by Jade Kerrion
The older woman threw the younger one a sharp glance and then reached out to pat Dee’s hand. “I think it sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll hold the banquet room for you, and we can settle the payment after the event. If you hold a concert in there, it could probably fit up to eight hundred people, perhaps a little more if you pack them in tightly. Maybe even a thousand.”
Dee bounced in glee. She grinned at the woman. “Thank you, that’s great. I’m going to talk to my boss and ask him to lend us the sound equipment, and then round up some friends and start getting the word out.”
“How much are you charging for tickets?” the blond woman asked.
“Oh, not much. We just want people to come and be changed by Dum’s music…but the ticket sales will be enough to cover the cost of the room,” Dee hastened to add. “If there’s any extra, then it’ll go to the foundation.”
“So it’s not really about college scholarships.”
Dee shrugged. “Of course it is, but I don’t think we’ll pull in much more than a few hundred dollars at this event once we pay off all the expenses. Still, it’s a good cause, and in a few years we might be able to send a kid to college.”
The woman nodded thoughtfully. “What is the name of your foundation?”
Dee managed a sheepish grin. “It doesn’t have one yet. I’ll have to start doing the paperwork. We tried to get some help from various people, but it didn’t quite work out, so it looks like we’ll have to make a go of it on our own. It’s going to be great though. Eight hundred people on Christmas Eve will be a fantastic start.”
The blond woman smiled. “Yes, it will be.”
~*~
That evening, the lively beat of Dum’s music pounded through the parking lot, and Dee resisted the urge to bounce along to it as she wove her way through the crowd. She stopped in front of two well-dressed couples and handed out the drinks on her tray. “A Jameson on the rocks, a gin and tonic, a mojito, and a Sprite. That’s forty-seven fifty. The Sprite’s on the house.”
A young man dug out two twenties and a ten. “Thanks, and keep the change.”
Dee dimpled a smile at him and then spun around when Mario shouted her name. She frowned at the urgency in his tone. “What is it?”
“You have to come with me.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her through the crowd. The cluster of people seemed unusually dense, but Mario shoved his way through and pushed Dee into a small open space.
Dee blinked as she took in the television crew, cameras, and spotlights focused on a blond woman in a black suit. With heavy make-up and elegantly styled hair, the woman looked quite different from the pony-tailed woman at the Cherry Hill reception desk who had quizzed Dee on her intentions earlier that day.
The woman smiled and gestured toward Dee. The cameras swiveled. “And this is Suzanna Cortez, who goes by the charming nickname ‘Dee.’ Her brother is the genius behind the music you’re hearing, but she is the heart and soul of the upcoming Cherry Hill dance party. You must be very proud of your brother, Dee. I spoke to the Chief of Police at the Metropolitan Police Department, and he confirms that violent crimes in Anacostia have taken a nosedive over the past month. From our prior conversation, you implied that Dum’s music might have something to do with it.”
Dee gulped, braced herself, opened her month, and spoke from her heart. “Music’s just a sound unless people listen to it. Music is just noise until people allow themselves to sing and dance along to it. The people who have come to listen to Dum’s music are the ones who have changed Anacostia.” She waved her hand, and the camera swiveled to capture the grinning faces of Anacostia’s gang members in their varied gang colors. “By holding the Christmas Eve concert at a Cherry Hill Park, we hope to attract people who typically would not come down to Anacostia—” Several gang members made obscene mocking gestures at the camera, but subsided into apologetic smirks when Dee glared at them. “—and we hope that they’ll give themselves a chance to enjoy Dum’s wonderful music.”
