by Alex Dire
Two complied.
“You heard him,” said Bronte. The third lowered his firearm.
Jackson backed away from behind the guards. “What are you doing?”
“Time to hang up the phone,” said Norman to the final security agent. How complete had the call been? How much time before reinforcements showed up? He’d have to make this quick.
“No need to fear, Governor,” said Norman.
“What do you want?” said Jackson. Norman had left his will floating and uncontrolled.
“To ask a question, for starters.”
After directing the Secret Service to disarm and sit on the sofa, Norman began his interrogation. “There’s really only one thing I want to know.”
“You’re the teacher,” said Jackson. “The vampire. I’ve never actually met one before.”
“Oh. I’m sure you have.”
“What’s this question you want to ask?”
Norman tightened his lips and put on his teacher face. “Do you intend to support Senator Walsh's Vampire Registration Bill?”
Jackson swallowed. “Of course.”
“I’m not the media. You don’t need to tow the party line here.”
“Look, Bernard. If you want to kill me, then do it. That bill will pass nonetheless. Congress will pass it, and Walsh will sign it.”
“I know Walsh's intentions,” said Norman. “What I want to know are yours.”
“I’ll just be vice president. I’ll have no say in the matter.”
Norman sat up in the chair. “But what if you do?”
Jackson sat up in his chair as well. “I don’t like what you’re implying. And you will not intimidate me. I faced down a whole squad in Mosel by myself, and I can damned well face down a vampire…teacher.”
This wasn’t working. Norman looked to Bronte and Rufus. He honed his will on Jackson and subdued him.
“It won’t work,” said Bronte. He’ll revert and do whatever he was going to do anyway.
“I know,” said Norman. This was going to take more than a simple glamor.
Rufus uncrossed his arms. He peered at Norman, at first curious, then accusing. “What exactly do you intend to do?”
“I need to influence him long term.”
“Even you can’t accomplish that.”
Norman turned his head to face the soldier, face stone. “I need to make him mine.”
Rufus twitched, “That’s illegal.”
“No, Rufus. He’s right,” said Bronte.
Rufus clenched his hands to fists. “Remember your oath, soldier.”
“Soldier for who?” said Bronte. If we don’t win this fight, there will be no party, no union to protect.”
“What fight?” said Rufus. “I wish this were a fight. All this scheming is an insult. Leave it to the politicians.”
“That’s why I’m here,” said Norman.
“I’ll have no part in it. This will open a door that was closed a long time ago.”
Norman sensed a rekindling of the old hostility between himself and his warrior friend. “So be it.”
“No. This cannot stand.” said Rufus.
“You have orders from the chancellor,” said Bronte.
Rufus growled at her.
“Which is it going to be, watch Norman break the law, or disobey a direct order?”
Rufus drew deep breaths through his nose, his face taut. Finally, he let out a huff and relaxed his hands.
“Let’s get this done before any more Secret Service show up,” said Norman.
Norman turned to Governor Jackson. “You’ll feel no pain and no fear.”
The governor nodded.
“There’s a reason it’s forbidden,” said Rufus.
“Leave if you must,” said Norman. He did not relish the thought of being responsible for this soul for the rest of his natural life. It was a grave thing to take away a man's will. To make him a slave. But this particular man wanted Norman and all vampires registered and exterminated. Norman had a job to do. Once again, no options. He buried his misgivings.
Grasping Jackson by the throat, Norman sank his teeth into the governor’s carotid artery, drinking deep. He focused. The world dropped away. He gripped the tendrils waving about Jackson’s orb.
A moment later, he withdrew his fangs and brought up his own wrist. He slid his canines through his skin, withdrawing them instantly. Blood ran quickly down his arm. Norman lifted his wrist up into the air. “Drink,” he said. Jackson tilted his head back and opened his mouth wide.
