by Alex Dire
A voice boomed through the doors. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for joining me on this momentous day. Today will mark a great step forward in these changing times. There has never been a greater need in this city and this country for an urban educator at the helm of national policy. And for that reason, it is my great pleasure to introduce to you, Jim Walsh and Norman Bernard.”
A roar and applause vibrated through the double doors.
“Go time,” said Walsh. He pushed through the entry with one hand and immediately began waving with the other. Flashes burst out from all directions. He barely blinked. He was a pro.
The candidate stepped out onto the granite stair at the front of the building followed by his security detail. Norman trailed after with his own.
Shawbrin’s Chicago-mustached face smiled at them as he clapped from the lectern. His shortcropped hair had been gelled to stiff spikes. Walsh shook hands with Shawbrin and stepped to the lectern at the summit of the stairs.
The superintend turned to Norman. His smile drained and his pudgy face became cold, staring Norman in the eye for an uncomfortable second before offering his hand. Norman shook it. When the superintendent released him, his smile returned. He faced Walsh and clapped along with the crowd.
That went well. Norman scanned the crowd and saw the faces of his students and teachers mixed in with those of the general public. Why had they come? Was it to catch a piece of Walsh's celebrity? Was it to cheer on a home town boy making it to the big leagues? Walsh had never been a friend to the citizens in these neighborhoods, nor the students and teachers at this school. Maybe the community had the expectation when Walsh went to Washington, their hopes and concerns would become part of the National conversation.
Walsh stepped to the podium and waved one last time. The crowd fell silent. “Hello friends. I stand before you today, at Martin Luther King Night School, to make an important announcement. Education has always been a subject dear to my heart. Together, the people of this city, and I have struggled to provide the children a high-quality education. Their birth right. Night School is just one example of the innovative programs we’ve created together.”
Norman almost laughed. Walsh has tried to cut the funding for Night School twice this year alone.
“It has been a fight.”
Indeed.
“But together we’ve fought many battles for our children.” Applause followed.
“And I intend to take our fight to Washington and wage it on behalf of all students everywhere.”
I’m going to throw up.
“In addition…”
Norman stopped listening. Adrian grasped his arm and squeezed. Norman looked up at the tall werewolf who sniffed at the air.
“Something’s wrong,” said Adrian.
“I smell it, too,” said Juda. “Vampires.”
Adrian scanned the crowd. Norman did the same. He saw students, teachers, strangers. Nothing looked amiss. He looked toward the periphery of the crowd. A figure stood out to him, his face darkened by a hood. Two more. Three. Five. They stood at intervals around the edge of the crowd, hands in pockets, heads covered, faces obscured.
“We need to move now,” said Adrian.
“We can’t,” replied Norman.
“Do you want us as security or not?”
Norman stepped forward and whispered to one of Walsh's guards, “Something’s up.”
The guard tilted his ear toward Norman. “We’ve got this covered.”
“Let’s get back into the building,” said Adrian.
Walsh droned on. “In these fast changing times, we’ve learned that we’re not alone. That there are strange things sharing our world. Education will unite us.”
Norman stepped forward again and whispered to the guard. “We have to leave. Something’s going to happen.”
Walsh's voice deepened. “And now I give you, your next Secretary of Education, Norman Bernard!” He clapped and turned, flashing Norman his fake smile. Norman understood why he had to go along with this scheme, but he couldn't help but feel Walsh's slime rub off on him. The guards parted and all eyes in the crowd turned to Norman.
Norman swiveled his head, bewildered by the sound, flashes and attention. He took an unstable step forward. Walsh waved him on. Norman regained his bearings and looked through the crowd. Those hooded figures ringed the assembly like sentinels. Norman strode to the podium. He looked back at Juda and Adrian. They snapped alert glances around the throng.
The event rolled on. It seemed like there was nothing Norman could do to stop it. Perhaps he could glamor the whole crowd. It would wipe him out but he could do it. Judah had said “vampires.” Could he glamor them all too?
Walsh shook Norman’s hand again. The politician's giant fake smile widened. Then the crowd grew silent. Walsh stepped back behind Norman’s shoulder. Camera flashes continued to fire. Norman heard Juda’s low grumbling growl behind him.
Something was about to happen. Norman could feel it. He kept his eyes scanning the hooded figures. This would end badly. Plus, Norman had no speech.
He tapped on the microphone twice. “Good evening, everyone.”
Then as the crowd became still, listening, something changed. In a few places, a commotion disturbed the order of the crowd. Two men pushed through, moving toward the podium. Then they leapt into the air, over heads and landed at the top step.
Norman stood four feet away from two Corps. V soldiers. Now that they’d separated from the crowd, he identified them immediately. Adrenaline sparked his senses to overload. For a moment, the urge to run gripped him. No. Too many innocents. He had to protect them. Protect Walsh. Protect the plan.
Two huge vampires flicked out their fangs, murder in their eyes.
Norman stepped back but before his foot hit the ground, Adrian and Juda leapt past him. They impacted the warrior vampires and went tumbling down the stairs. They grappled and tore at each other as they careened, thudding and cracking their way down.
Norman quickly scanned the crowd for others. The crowd had erupted in chaos, hiding any aggressors in its midst. Onlookers began to flow away from the werewolves and vampires that grappled at the bottom of the steps. Norman raced around the podium to help his friends. Something caught his eye. A figure at the center of the chaos. A shock of silvery hair reflected the lights that the news stations had set up. That face. Skeete.
