by Alex Dire
“You mean we,” replied Norman.
Bronte nodded and smiled.
“I’ll glamor the president. I'll glamor the whole damn cabinet if I have to. As often as it takes.”
“That would be exhausting.”
“I know”
“What if it doesn’t work? What if there are more wolves or enhanced Corps. V?”
“That’s why I need you. In that case, we have to fight.”
Bronte’s lips broadened into a wide grin. “We’ll need help.”
“I’ve got some ideas about that.” Norman slipped his phone out of his pocket and dialed.
A few hours later, Norman sipped watery diner coffee from a thick porcelain cup in a booth with waxy vinyl cushioning. The drink tasted gross. Norman had no need for such stuff, but could appreciate a good cup of coffee now and then just for the flavor of it. He placed the mug down and looked back to the door. No one entered.
He stared at the long countertop with mounted stools where he’d offered Richie Taylor a place to stay. It felt so long ago. The memory made the night seem darker. Norman still owed Skeete. He would avenge Richie someday.
“Nice place,” said Bronte. “They serve B neg?”
Norman let out a chuckle through his nose. “I doubt it.”
He traced his finger around the rim of his cup. A bell jingled at the door behind Norman. Someone had arrived. Norman looked at his watch and smiled. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
The new diner approached. “Right on time as always,” said Norman.
Rae stopped at the table. “When Norman Bernard calls, I come running. Or should I say, ‘Secretary Bernard,’”
“Secretary Elect,” said Norman.
Rae slid into the booth next to Norman. “Is that even a thing?” They embraced. “Good to see you.”
Norman held for a touch longer than the formality required. He had few friends in this world. Rae had been a unique member of Chip's underground survivor group who'd proven so valuable in a fight as well as in politics. He was glad she'd agreed to hear him out on this.
“I’m going to need some help in my new role.”
Rae sat back. “To tell you the truth, I was hoping you’d call.” She nodded across the table. “Good to see you too, Bronte.”
“Likewise.”
“So what do you need? And why the secret meeting?” asked Rae. “Meeting with your own potential staffer is hardly a cause for secrecy.”
“This is not an ordinary meeting.”
“I’m assuming you want me to start working the key players to get some new language placed in the Vampire Registration Bill. Water it down. Maybe defang it a little,” said Rae.
“Defang.” Norman smiled at the play on words. “No. We’re going to go for an outright veto.”
Rae laughed. “Norman, I’ve made a lot of friends in sort of high places, but that’s impossible.”
“It’s necessary. If that bill passes in any form, it’s over for us. Even if it’s watered down, once we’re registered, it’s only a matter of time.”
“Norman’s right,” said Bronte.
“I hate to say it, but I agree with you,” said Rae.
“Why do you hate to say it?” said Bronte.
“Because it’s impossible. To stop the bill, either congress doesn’t pass it or Walsh veto’s it.” Rae fell silent as if those words were enough. “Look, it’s going to pass congress. We’ve got a few friendly representatives, they might twist a few arms, make a few promises, but it won’t be enough. The senate is a far trickier beast. We’ve got even fewer friends there. And Walsh? He's got no incentive to negotiate on our behalf.”
“Maybe not,” said Norman. “But he’s very smart. We just need to figure out an angle.”
“Oh, yes. He’s smart,” said Rae. “I worked with the bastard at the state capital. The problem is he’s an asshole. He’s smart enough to know that the Vampire Registration Bill, if he handles it right, will take him right through two terms in office.” Her eyes darted between Norman and Bronte. “I think all out victory is out of the question. Moderation is our best bet. I can work on that.”
Bronte let out a huff. “Then we don’t need you after all.” She leaned over the table and closed the distance to Norman. “We fight.”
“We can’t win,” said Rae.
“That depends what you mean by ‘win,’” said Bronte
“I mean, we stop that bill. We stop Walsh,” said Norman.
“We can win that,” said Bronte. “We can kill Walsh.”
“There’s no way we’d survive that,” said Rae.
“That’s why I asked you what you meant by ‘win,’” Bronte briefly locked eyes with each of them in turn. “We don’t need to survive to kill Walsh.”
Rae nearly laughed. “We’d need more strength than we’ve got around this table.”
The bell on the door rang again.
Bronte smiled, leaning back. “I’ve made a few calls of my own.”
Norman turned to see who entered. A burly man with rolled up sleeves walked through the door. As it swung closed behind him he scanned the room. His eyes rested on Norman and his friends. He grinned.
The man grinned. “Bronte!”
The four other occupants of the diner remained hunched over their plates and coffee, seemingly unaware of the loud vampire that had just shouted across the room.
“Good to see you, Frank,” said Bronte.
“Bernard, I heard you needed help,” said Frank.
“News travels fast.” A smile stretched across Norman's face.
“I wasn’t sure you survived the White House. Then I saw you all over the news, ‘Mr. Secretary.’”
This 'secretary' thing was going to get old. “Why are you here?”
“Bronte told me there was some fighting to do. Count me in.”
Frank shoved his way into the booth across from Norman seemingly unaware of the amount of space he took up. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We fight,” said Bronte.
“I figured that. I meant the specifics. When, where, how many?”
