by Holly Hook
“Ember Vonk.”
I rise, and before I can think about it, I snatch Maisy's art piece. I ignore her questioning look as I step over her and storm my way to the podium.
I slap down my speech and prop Maisy’s piece against the podium as the light glares into my face. My skin prickles and heats under dozens of stares, and everyone seems to fade into the audience. Everyone, except for the hot, young vampire. He's just above my eye level, but the light dynamics let me look directly at him. He's leaning forward to hear what I have to say.
And then he shakes his head, glares, and mouths, “No.”
What the hell? I will not let him trip me up. I bet he couldn’t care less about us, like most of the other elites.
“My name is Ember Vonk and I'm from Daisyville, Florida,” I begin. My voice rings over the auditorium. “I lived there with my older brother Mike and my parents for my entire life. Now Dream Developers wants to tear everything down. If that happens, I can’t go to college.” My heart hammers in my ears, getting louder and louder.
“No,” the young vampire mouths again. He holds his hands up and pulls them apart, over and over.
Figures he’s an ass. I catch my breath. He will not distract me.
I find my place. “Dream Developers hides their website from the public, but I found an archived one where they talk about ‘clearing eyesores’ and raising property value instead of protecting us.” I won't repeat Silvia's demands to stop these leeches.
You are an eyesore.
A pot of boiling water is about to go over.
“One minute,” Zara warns me.
The pot boils over and onto the flames.
Eyesore. Insect. Pest.
It has not been four minutes already.
I pick up Maisy's art and unroll it, then step away from the stage.
My ears ring with rage. “This is what you are funding,” I say, holding it up to the Agency's faces. “This is what you are paying to do to the people you talk about protecting!”
The human man's eyes widen, and the two vampire men straighten as I hold the truth in their faces. Only Zara remains still.
“And that's all,” I say, stepping down from the stage.
As I walk back to my seat under the stare of the FHDA, Emmy beams.
We just ripped off their blinders.
* * * * *
Maisy seems to forgive me. She rolls her art back up after I hand it back to her.
Only when the hearing draws to a close, and Emmy does her own collected speech about how Dream Developers is ruining the housing industry, do I regret what I've done.
I sink into my seat.
I just yelled at the FHDA.
Three vampires, and a human in cahoots with them.
I've got to get out of here, but the young vampire's older guards are blocking both doors. The young guy never speaks, so I assume he's the son of an Agency member, just waiting to get the hell out of there. At least I can feel a sense of victory. I didn’t let him mess me up.
“Thank you to all the speakers for their time today,” Zara announces. “Snacks are available in the cafeteria for our human guests.” Then she looks right at us and smiles, showing her very white, perfect teeth. Under the stage light, her fangs are very visible. An urge to flee comes over me. It’s not a good feeling, being eyed by a predator. “I would like to see the Homes For Life folks before you go.”
A knife of panic stabs up through my spine, and I jolt. “She wants to see us?” I ask Emmy.
Emmy just smiles. “The four of you made an impact, so I'm sure Zara Silverton and the others have questions. That's a good thing. That means we engaged them.”
How can she be so sure? My senses sharpen, and I watch everyone else slowly file out of the auditorium. The young vampire and his guys remain, and now he's just sitting there, reclined and eyeing a tablet.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. Okay. I'll trust Emmy. She's been doing this for thirty years and hasn't died yet.
The other Agency members file out of the room, and Zara waves us up onto the stage. She won't want to spill our blood on that polished wood floor, will she? Just in case, I stand on that white rug laid out near the podium. She’ll have second thoughts about calling the cleaners, right?
“Emmy,” Zara says with a friendly smile. “I haven't seen you since just before my appointment. You have an interesting crew here. Thank you for bringing this matter to our attention. Dream Developers submitted an entire folder to us about the good they're doing for families, but I suppose these stories mean we should investigate that.”
Emmy knows her? I drop my shoulders as I stand on that carpet beside Silvia, and Maisy and Steve stay on the steps.