The first few drops spattered on his cheeks but the rest went in. He gulped down the fluid. The tendrils of Jackson’s will stopped their wild arcing and twisted around those of Norman. Their bond was forming. The governor drank. The braids tightened.
“Enough,” said Norman.
Jackson lowered his head, his face smeared with blood.
The ritual was done. It would make him Norman’s subject forever. Or at least until one of them was dead. It was a burden Norman would have to accept. The price of having his own puppet when Walsh was dead.
Norman looked to his friends. Rufus had already left.
26
Eve
Norman rushed up the stairs of the condo building and knocked on Darius and Tyreese’s door. Tyreese answered. “She’s not back.”
Norman knew but he had to check to see for himself. He could feel her fear pulling at him from inside his gut. Something had gone wrong.
“Did you look for her?” asked Norman.
“You told us not to” said Darius from inside the condo. “You want us to?”
Norman paced in frantic lines across the floor, his hand pressed hard to his forehead. He felt her fear, her anger. He couldn't lose her. He needed to find her. But so much hung on tonight. He couldn't fail. Nor could he send the nymphs out to find her in his place. “No. Stay safe.”
“Make up your mind, Mr. Bernard,” said Darius.
“He has,” said Tyreese. “Good luck.”
Norman, Rufus and Bronte, weaved their way through the throng outside the downtown hotel. Masses of citizens had gathered to hear Walsh's election eve speech. The city had never seen this much political attention. A home-town boy was about to be elected president.
Getting past the civilians was easy. They keenly scanned the crowd for Secret Service agents and the more dangerous unofficial protection the senator had gathered around himself.
Norman’s senses were keen. They’d all just fed. He felt ready.
As they neared the entrance, they approached a large man with a wire dangling from his ear. He stood like a watchtower, unmoved by the waves of humanity surging around him. Norman seduced him easily.
At the entrance, a ring of security and regular police stood in the way. No sign of Skeete’s henchmen or wolves.
They all played their part. Norman grasped their wills, while Rufus and Bronte put fingers to nonexistent devices in their ears, pretending to be some kind of official security for Norman. He gambled that no one in the crowd would recognize his vampire friends or wonder why a prospective Secretary of Education would have two security guards.
They made it through the revolving door and into the lobby. The room was filled to near capacity with reporters trying to get into the large meeting room where the speech was set to happen.
The three vampires moved across the plush carpet to the back of the crowd.
“Ready?” said Bronte.
Norman nodded. He closed his eyes. The world room came to sharp focus. He summoned his strength and focused his will, wrapping it around the reporters in the room. It wouldn’t take much. Just a little influence, and they’d play their part.
There were so many, though. Doubt crept into Norman’s focus. Not now. He gripped some. Some wriggled free. Norman reached out further, deeper. Nausea. Wriggling. Gripping.
Norman opened his eyes. “Done.”
“You look like hell,” said Bronte. “You okay?”
“Sure.” Norman wiped
a sleeve across his forehead. “Piece of cake when you don’t want them to actually do anything.” He turned back and looked to Rufus. The soldier’s face remained stiff as if chiseled from stone. Stone had no inner thoughts to betray. Norman nodded to the warrior. Rufus gave the slightest of nods back. Rufus would do his job.
Norman peeked through the kitchen entrance. The crowd stood in the meeting room applauding with wild enthusiasm. Walsh waved from behind the lectern. He stepped down, and his handlers ushered him across the room, cutting a path to the main doors where the reporters and Rufus waited outside.
Now Norman saw the special protection. Three wolves in suits to match the Secret Service watched and moved along with the entourage. They reached the main doors, the crowd still applauding and turning as the smiling Walsh shook hands and passed them by.
One of the Secret Service spoke into his hand and swung the two large main doors open. A massive spasm of flashbulbs fired. Members of Walsh’s party squinted at the sudden burst of light. The crush of reporters completely blocked the entrance.
Good. Norman peered from the kitchen though the circular window of its swinging door.
Two servicemen attempted to look over the crowd. Their comrades had not cleared the way, compliments of Norman.