Bronte turned her eyes to Norman and lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”
Norman was no military strategist. Every time he plotted a fight, it seemed to go very badly for him and those around him. “When I fight, most of us usually die.”
“This time will be different,” said Bronte. “This time we all die.”
“Wait a minute…” said Frank.
“Let’s try another way,” said Norman.
“You’ve tried, Norman. You’ve tried to get at Walsh. You’ve even tried to kill him.” Bronte's smile faded and her gaze turned sour. “You may have succeeded if you were willing to die. If you really believe what you’re saying about Walsh, about the Vampire Registration Bill, about the survival of our kind, you have to be ready to die.”
Norman fought that conclusion. He deeply wanted there to be another way. He’d never wanted to fight, even in his human days. He’d resisted conscription in the Civil War. He’d kept his head out of the vampire war. All he wanted to do now was get into some Shakespeare with kids nobody else wanted. It was too late for that, though. Perhaps his educating days were done. “No,” he said. “We have one advantage.”
“Oh?” said Bronte.
“Me. I can glamor him.”
“He’s ready for that,” said Bronte.
“He’ll never let you in a room alone with him without those wolves and Skeete’s crew,” said Rae.
Norman’s words quickened. “But the vice president. If I’m dead, I'll lose him, a useless suicide charge. Working on Walsh is the only path.”
“The most access you’ll get is a cabinet meeting,” said Rae.
Norman slammed a fist on the table. “Then I’ll glamor the whole damned cabinet.”
Bronte crossed her arms. The smile returned to her face. “Good to see some fire in you, Bernard.”
Norman suddenly realized he was breathing in quick deep
bursts and his forehead was moist with sweat. He unclenched his fist and rested his palm on the table, realizing that the cabinet didn't have the power to stop the bill. Only Walsh. But the cabinet could influence. Maybe...“We can always go on a killing spree as a last resort.”
Bronte smiled, “Well, at least we’ve got that.”
29
The Cabinet
Norman cinched his tie and straightened himself out in the mirror. He hadn’t slept at all the night before. The hotel was comfortable but it wasn’t his own bed, and he wasn’t used to sleeping at night.
The room was almost perfectly dark. The shades had been specially modified to accommodate Norman’s particular aversion to sunlight. He’d need to be very careful on his way to the White House. One slip and he’d burn to a crisp before his very first cabinet meeting. The confirmations had gone quickly, just a few weeks. It had left Norman little time to make all the preparations. This could be his only opportunity to stop Walsh and his bill without bloodshed.
Norman closed his eyes and breathed deep. He shivered as he imagined himself outside during daylight hours. He longed for the comfort of night. A knock at the door snapped him out of his meditation. He looked at his watch. Too early for Rae.
For an instant, he flicked his gaze around the room, searching for a makeshift weapon. Then he felt her. Felicia. Norman rushed to the door, nearly tearing it off its hinges. It had been weeks since they last saw each other. He longed to embrace his progeny.
When the door opened fully, he felt the smile that had inched up his face, drop. All the nymphs were there. They stood in their combat regalia, as they had after they’d trained with Nebulous. Felicia had her dagger at her waist, Cindy her sword. Darius stood behind with his rifle next to Tyreese with his Javelin.
Norman’s guts flipped. He hadn’t seen any of them in weeks. Most of his time was spent in DC, preparing for his new job. What little time remained was spent plotting with Bronte, Rae, and Frank. The nymphs had reached out for help, but it was impossible for Norman.
“What are you doing?” said Norman.
“We’re going for Declan,” responded Felicia.
Norman looked to the other faces. They all showed stoic resolve.
“That’s not a good idea. I can help you, if you…”
“We can’t wait for your help anymore,” replied Felicia.
“Felicia,” said Norman reaching out his arms to embrace her.
Felicia shook her head and put out a palm to stop him. She looked to the side and dug her chin into her shoulder, tightening her eyelids.
Norman felt her anguish. She’d never be able to leave him. Not completely, nor Declan either.
“He’s in trouble, Mr. Bernard,” she said. “We can’t let him suffer any more.”
“You don’t know where he is,” replied Norman.
“I think I do,” she said.
There was more. She was hiding something. Norman searched her face, then her feelings for her secret. She hid it well. “Why did you come here?”
“To say goodbye,” she replied. “We’re going to find Declan, and then…” She lifted her head back up, her gazing boring into Norman’s. “Then we’re leaving. We’re going out on our own.”
“We need to chart our own path,” said Cindy.
“No. I have plans. Please, let’s talk,” said Norman. He’d spent so much of his time trying to keep these children safe, together. Now it was falling apart. If only they would lay low. Stay at school. Norman had spent many hours in the past weeks planning to change that school. Change it from the top. If only they’d wait, they would see.
He reached out to her from the inside as only he could. He sensed both her longing and her defiance. She yearned to stay with her creator. Norman only noticed the fists she’d been clenching when she loosened them. Her resistance waned. He felt her coming to him.
Tyreese stepped between them. His faced betrayed no emotion. “We’re leaving. You know it’s time.”
Norman felt Felicia's resolve stiffen. His shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry.”