The woman nodded. “The Cherry Hill Park management team has kindly agreed to sponsor the use of their banquet hall for this event so that the funds raised from the ticket sales for this event can go to the foundation that Dee and Dum are setting up to send orphans to college. The foundation is an admirable cause, certainly. Dee and Dum lost both their parents to the ongoing conflict between humans and derivatives, a traumatic event that scars Dum to this day. The true cause, though, is a young human woman’s determination to help her twin brother, a mutant, find a place in the world, and for that, we applaud her.” The camera swung around to focus on the reporter, and her red lips tugged into a cheeky smile. “If you’re interested in sponsoring this fantastic effort to prove to our children that humans and derivatives are not just bad-tempered turkeys endlessly pecking at each other, you can find Suzanna Cortez, better known as Dee, at the Legends Nightclub in Anacostia. This is Maggie Larson, reporting for WUSA. Back over to you, James.”
Maggie held the smile until her cameraman gave her a thumbs-up sign. “And we’re clear,” he confirmed.
Maggie shook her hair back from her face and turned to Dee with a friendly grin. “I’m sorry to drop in without warning, but I thought you did really well in front of the camera.”
Dee wrung her fingers together and bit down on her lower lip. “I…uh…I’m sorry about the bad-tempered turkeys comment.”
Maggie laughed. “I loved that comment; it made me sit up and listen to you. That statement’s guaranteed to make the newspapers tomorrow.”
“I guess I just didn’t recognize you back at Cherry Hill.”
Maggie shrugged. “I was just hanging out with my sister. Marge called the owner after you left. He agreed to a substantial discount on the room rental, and Marge and I decided to cover the difference. Consider it our donation to the foundation.”
Dee’s eyes shone. “Wow, I…I can’t thank you enough.”
“You struck a chord, Dee. Marge is human, and I’m an in vitro. You were right about families having to show the way; our leaders just aren’t getting it right.” She held out her hand. “Good luck with your concert. I wish you all the best.”
~*~
Two nights later, Dee snatched a quick break and cornered Mario in the kitchen. She took a poster out from her backpack that she had stashed in a corner of the kitchen. Her smile hopeful, she showed Mario the poster. “What do you think?”
He took it from her, angled it against the bright light in the kitchen, and then arched an eyebrow. “You failed art, huh?”
She peeked over his shoulder. “Is it that obvious?”
“No sense of proportion or color.” He rolled his eyes. “I have a niece who is majoring in graphic design at the community college. I’ll ask her to help you design a better advertisement for the dance party.”
Dee sighed. “It’s not that bad, is it?”
He nodded and offered her a cheerful grin. “It’s terrible, but she’ll make it better. How’s the rest of the planning coming along?” He glanced at the piece of paper Dee had pasted on the wall the prior day. Names were scrawled in various colored pens and with varying degrees of legibility against lists of neighborhoods in Washington D.C., Virginia, and Maryland. The employees of Legends were signing up in droves to make Dee’s vision real.
Dee followed his gaze and grinned. “We’re going to pepper the neighborhoods with posters; we’ll stick them up on lampposts or community center bulletin boards. Louisa is creating a website for the event—she says she’ll have it up in a week—and we’ll sell tickets online.” She hugged herself with glee. “It’s really coming together, Mario. It’s not as big as I’d hoped for, but it’s a start.”
“You always have to start somewhere,” Mario agreed. “Now, get back out there. It’s another busy night.”
Dee headed back out into the club. There was no doubt that Dum’s empathic powers traveled through walls. The atmosphere in the club was as lively as it was outside. Loudspeakers piped in the music that Dum pl
ayed from the soundstage outside the club, and the dance floor was packed.
It was a little past midnight when someone familiar flagged her down. She paused, her eyes widening. “Jason?”
Jason Rakehell nodded. “I saw the CBS news report two nights ago, and I had to come and see for myself what your brother can do. It’s amazing. I don’t even think Danyael could pull this off. That kind of simple delight and relaxed pleasure wouldn’t come naturally for him.”
“I think it’s just a matter of finding the right buttons to push.” Dee recalled the pleasure that had flashed over Danyael’s face at Jason’s affirmation that Danyael was more important to Jason than his job.
“Danyael’s not here, is he?”
“He’s usually around for an hour or so when the club opens, but he’s probably left by now. Can I get you something to drink?”
