Smitten

by Vivienne Savage

  The maid, a portly woman in her fifties with graying wisps of hair at her temples, froze on the spot. She resembled a statue at first, then she quickly regained her wits to speak. “Hello, Mrs. Emberthorn.”

  “There’s no need to fear me. I… understand many of you among the senior staff have reservations about remaining.”

  “Oh no, not me. I enjoy my job here at the White House,” the woman said quickly.

  “And my husband enjoys your presence among the staff,” Ēostre replied, taking a stab in the dark. “He’s had only the most pleasant things to say about each of you regarding dedication to your duties. You’re Annalisa, right?”

  “I am.”

  “And I’m Ēostre. Please, I’d like to be on a friendly basis with everyone.”

  With each person she met along the way to the ground floor, Ēostre lingered for small talk and conversation. While some quickly fabricated excuses to hastily return to their duties, some engaged her eagerly in conversation, fascinated by the answers to their tentative questions.

  After an hour, she consulted her phone while standing beside the entrance to the kitchen.

  No one’s leaked it to the gossip columns and media. Maybe they’re as devoted as Lynette says. Maybe they’ll keep it to themselves until the big press conference tomorrow.

  Her heels clicked over an exquisite, gold-trimmed rug as she navigated the central hall. The White House interior wasn’t new to Ēostre. She’d been a visitor over the year during their public courtship, but marriage gave her new perspective as the woman of the household, as opposed to a visitor who would one day reign over it all.

  Nervous, she ran her fingers through her tidy, platinum hair, and stepped into the kitchen. All at once, the scurrying of several employees halted and heads turned her direction.

  “Hello,” Ēostre said in a gentle voice to them. She waited in the doorway of the massive kitchen as neatly dressed men and women in white jackets hurried to and fro. The man she presumed to be the supervisor of the cooking staff beelined to her as if his pristine jacket was on fire. “You must be Chef Teller. I don’t believe we’ve had the chance for an introduction before.”

  “Mrs. Emberthorn, what an unexpected pleasure. Is there something you require?”

  “No, nothing like that. I only wanted to introduce myself and settle any concerns you might have regarding recent events.”

  “We are prepared for any eventuality, ma’am. Special diets included.”

  “Oh that won’t be necessary. Continue to feed us both the way you’ve prepared his meals for the past year, only, ah…” After a brief hesitation, she gently said, “please increase the serving size. Plan each of our private dinners to provide leftovers for three or four people. We’re nocturnal and sleep rarely at night. If that isn’t possible, sandwiches will suffice. Maximilian enjoys spicy meatball subs — the messier and soggier the better. I fear he’s been eating poorly to avoid revealing his night time dining habits.”

  “That’s it?”

  She nodded. “No steers are necessary.”

  The man looked aghast. “That reached you? Mrs. Emberthorn, I’m sorry—”

  To ease his mind, she flashed a sunny smile. “There’s no need for apologies. We are what we are, after all. My son’s caretaker does own many fine creatures of excellent dining quality, and while I do enjoy them from time to time, that will not be necessary here. We would never tax you in such a way.”

  “If you keep late hours, I can be on hand to prepare—”

  Ēostre shook her head. “No. I speak for my husband as well as myself when I say we’d prefer for you to go home at a reasonable hour each night. Do you have a family?”

  “Why… yes, a wife and a daughter.”

  “Then strive to be gone no later than six each evening. Have dinner with your loved ones, Alan. They’re precious to us, and even I as a dragon know the value of family. My son and his wife shall be visiting us frequently, I’m sure, and they’ll be bringing a little girl with them. We’ll always try to give you advance notice.”

  The chef’s smile brightened his otherwise stern visage. “Children are always a welcome addition to the White House halls. Will she have any specific needs?”

  Ēostre chuckled. “Astrid is not a picky eater and will enjoy whatever you prepare, I promise.”

  She and Teller chatted for a while longer before the man gave her a tour of the kitchen and its adjoining rooms. As she discussed their favorite cuisines and let him in on Max’s hidden secret — his reluctance to bother the cooks — they shared a laugh about some of the man’s stranger antics over the past year.

  “Now we understand why an entire roast disappeared over the holidays. No one could account for where it went!”

  She left the kitchens feeling lighter and more at home. The acceptance she’d found from a majority of the staff gave her hope.

  Would the rest of the human world feel the same way?

  Chapter 18

  “They look like sharks,” Palmer muttered. “I’ve never seen such a crowd of well-dressed predators.”

  “You’re a former senator, Kenneth. You saw it every time the Senate convened.”

  He heard a faint, barely audible chuckle from one of the agents nearby. “It’s all right to laugh,” Max addressed them. “I need laughter right now.”

  “All right. It’s time. Remember the rest of us are behind you one hundred percent,” Palmer said to him.

  “Easy words from the man who will succeed me once I’ve been taken out by a dragonslayer’s lance,” Max said, chuckling at the dark thought.

  A concerned Secret Service agent stiffened and glanced their way. Max could only imagine what was going through their minds now that they were abreast of his status as a fire-breathing monster.