Then the three wolves’ calm, attentive demeanor changed. Their movements became frantic as they sniffed the air and pushed their way to the front of the security detail. One spoke into Walsh's hear. Another barked at a serviceman. The wolf at the doors turned back and shook his head. A member of the security detail spoke into his hand, and the whole entourage shifted its direction. Like an amoeba, they slid their way toward the kitchen.
Just before the main doors closed completely, Norman caught a glimpse of Rufus, taller than the crowd, in his full soldier’s regalia. How out of place he looked. Perfect to catch the wolves’ attention. Norman’s little trick had prevented the reporters from noticing anything unusual at all. Hidden in plain sight.
Norman ducked back into the kitchen where he’d convinced two minor chefs to share their uniforms and go home. It had taken only a little nudging to persuade the rest Norman and Bronte were anticipated replacements.
He moved to the rear of the kitchen where he rejoined Bronte. “They giving you any trouble?”
She looked down at the two servicemen who sat on the floor with their backs against the walls, calm faces staring ahead. “Nope. One of them was even kind enough to give me this.” She tapped her ear. A coiled wire hung down and went into a pocket on the white chef’s uniform.
Her eyes moved away from Norman and her cheeks slackened. She placed a finger to her ear. “They’re coming. They’re asking if it’s clear.”
“Tell them yes!” said Norman.
“They’ll be expecting a man’s voice.” She held up a tiny microphone.
“What’s the right word?”
“I don’t know.”
Norman pulled Bronte’s hand close to his mouth. “Clear.” He looked to her eyes and shrugged. “We may need to go to plan B if they suspect.”
Moments later his fears were allayed. The swinging kitchen doors flew open and two brawny suited men popped through. They scanned the kitchen. The entire staffed stopped working and stared at the group of suited men as they made their way in.
One of the servicemen raised a palm into the air. The entourage stopped. The agent waved his hand over the heads of the group. More Secret Service agents entered the kitchen. The lead spoke into his hand. He waited a moment and spoke again. They all peered around the room. Two began making their way around the periphery. Searching.
“Shit,” said Bronte. “They’re looking for their friends.”
The wolves were in the room now. They looked around and sniffed the air. Norman’s disguise was nearing the end of its usefulness. He saw a piece of steak in a frying pan on a burner. “Turn that burner to maximum.”
Bronte shot him a quizzical look.
“Just do it!”
She twisted the nob all the way up. Norman bent down and spoke to one of the servicemen on the floor. “Stand up. Wave to your friends, tap your ear and shake your head.”
The pliant security officer stood and delivered his performance.
Norman looked between Bronte and the group that surrounded Walsh at the kitchen entrance.
“They bought it,” she said as the carbon smell of searing steak filled the air.
The lead agent waved the entourage in, barking orders into his palm. The three wolves continued sniffing at the air. Their glances darted around in confusion. The sizzling meat had done its job.
The security detail whisked Walsh through the kitchen and down the aisles formed by the rows of ovens.
Norman and Bronte took places at the end of the isle Walsh moved down. They barely pretended to be working on food.
Walsh had two guards in front of him and two behind working their way down single file. The rest of the security detail and the wolves made their way through adjacent aisles.
They’d reach Norman and Bronte in moments. It would be quick. A stab to the chest and then a blur out the back. It would happen so fast, the security wouldn’t even be able to identify them.
The swinging doors on the other side of the kitchen swung open once again. Rufus stepped in. The trap was complete. No escape for the candidate. Just a little longer.
Time seemed to slow down as the two lead security guards moved down the isle. As they neared, Norman nodded to Bronte. She would take out the guards, and Norman would deliver the blow to Walsh. The blow that might save his kind.
The lead guard held up his palm and mumbled into his wrist. Norman couldn’t make out the words over the noise in the room. The group stopped. The agent pointed to the columns of security in the aisles to the left and right of him and motioned them forward.
