disembarking passengers in five minutes.” He turned back to Bronte. “By the time they’re all off, the sun will be down. Then we make our way to the vice president.”
A cab would have been the least conspicuous method, but not fast enough. The election was soon. Norman still hadn’t worked out the timing, but he knew that when he killed Walsh, Vice President Jackson would be right there, ready to take his place. Norman hoped he didn’t have the kind of security detail Walsh had.
They reached the hotel where Jackson was staying the night. The former governor was on a rigorous campaign schedule in these last days before the election.
Two guards stood erect outside the revolving door. As Norman approached, one raised a wrist to his face and opened his mouth to speak. Norman snatched his will in an instant.
“That won’t be necessary. We’re cleared.”
The guard paused and stared at Norman. This used to be so easy. Norman tried again.
The guard closed his mouth and lowered his hand. The two stepped out of the way.
Once inside Norman peered around at the lobby occupants. Which ones were plain clothes security? Which were guests? It didn’t matter. Norman reached out with his will and snatched them all. A wave of nausea crashed over Norman, and he nearly collapsed.
Bronte caught him. “Are you okay?”
Norman’s legs wanted to give. His whole body screamed out for sleep and blo
od. “It takes a lot out of me. More these days.”
“Maybe you should be a little more strategic in using it,” said Rufus.
“No time.” Norman straightened up, pushing back against fatigue.
At the top floor the elevator opened. Two more guards blocked the way. Their wills were subdued before the doors finished sliding.
Norman breathed deeply now. He felt so tired. If only he could rest, just for a moment. He couldn’t go on. He needed sustenance. He needed blood. “Excuse me,” he said to one of the guards. “I need a favor.”
The guard looked into Norman’s eyes. Norman opened his mouth and hissed as he exposed his canines. He bit into the guard’s neck. The man cringed as Norman sucked. He drew deep gulps and felt the rejuvenating power of the warm liquid fill his cheeks and slide down his throat. It was as if time stopped and all he sensed was the heat of the fluid. Ninety-eight point six. Perfect.
Bronte yanked him off the thick chested stereotype. Time started again. “Don’t drink it all.”
The guard stepped back and fell against the wall, sliding into a seated position. He’d be okay. Probably.
Down the hall and around the corner they viewed two more men standing astride a door. This must be the vice president elect's room. They pricked up their heads and noticed Norman’s little company instantly.
One got off some words into his wrist before Norman could subdue his will. On Norman’s command, they opened the door.
They were greeted by three guards with guns drawn standing in front of Governor Jackson. There was one more on a phone in a corner of the room. Norman focused on their wills. “Lower your weapons.”
Two complied.
“You heard him,” said Bronte. The third lowered his firearm.