“Oh, yes. That was at the awards dinner,” Emmy says with a smile. “I’m happy to see you again, too.” Strained lines form around her smile.
Zara must have multiple personalities, because now she's all commercial smiles. “Speaking of dinner, the federal agencies are hosting a Young Activists' Dinner at the Freedom Center tonight. We’ll have activists there for all causes. It's invitation only, but I can pull some strings to get all of you in. We can talk in a more comfortable environment.” Her tone drops at the end, warning us not to refuse.
Emmy hesitates, lowering one eyebrow in confusion. “Oh, I did not know. I should have heard about this event.”
I gulp.
“The agencies don’t advertise it,” Zara says, letting her gaze sweep over me and Silvia. “We like to gather our nation’s best young voices before Congress votes on some new and important legislation. That will be just over one month from now. Please join us if you want to discuss this matter further.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I want to be safe in the hotel by dark, but Emmy is insistent that we go to this dinner, so we skip the snacks and head outside to kill time.
“Why haven't you heard about this event until now?” I ask her as we step out of the headquarters. I don't like this at all.
“The Freedom Center is public,” Emmy reassures me and Silvia. “I've been there before. They won't hurt us. I believe the FHDA wants to hear more and have time to process today’s events. And Zara is truly interested in her mission. She's worked in housing issues since she came into the public eye.”
But why? I want to ask. Why should Zara care about us, other than looking good to the Heart Party? Yeah, that's it. The Heart Party, like the Spade Party, like to make their voters think they're helping them out. It's probably to stop the revolt from the humans who outnumber them a hundred to one. At least, that's my theory.
And that’s why I don’t subscribe to either. That makes me a Club, I suppose. A lone wolf. A symbol that isn’t even relevant.
“What's going to happen at this dinner?” Silvia asks, stepping between me and Emmy.
“We'll get to meet some other activist groups, I'm sure, and make some connections. I can't believe Homes For Life never found out about this on our own,” Emmy says as our cabs pull up. “We can kill some time and see the sights before then.”
It's still broad daylight, so no vampires will be out for a while. Any out traveling will be in sun-resistant vehicles. Of course, this outing would be a lot more fun if I didn’t have this mystery event hanging over my head.
We visit the National Archives, where only normal, human guards man the metal detectors. We slowly file through the museum, pausing on the documents and displays showing how vampires enslaved and killed people ages ago, and how they became more fair after the human masses revolted. I can't blame the Founding Fathers for setting up checks and balances to keep them from setting up a monarchy here.
I grip the edge of a display showing the horrors of slavery. Most vampires liked that, too, until it led to the Civil War.
“Are you okay?” Silvia appears beside me.
“I'm fine. I guess they have this place so we can feel good about the government we have now?” I force a smile. Some vampires from those darker days are still alive, having escape
d assassination and conflicts with their own kind, and they could be at the dinner tonight.
Only after we get escorted by a guard to see the Declaration of Independence does my adrenaline level drop.
“Wow,” Silvia says in a hushed whisper, eyeing the document behind the glass. “I never thought I'd see this.”
I eye the founders' signatures. Most were human if I remember right, who wanted the new government to be for everyone. But even though we never admit it, we all know vampires have always been rich and powerful, and never let that vision of equality truly happen.
Emmy takes us to visit the National Mall after that, which is relaxing. The sun lowers in the sky, and I'm sweating by the time we complete our walk around the grassy expanse. Then we make our way back to a bench.
“Okay. Are we ready for dinner?” Emmy asks as Steve plops down on a bench, exhausted.
I gulp. The sun’s low, and it’s almost nine. “I’m not nervous at all.”
“Give yourself more credit, Ember,” Emmy says. “You knocked them dead today.”
My stomach turns as I think of my outburst earlier. So far, Zara’s still alive. “Are you sure?”