The guard held Walsh back, tilting his head and staring at something. Not at Norman or Bronte, but at the glamored guard who continued to tap his ear and shake his head.
The lead serviceman looked down at the stoves. He reached his hand and turned off the burner where the steak sizzled as it began to carbonize.
He waved his center group back. The other guards continued coming down the sides to where Norman and Bronte waited.
Soon the two vampires would have Secret Service agents and wolves on both sides as Walsh moved out of reach. Norman looked past the retreating entourage. Rufus waited at the back, opening and closing his fists. They’d spot him in seconds. Could he get the job done? He’d have to.
“Let’s go,” said Norman. “Plan B.” He hoped Rufus made it out alive.
Norman and Bronte slid toward the back end of the kitchen moving items around and clearing things away as if they were just doing a cook’s job.
The two columns of guards and wolves paced slowly to the end of the aisles of stoves and counters. The humans had their guns drawn and eyed everyone as they passed. Cooks parted to the sides to clear the way.
Norman and Bronte backed slowly toward the door at the back of the kitchen, trying to give the appearance of doing anything but escaping.
Rufus let out a loud grunt from the main entrance to the kitchen. The security detail turned, reaching for their guns. Two large vampires had grabbed Rufus from behind and were dragging him by the armpits out of the kitchen. Rufus twitched and kicked trying to free himself.
A serviceman pushed Walsh to the floor and covered him. Another fired two shots into Rufus with his side arm. The crowd in the meeting room erupted into chaos and screaming.
All the guards had now drawn their weapons. Norman and Bronte turned to walk the last five feet to the back doors. Slowly. Slowly.
“Abort,” whispered Norman. They reached the door. Bronte turned the handle and pushed. A rush of cool air blew past them.
Oh, no. Norman snapped his glance back at the wolves.
The werewolves sniffed at the air and twitched their heads toward Norman. The lead pointed a finger. “Them!”
Two of the beasts in human form leapt up over the isle of counters and careened into Norman. Norman fell into Bronte, forcing the door closed.
Norman grasped at the man’s neck, trying to push him away. The werewolf was so strong. He gripped Norman’s throat, nails digging in.
Bronte squirmed out from under Norman and regained her footing as the second wolf reached out for her. She grasped his hand and twisted. The wolf-man shrieked and fell to his knees. Before Bronte cold finish him, the third wolf sailed through the air, landing on Bronte and plunging a kitchen knife into her ribs.
She screamed and the wolf on his knees broke free.
Shouts of “hold your fire” came from the two columns of security. Norman grasped at his attacker's wrists trying to pry free. He felt impotent against this creature that lived only to hunt and kill vampires. Norman kicked with his knee, trying to find leverage to get the wolf off.
Norman gripped hard on his opponent’s wrists and honed in on the wolf. The wills in the room came into sharp focus.
“That won’t work on me, vampire.” Saliva and mucus dripped from the werewolf’s lips.
Norman looked past his enemy. “Grab a knife and stab this man.”
One of the wolf’s eyes twitched. “What?” The man released Norman's neck and shot up. He lurched to block the blow of the cook driving at him with a large knife. A fraction too late. The cook pushed at him and the point pierced the wolf’s soft abdomen, stabbing deep. The beast growled and flung the cook away.
Norman leapt to his feet and rushed at the wolf’s back, wrapping his elbow around his neck. They faced the two columns of guards and a dozen guns.
He grasped the werewolf’s belt and shoved him over the counters at one column of servicemen. The careening werewolf struck the lead agent who fell back against another knocking the tight formation into disarray.
Norman refocused on the wills in the room and stared at the remaining column of servicemen. He gripped their orbs “You will—”
An agent fired off a shot. Pain wracked Norman’s neck. He lifted his hand to cover it. Blood sprayed out and he dropped to the floor. Blackness grew at the edges of his vision. The room fazed back into focus as his concentration wavered.