“No need,” replied Tyreese. “You got to do what you got to. So do we.”
“I’ll come for you. When this is all over.”
Tyrese gave a single nod and turned to Felicia, reaching out to embrace her. When he released her, he lifted her chin so her eyes met his. “We got you. Forever.”
Tyreese always seemed so silent, stoic. Now this show of devotion...This boy was full of surprises.
Everyone knew who he was, but they required his credentials each time he entered the White House. It was a ceremony the other cabinet members had been spared. He had thought the fear of him would fade as his presence became more regular.
He and Rae made their way through the carpeted walls toward the conference room. He’d been briefed that Walsh wanted to speak to the cabinet alone for half an hour before the media was allowed in. Walsh couldn’t pass up the optics of the situation, an administration ready two weeks after inauguration. It was unprecedented. But he probably also needed to get some actual work done.
White house staffers buzzed around the bright white halls. Norman kept his sunglasses on from the ride over. He still had a layer of sweat from the harrowing trip. The traffic had been calm and uneventful. However, being completely surrounded by bright sunlight, with only a tinted window separating him from fiery anguish had proven very stressful. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and removed the glasses.
“That wasn’t even the hard part,” said Rae as she strode just behind him.
An understatement. Norman had argued against this gambit at first, but Rae had convinced him that it would at least buy them time. An alternate bill endorsed by the president and the entire cabinet would drive congress nuts and set the whole process back. But for how long? In any case, when would he ever have access to them all at once again. Who knows? Perhaps, with the country so divided, a less harsh bill could actually get some traction. No chip implant. Voluntary registration. Scaled back enforcement. The current bill was only going to pass by slim margins, anyway. Maybe...wishful thinking probably. He'd said as much to Rae, but in the end, she was right. They had few choices. In the end, they were going to have to assassinate Walsh and install Jackson. To do that, they'd need as much time as they could buy.
At the next turn, two security guards stopped them. Norman reached into his jacket pocket for his credentials.
“No,” said one of the men. “You can go in, sir. Just you.”
Norman turned to Rae and then back to the guards. “But I…”
“It’s okay, Mr. Bernard. You don’t need me for this,” said Rae.
Norman wasn’t quite sure about that. In a few minutes, he’d be in a room full of the most powerful people on the planet and for everything to go his way, he’d have to glamor them all. He had been a pro at this, but lately he found it more difficult. It was as if his grip on the wills of others had become weaker…slippery.
Norman had prepared, though. He'd been blood-loading for a week. The others had as well; Rae, Bronte and Frank and his crew. They waited behind, lacking the clearance to penetrate this deep into the White House. The crew knew the signal, though, should it come to it.
Norman nodded to Rae and passed the check point. A staffer behind the security agents beckoned. “Right this way, Mr. Bernard.”
She led him to a set of double doors with another two guards posted on either side. Norman was relieved to see they were human. He hoped that when the doors opened, he’d encounter more of the same.
Norman had arrived early so he could size up each cabinet member as they entered and get a sense of what kind of resistance he might face.
However, when the staffer opened the doors, he saw that nearly the entire cabinet sat around a large rectangular table with Walsh and Vice President Jackson at the head. Norman nodded to Jackson. The vice president had already earned the consternation of Walsh for leaking to the press some misgivings about the Vampire Registration Bill. H
e'd been a good puppet so far.
“Mr. Bernard,” said President Walsh, standing up at the head of the table, “you’re just in time.”
Apparently I’m late. Of course the vampire would not be invited for the real business. Norman scolded himself for not foreseeing this.
The room fell silent as all the eyes around the table stared at him. In some, he saw hate, in some fear, in a few, curiosity. The staffer led him to a seat. A folded name tent marked Norman’s place at the table. Across from him was another empty seat. The name tent read, “Christian Murphy.” At least I’m not last. Norman wondered what Murphy had done to warrant the late invite.
“We were just getting ready to let the media in for the photo op,” said Walsh.
“Mr. President, there was something I wanted to bring up before you let them in,” said Norman. He was going to have to work quickly. None of this could be on camera.
“Certainly, Mr. Bernard,” replied Walsh.
Other cabinet members exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“Crawford,” said Walsh. “Tell the press it’s time. They can make their way in while Mr. Bernard shares his thoughts.”
“Yes sir,” said the staffer.
Norman watched the staffer walk out through the doors and waited for them to close. As soon as they did, Norman would work his magic.
The gap of light between the doors shrunk. Then it was a slit. Almost there. The damped motion seemed to take forever. With a jerk, one of the doors lurched back open and a woman stepped into the room. Her business suit didn’t hide who it was. Skeete Daniels strode across the room, her white hair in a tight bun.
Norman’s body jolted as his muscles tensed. No one else seemed to have any reaction to her. She walked to Walsh, smiling at Norman the whole way.
“Ah, Ms. Daniels. You’re here,” said Walsh.
She handed him a folder and sat at in a chair at the margins of the room. Walsh shuffled through the papers in the folder. Skeete never took her eye off Norman. Her smug grin seemed permanently etched into her face.
The sound of an approaching mob leaked through the closing doors. The media. They’d arrive in seconds.