  With one final prayer to the Ancestors, Max stepped through the door and approached the podium. A solemn weight to the atmosphere crushed the fragment of confidence he’d carried with him.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “Looks a little packed today, doesn’t it?” He scanned the crowd, meeting eye contact with reporters who either chose to stare him down in return, or abruptly redirect their own gazes. Satisfied, he steeled his nerves and cut to the chase.

  “I’ve decided to answer any question directed at me, so there is nothing too delicate with exception to security-related questions. One at a time. Please.”

  A woman in a dark blue suit quickly pounced on the chance. “Mr. President, I’m sure I speak for everyone present when I ask you to elaborate on your mysterious comment yesterday. You say you’re not human, but if you’re not one of us, then what are you?”

  A sea of curious faces gazed back at Maximilian, each one person practically on the edge of their seat.

  “I am a dragon, and to answer your next question — my wife and I are both dragons.”

  The room exploded into noise, everyone trying to ask their questions over the others. Max held up his hands in a bid for calm and waited them out.

  “Next question please. Let’s keep this civil and orderly.”

  “What else is out there? Americans deserve to know what sort of people are living in our communities.”

  “Besides dragons like myself, there are shapeshifters, vampires, witches, and other magical creatures throughout the world. We have been here as long as mankind, living among you by concealing our existence as fiction.”

  “Why hide?” the same reporter asked.

  “Why do we hide?” Maximilian managed a quiet smile. “Research the events of the Salem Witch Trials. That is why we hide. Many good, innocent people have died in the crusade against magical creatures.”

  “Mr. President, has our government been aware of these magical beings and covering them up?”

  “The existence of the supernatural is no surprise to the government. It has always known, at its highest tiers of secrecy, that paranormal creatures exist. As of today, the U.S. military currently employs five thousand, three hundred and forty-nine shap
eshifters. Many of them have been deployed into war zones as special operatives.”

  Faces filled with wonder and awe. The conference became a combination of stunned people unable to find their voices, and anxious journalists vying for his attention next.

  “I’ll take the next question from you,” Max said, gesturing to a young lady who patiently waited her turn. Her serenely beautiful face was surrounded by fluffy white curls like ivory down.

  Shifter, no doubt. He could smell the scent of bird on her, wafting to him on occasion.

  “Do you plan to create legislation to protect the rights of magical citizens?” she asked. Her calm, blue eyes watched him. He had no doubt she was asking for herself as much as any other shapeshifter tuned in.

  “Yes. I do,” Max said. He cleared his throat and took a sip of water. “My personal belief is that we are all created equal. No dragon, shapeshifter, or human should ever face discrimination.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, retaking her seat.

  A blond man, with a smile fitting for a toothpaste ad, rose for the next question. “Sir, if literary sources are to be believed, vampires and werewolves have dangerous reputations and can’t be trusted. Will a system similar to our sexual offender registry be use to announce such monsters who move into our neighborhoods?”

  “No,” Maximilian said tersely after grinding his teeth. He lost his temper for the first time and felt Ēostre’s hand on his shoulder. “We are not sexual predators and murderers, nor should we be seen as such. While I invite all paranormals interested in a mortal life to register for the proper identification, nothing will at any time ever publically identify their natures. They deserve, just as you do, the right to dignity and peace.”

  “What about you, Mr. President?” another reporter asked. “How do you expect the people to continue supporting you when you aren’t who you claim to be? Are you even a true citizen?”

  “I was not born in the United States as my birth certificate states,” Max admitted. “This country was an unknown land at the time of my birth, but I have dwelled here long before this country’s inception. I lived here when the first pilgrims arrived, before our Founding Fathers created this great nation.”

  “So you’re admitting your entire identity is a lie,” the journalist fired off quickly. “Falsification of identification is an impeachable offense, Mr. President. What do you think this means for your career in the oval office?”

  Their questions stung, and no matter how much he’d expected it, nothing could have prepared him for the harsh tide of emotion flooding over the room.

  Maximilian retained his composure, dimly aware of Ēostre feeding him bits of her calmer nature through their soul bond. “I hope it marks the beginning of a friendly alliance between all living creatures in this country. At no point did I set out to deceive the American public or this government. Just as your parents create names and the appropriate paperwork for you upon your birth, ancient creatures such as myself have developed identities to live normal lives. I may not have been born to the name Maximilian Emberthorn, but that is who I am today.”

  “If you are not Maximilian Emberthorn, may we know your true name?”

  Max stole a look at his wife, seeking her advice. She tucked her chin in a small nod.

  “History knows me as Belenos of Gaul. I was once known as the Fair Shining One. The god of the sun. I saw the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. I watched the birth of nations and saw the centuries claim them.”

  The reporters quieted. A few of them gazed upon him with reverence, others with disgust or barely disguised fear, but finally Max’s mind was clear.

  No matter what they thought about him, no matter what they wrote to their papers, he’d been honest. They couldn’t find fault in that, and the tremendous weight had finally lifted from his shoulders.

  “If you have any more questions, please leave them with my office staff. I will address every concern personally.”