“I want to know why they’re doing this, too,” Silvia says. Silvia and I know how to be suspicious. Maisy and Steve must, too. Emmy doesn't. She's never had her home threatened, and she lives in a cushy part of New York.
This city eats people like you.
I can fake illness and go back to the hotel room.
But what if this is really a way to stop Dream Developers? Did I seriously impress the FHDA? Maybe Zara wants to fix this quietly to avoid any more humiliation. If something doesn't feel right, I decide, I'll leave. Silvia and I both have apps to call cabs and we can get Maisy and Steve out of there, too, if shit hits the fan.
“You girls are the youngest members we've ever had in Homes For Life,” Emmy says with sympathy. “I know this has been intimidating. But events like this happen all the time, and there are always new panels forming around certain issues. Housing is big. And if they're looking for young voices, that's probably why I haven't heard of this dinner before.”
I let out a breath as I pace along the sidewalk. A few cars go by, and our cab, an SUV, pulls to a stop to collect us. By now, the light is turning blue and the nearby World War Two monument is lighting up. “Rational enough,” I admit.
We travel to the Freedom Center, a two-story marble palace with pillars out front. String lights hang in the windows, and people, mostly eighteen to twenty-something, file inside. I scan them and see ordinary human faces, some overweight builds, and a young man with acne. Everyone's dressed like we are, to impress.
“It looks normal,” Silvia says beside me. “We can breathe big sighs of relief.”
We look at each other, and I force a grin. “I bet the food is good.”
She beams. “Yes. Food.”
Emmy takes us inside. We find ourselves in an entryway with a red carpet and a chandelier, and a fancy chalkboard welcoming us all to the Young Activists' Annual Dinner. A human man in a suit greets everyone with a smile, and I look around to see that Silvia and I are not out of place at all. The other young activists stick in tight groups like they're not sure where to go, and some talk nervously among themselves. Most are human, but I spot two vampire girls—they're far too perfect to be human with those slim figures and exaggerated curves—talking on the side of the entryway and sticking up their noses at anyone unfortunate enough to pass by. A group of young vampire guys ranging from eighteen to maybe twenty-two stride through the front doors, and everyone parts for them as they make their way past the welcome sign.
“At least there are no goons watching us,” I say to Silvia.
“Just eye candy everywhere we look.” She winks at a nearby human guy. “Say, do you have a type?”
I appreciate her efforts to make this feel normal. Emmy motions for us to go ahead as she stops to talk to the greeter. Steve and Maisy join her, probably feeling out of place.
We stick together as we make our way down a hallway with more portraits, this time of famous protests and marches on Washington. “Well, I used to crush on Justin Loftis back in junior high and high school. I had that poster of him shirtless and standing by that monster truck from Apocalypse Now.”
“The teen actor?”
“Well, don't you agree he was hot?” I ask. “And he wasn't even a vampire.”
Silvia nods sadly. “Was.”
I sigh. Justin Loftis took his own life two years ago. He tried out healthcare activism at sixteen, but went down a spiral thanks to the pressure his father put on him. I bawled during the televised funeral.
Why am I thinking about this now? I'm doing activism.
We find the double doors to the dining room. The dining room is immaculate, with more chandeliers and round tables than I can count. Chatter fills the space, and other young activists stand around, nervous. Maybe one out of every ten is a vampire. The vampires stick together, too, like they aren't sure what to do. They must be fresh graduates from the secret academies, where vampire children get sent at birth to stay until adulthood. Well, with the way the immortals always go after each other, I don't blame them.
Reporters hover on the periphery of the room, and each table has a placard with a group's name. Green Initiative. The Animal Rights Coalition. College Students For Fair Tuition. It's a mixed bag and I see every cause out there.
Sylvia tugs on my sleeve. “That’s our table.”
Yep. One near the edge of the room has a Homes For Life placard. It's complete with six chairs.