Jason held up his full glass. “I’ve been sipping slowly. It wouldn’t do to be the least bit drunk out here.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to Dee. “Come see me at Purest Humanity tomorrow. I’ll have some of my less-radical directors lined up to listen to your proposal, and we’ll figure something out.”
Dee grinned. “That’s awesome. I’ve already started planning for the party out at Cherry Hill—I’m sure you know that the conversation with Lucien didn’t go well.”
“I didn’t think so. Danyael didn’t say a word during the car ride back to Anacostia.”
“It’s more than just the discussion about the dance party that didn’t go well.”
“Lucien and Danyael have a lot of history together, and the past two years have been hell on them. Most of their conversations are guaranteed not to go well. Still, it must have gone better than you thought. Lucien’s out there.”
“What?”
“He’s out there with a pack of bodyguards. They look like a gang, except they’re wearing suits. I don’t think Lucien would show up at the club unless he had some intention of following through on the conversation you had with him.”
Dee rushed out of the club in search of Lucien and his bodyguards. Several minutes later, she saw them clustered at the edge of the parking lot, far outside of her assigned section. She might not have found them if not for Jason’s tip, and he was right; they looked terribly out of place. Lucien, dressed a white shirt and leather jacket over a pair of faded denim jeans, might have blended in, but his suited bodyguards did not.
Lucien met her gaze and nodded to her. The wall of bodyguards parted like the Red Sea.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“No, thanks, and my guards don’t drink on the job.” He nodded toward Dum. “That’s quite impressive.”
“People from D.C. and Virginia are coming in just to listen to him. The gang violence is down—”
“Do you have any numbers to back up that statement other than a vague affirmation from a CBS reporter who says she spoke to the Chief of Police?”
Dee shook her head. “No, I don’t, but Danyael isn’t as exhausted these days from healing gun shot wounds.”
Lucien nodded. “Good enough for now. I can have my lawyers track the numbers down.”
Dee’s eyes widened. “Lawyers?” The word came out in a squeak of panic.
“You’ll need lawyers to draw up the documents necessary to set up the foundation. Someone will be in touch with you tomorrow.”
“You’re going to help me?”
“You have a worthwhile vision, and you’ve demonstrated good sense in your choice of mentors, especially Danyael.” The name was drawn reluctantly from him. He waved a hand at Dum. “And most importantly, you have results.”
Her brow furrowed. “I…thanks, but…why did you change your mind.”
“Did anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”
“I’d rather not be caught off guard by some condition I didn’t know existed before,” she retorted.
Lucien chuckled, the sound without humor. “It appears Danyael is rubbing off on you, after all.”
“I was always the cynical, skeptical type.”
“It was what you said just before you left, that Danyael and I both wanted what was best for Luke, and that most of the time, it would be the same thing. You are right. It’s been hard to see past my irrational hatred of Danyael, but you were right in that Luke would probably benefit from knowing Danyael, if only to know what not to become.”
Dee snorted. “You two even think alike. That’s exactly what Danyael said.”
“He’s not here, is he?”
“It’s past midnight; he’s probably back at his apartment now.”
Lucien glanced in the direction of Danyael’s apartment. Did he know where Danyael lived? How much more of Danyael’s life did Lucien track surreptitiously? “I had Luke created to replace him,” he said quietly.
“Danyael?”
He nodded. For a brief moment, Lucien seemed alone and vulnerable, even though bodyguards surrounded him. “Cloning Danyael seemed like the only way I would ever get my best friend back.” The silence lingered, and then he seemed to snap back into his typical incisive self. “I expect to be on the board of directors for your foundation. It’s the condition for my assistance.”
“Does that mean Danyael can’t be on the board?”
“I doubt Danyael will accept the position even if you offered it to him. He does not enjoy the spotlight, but yes, you assume correctly. You can have either of us on the board of directors. You’ll make the right choice, I’m sure.” The curve of his lips was more smirk than smile as he turned and strode away, flanked by his bodyguards.
Bastard, Dee thought, but the curse was issued without heat. Her grin was so wide that her cheeks ached. She clasped her hands and turned to look at Dum who was, as usual, oblivious to her and to the crowd dancing around him. Amazingly, Lucien Winter had come through for Dum and her. Would the miracles never cease?