  He left the podium and noise behind. Cameras flashed and questions were called out, but he didn’t have time for any more of them. Or the patience. That was rapidly dwindling and for the safety of the crowd, it was better for him to vacate the area.

  “You handled it well,” Ēostre assured him.

  “Thanks to you. I wanted to snarl at a few of them, but I realized that wouldn’t create a favorable opinion of dragons.”

  Ēostre’s soft chuckle ghosted across his skin and warmed him from within. They made it back to his office without further word, where Palmer waited for them. He offered out snifters of brandy.

  “Thank you, Kenneth, but none for me,” Ēostre deferred.

  “You know me so well, friend.”

  “I knew you’d need this once I gave you the news that’s reached me. I have good and bad. Which would you prefer first?” Kenneth asked.

  “The good.”

  “The good news is that the group of you saved an extraordinary amount of lives yesterday. Geologists and scientists have begun recreating the events using some sort of computer software, and they estimated hundreds more in the town local to the volcano would have died. On top of that, you’ve saved the ecosystem there, thousands of animals, and prevented millions in property damage.”

  Max forced a smile to his face. It strained his muscles, requiring more effort than usual. “You’re right. That is good news. How are the recovery efforts?”

  “Good. Red Cross was pleased with the donation you made, and in light of it, I decided to meet your contribution with one of my own. You’re a good influence on me.”

  “What’s the bad news?”

  “I’m… sorry to tell you this, Max, but Thompson has it in for you. I found out from a friend that he contacted the Chairman of the House Judiciary Committee. He wants Michaels to proceed with impeachment. They’re already trying to get you out.”

  “If Congress feels the same way as those reporters, then I’ve already been tried and convicted,” Max said sadly.

  Palmer scowled. “If that happens, you’ll still have my friendship, Max. I’ll do whatever I can to fight for your people. I’d rather humanity be on the side of the dragons than for this to come to a war. Everyone loses then.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Despite kind words and apparent understanding among many members of his cabinet, Max’s worries plagued him long after they retired for the evening. Ēostre had recommended rest in face of the coming days ahead, but sleep proved as elusive as ever.

  A few centuries ago, he would have passed the time by hunting beneath a starlit sky. Instead, humans brought his food to him on silver trays with napkins and fancy linens.

  “Are you still awake?”

  “It’s far too early to sleep,” Max grumbled.

  “I know, but…”

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s unsettling being unable to do anything.”

  “I could use magic to stop them,” Ēostre murmured in the dark. “But I know that isn’t what you want.”

  Beside him, his wife resembled every artistic depiction of an angel Max had ever appreciated. Leonardo’s finest work didn’t compare. Sighing, he reached out to stroke a lock of her silver hair and let it glide around his fingertip. Her hair smelled like lavender with subtle traces of vanilla. The scent teased over his senses to instill a feeling of peace.

  “You wouldn’t do it if I asked. I know you better than you know yourself, my love, and one thing you have never done is impress your will over a mortal for personal gain.”

  “You are correct, but if you were hurting deeply enough, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to see you happy again. That includes bewitching a few hundred mortals. A thousand if I must. You are my mate, my one love, and nothing will take me away from you.” Ēostre rose onto her elbow and looked at him with only devotion in her stormy gray eyes.

  “I know,” he answered. “But you have your own worries and fears, my love.” Maximilian gathered Ēostre into his arms, and she came readily into his embrac
e, burrowing against the warmth and turning her face into his throat.

  “His heart was empty, Maximilian. There was no love there. Nothing of the dragon we knew. I’m afraid.”

  “Then know that I am here with you through every step, Ēostre. We will discover the reason behind Fafnir’s reappearance. Watatsumi claims to have a theory, but he won’t share it with me until he can determine the truth.”

  “He told me the same,” she whispered. “If anyone can get to the bottom of it, it has to be Watatsumi.”

  “Until then, all we can do is keep an eye on Fafnir. Give him his space.”

  “And your presidency?”

  Max kissed the crown of her head. “One day at a time, love. It’s in the hands of the bureaucrats now and we’ll handle whatever decision they choose.”

  Chapter 19

  Complete exposure wasn’t what he’d wanted to happen. Nothing had gone to plan, and as far as Loki was concerned, Mahuika was to blame for the shit storm brewing across the world.

  Agnes wouldn’t return his phone calls. Any efforts to contact her reached a harried assistant, busy signal, or went directly to her voicemail. Mira, her apprentice, claimed to have no knowledge of her master’s whereabouts. On the day of the eruption, she’d vanished into thin air without so much as a note telling the girl what to do in her absence. The old hag had dropped off the face of the earth, and if she knew what was good for her, she’d remain in whatever hole she’d claimed.

  Mahuika was a special case. He had no doubt about whether or not she was behind the eruption and possibly the witch’s disappearance. Too convenient. Either they were on the run together, or the fire dragoness had snipped a few loose ends by eradicating the evidence of her wrongdoing.

  “I should have known better than to trust a petulant child,” he muttered. At the time, her instructions had been simple. Release his soul, and together, they’d sit back and enjoy the fruit borne from Fafnir ruining Ēostre and Maximilian’s happy new bond.