We sit as the room fills. Zara enters with Emmy, Steve, and Maisy. They're deep in conversation as they hover near the door. Other, older vampires enter, and they all have the fortune to look twenty-five forever. Ugh. They fan out, taking spots at the activists' tables to talk. Government representatives, then.
Emmy and Zara approach our table, and Zara is speaking. I strain to listen.
“...the FHDA can discuss programs for residents to purchase their own land if they meet the requirements,” Zara is saying as she pulls out a chair at our table. “We can also allocate more funding to nonprofit landowners and developers.”
“Those programs sound great,” Emmy says, sitting, “but we need a short-term solution to this housing crisis.”
Zara doesn't want to give Dream Developers the axe? Talk about scooting around the issue. I eye my empty plate and my folded cloth napkin. A steak knife sticks out. “What about Dream Developers?” I ask.
The vampire snaps her gaze to me. Have her eyes gotten redder since earlier? Maybe her nature is just showing more because it's night.
If I back down, I’ll lose all the momentum we gained during the hearing.
“We need something done now,” I say. “They're making people homeless every day, and homeless people can’t buy their land back. They lose their jobs and have to move away from the good towns.”
Zara waves over a server in a cream suit, and he's holding a tray of thick, red drinks. Wine? Nope. My stomach sinks as I realize the glasses are full of one of our taxes. Zara takes one, eyes me, and takes a sip as Maisy and Steve hover behind her, unsure what to do.
Silvia shifts next to me and Emmy, who has just taken her seat, frowns.
Is that a threat?
“You are very outspoken,” Zara says with a smile. “That's a noble trait to have so young. FHDA matters are tough to work out, unfortunately. We don't have many rules for our borrowers. That is true, but there are industry standards we have to meet. Emmy and I were just discussing that as well.”
She’s got a bit of blood on the side of her lip.
My stomach turns.
I've got to excuse myself. Emmy nods to me and I fear I'm turning green. Zara takes another sip and I say some vague thing about going to the bathroom.
I couldn't even look when I made my first donation two months ago and seeing where my tax is going is violating and disgusting. Weaving around the other tables,
I make my way to the dining room exit as a woman in the middle of the room welcomes all to the Young Activists' Dinner. She says something about a selection process when I get out into the wide hallway.
Saliva fills my mouth like I’m going to puke. Bathroom. Ugh, why am I such a wimp? It's down the hall and just around that curve. There are two doors flanking a potted plant with the man and woman symbols on them, and I bolt that way.
A group of guys is coming around it, heading to the dining room, I realize too late I'm about to smack into them. I collide with the first, and I let out a grunt as I stagger back and mutter an apology.
I blink in the dim light of the corridor. I glimpse longish dark hair, an angular nose, and a proud, perfect forehead. A navy blue suit forms an inverted triangle that leads my gaze downwards.
Shit. Really?
The hot guy from the hearing is right here?
The hot, vampire guy?
“I...I’m sorry,” I squeak, trying not to look at the four guys in sunglasses who still follow him. The hairs on the back of my neck tingle and rise. “I didn't see any of you. Going on a collision course is not what I planned.” I hold up a hand, then turn out my pockets to prove I've got no weapon. Why I do that, I don't know.
The vampire, probably not a day older than nineteen, is just five feet away from me, tops, and his reddish, veined eyes are almost hypnotic in that way the color crosses the vibrant green of his irises. He studies me. Yes. He's just as new to the public eye as the other young vamps, but he's different. Confident. And downright powerful. This is a man who gets what he wants.
He narrows his eyes at me, slow and controlled. What's my crime? Walking on the same floor as him?
Not letting him mess me up during my rant earlier?
“Sir--” one of his goons starts, moving to stand between me and him.
He holds up a hand at the guy. “It's fine.” Holy shit. This guy has the most deep, seductive, melt-worthy voice I've ever heard. He's every fantasy I've ever had melted into one. “I'll take care of this.”
If this vampire ordered me to die right now, I would probably do it. But mind control is just a rumor. Of course the vampires can't do that.