CHAPTER TEN
If Legends was her second home, the reception area of Danyael’s clinic was her third. Dee twitched in an uncomfortable plastic chair and stared at her watch. If Danyael and Dum did not finish their training session soon, she would have to run ahead to start her shift at Legends instead of traveling together with Dum, which she preferred. Her fingers tapped nervously against the light titanium frame of her electronic tablet. For the umpteenth time, she pulled up the document the lawyers had sent to her after their discussion earlier that morning and scrolled through pages of near-incomprehensible legalese.
Lucien’s driver had shown up at her door at precisely eight thirty in the morning. She had not fully woken up. Heck, she had not even had her coffee yet. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she had opened the door and gaped at him as he introduced himself. “I’m Joe Castillo. I work for Lucien Winter. I’m here to take you to the offices of Sullivan and Reilly.”
“Five minutes!” She slammed the door in his face and raced into the bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair. She swapped her ratty T-shirt for something less disreputable and dragged on a pair of jeans.
She ran back into the sitting room and pulled the comforter off Dum’s head. “I’m going to the lawyer’s office.”
He grunted and swatted her away without opening his eyes.
Dee knew she looked marginally better when she opened the door to Joe once again, though her nerves were no less frazzled. “Hi.” She wiped her palms on her jeans before extending her hand out to him. “Sorry about that. I…uh…didn’t know what time to expect you.”
“Mr. Sullivan was able to clear his calendar after Mr. Winter told him that it was a matter of some urgency. Your appointment with Mr. Sullivan is at nine,” Joe said. “This way, please, Miss Cortez.”
The black BMW sped Dee downtown to the offices of Sullivan and Reilly, and Joe escorted her up to the office on the twenty-seventh floor. Chewing on her lower lip, Dee walked up to the receptionist’s desk. “I’m Dee, I mean, I’m Suzanna Cortez, and I think I have an appointment.”
&n
bsp; “Yes, with Mr. Sullivan.” The receptionist’s voice was pleasant and neutral, and she was apparently too well trained to react with dismay to Dee’s appearance. “Would you like to have a seat? He will be right out.”
Feeling both young and gauche, Dee sat on the edge of a leather chair and tried to ignore the curious gazes of the other men and women in the reception area who looked at her as if she were an alien. She felt like an alien in her T-shirt and denim jeans. Why didn’t anyone warn her in advance that she was entering a business-suit only zone?
A heavy-set man with a florid face and a shock of red hair emerged from a corner office and strode toward her. A much younger man accompanied him. “Miss Cortez? I’m Patrick Sullivan.”
She shot to her feet and shook the hand he offered.
“This is my associate, Kieran Ellis. He’ll be working with me on your case. I’m delighted to meet you. Come this way, please. We have much to discuss.”
Patrick Sullivan’s corner office offered an impressive view of Washington D.C. and the Mall, but Dee only spared it a quick glance as she took a seat across from the large oak desk. Her fingers entwined, mostly to keep from fidgeting.
Lean and dark-haired Kieran sat beside her, a tablet and an electronic pen in his hand.
Patrick sat behind his desk and took charge of the conversation immediately. “Our understanding is that you intend to set up a non-profit foundation to provide college scholarships to young adults. Kieran will prepare and submit the paperwork needed to register the foundation, but we do have a few questions for you.”
Dee nodded. “Fire away.”
Most of the questions were straightforward, though the question on the foundation’s name caught her off-guard. It should not have, but until that very moment, the foundation had been nothing but a pipedream. They chuckled at the name she suggested, but did not object as she had anticipated. After she had gotten through their questions, she listened as they laid out a plan with a level of precision and detail that would have made the military proud. The existing sponsors, including Cherry Hill Park, Marge and Maggie Larson, and the Legends nightclub would be acknowledged on all promotional materials, but the dance party would be held at the Verizon Center; Lucien had already secured the location for Christmas Eve.