Norman clenched his fists and prepared to leap down the steps. But Skeete produced something from under her long coat. She raised an arm and pointed a small pistol at the top of the steps. Norman looked over his shoulder. Everything had happened so fast. Walsh's security detail had just begun to pull him toward the school doors. Norman leapt backward, blocking the retreating Walsh as Skeete fired the weapon.
Blood exploded from his gut. And the pain. The pain. Norman had been shot before. But it never felt like this. The bullet felt as if it had ragged edges that tore at his flesh and muscle as it scraped its way through his body.
The shot went clear though and struck one of Walsh's guards.
Norman dropped to the hard stone. He groaned and struggled to push himself back up. A second guard had a large handgun drawn. He pointed it up in the air as he stood between Walsh and the crowd. Norman searched around. He healed, strength returning.
Other members of the crowd began to emerge and line up next to Skeete. Juda and Adrian tore at the Corps V. But these Super V’s were stronger and healed faster.
Four vampires surrounded Skeete. Why did she always have that smile on her face? The space beneath the steps began to clear. Plain clothes Secret Service and regular police pointed their weapons at Skeete and her little band. They screamed orders at Skeete as nearly all the crowed melted back into the streets.
Nearly. Some of the onlookers stayed. Five figures, faces obscured by hoods stood like sentinels watching the events unfold. The wounded Secret Service guard lifted Norman off the ground. Norman pulled at the officer. “I need to help.”
&nb
sp; The officer did not relent. Norman should be able to pull free. But that bullet wound. It was as if a venom spread from his gut. It felt like wood.
The guard squeezed Norman in his burly arms. Norman wriggled his best, but hadn’t recovered enough to break free.
A blur from the bottom of the steps caught Norman’s eye. The hooded figures no longer stood at the periphery of the chaos. They’d disappeared. No, there they were right at the center. One gripped Skeete behind the neck while the others attacked Skeete’s crew.
The Secret Service agent dragged Norman backward. As he slid toward the doors, the stairs obscured Juda and Adrian. Skeete and her thugs kicked and fought with the hooded figures. Skeete swiped her arm around and fired another shot at one of them. The melee disappeared behind the school’s closing doors. Then shots. Too many to count. Then nothing.
16
Metrics
The EMT’s stared at Normans wound. He looked down as well from his prone position in the gurney. They had torn his shirt away and his bullet wound was wet with blood. The hole had rough edges, but had healed significantly at this point. Norman’s strength returned. He knew he didn’t need any doctors, but the security detail had insisted.
“What happened?” asked Norman.
One of the EMT’s looked up from the wound. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’m a vampire.”
The two technicians exchanged a glance. “We know,” said the first. “Sorry. I’m Gus.”
“Norman.”
“We don’t know how to treat you,” said Gus.
“You don’t need to. I haven’t seen a doctor in over one hundred sixty years.” Norman was not in the mood for a lesson on a vampire anatomy. “What happened back there?”
“You were shot. The bullet went right through you and hit Senator Walsh.”
Norman’s heart pounded faster. Blood oozed anew from his nearly healed wound. This would ruin everything. “Is he…”
“I don't know. Another ambulance is taking him to St. Vincent’s.”
Would he live? Was all this for nothing? What kind of chaos would ensue if he died? “I need to see him.”
“Take it easy. We’ll be there soon. Besides, you’ve just been shot. You need to relax.”
Norman looked down at his stomach. He wiped away the blood to reveal that the skin on his abdomen had returned to near pristine condition. “I’ll be fine.” He sat up, but sharp pains shot from the wound through his body forcing a wince across his face. “In a minute.” He leaned on an elbow. “What happened to the others? My bodyguards? The police?”
“It was a bloody mess,” said Gus. “We were assigned to you. I’m not sure who took the others.”
Norman leaned back in his gurney. He’d done it again. Pushed a student right into the path of danger. He hoped Juda and Adrian would be enough to take care of those two enhanced V’s. And those hooded figures who leapt into the fray. Vampires. But who? Norman’s mind spun in loops. Why would Skeete want to kill Walsh? This was getting much more complicated than he’d originally thought, and he’d thought it was quite complicated to begin with.
The ambulance rolled to a stop. Norman sat up on his gurney. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll be taking my leave.”
“But you…” said Gus. “You really should rest. You need to be checked out by a doctor.”
“No thanks.” Norman moved toward the latch on the back of the truck.
“I really must insist.” Gus placed his body in front of the doors.
Norman pushed past him with gentle force. “I don’t need permission. And I definitely don’t need a doctor.” He wrenched the latch around and heaved the door open. The motion sent another shooting pain from his bullet wound through his guts. Damn. This thing hurts. He covered his stomach with his hand and jumped down.
“Wait, Norman,” shouted Gus.
“Thank you for your service. And nice to meet you.” Norman made his way toward the rotating hospital entrance at a human pace. He could be inside and anywhere in the building in moments, but why call more attention to himself? Other hospital personnel already began to gawk at the man defying his EMT’s.
Norman shuffled to the front desk. “Senator Walsh's room, please. He’s just been admitted.”
“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to give you that information,” said the attendant.
“It’s okay. I’m with his campaign.”
The short man with a precisely shaved beard and scrubs, glanced at Norman’s bloody shirt and then over at an officer who’d taken interest in the conversation.
“Sorry. No one’s allowed to see him now.”
The officer placed a hand on his holstered gun and walked slowly toward the desk. “Something I can help you with?”
Norman really didn’t have time for this. He let the world drop away and saw the orbs of their wills dangling before him, arms of light waving in wild arcs. “No. I’m just here to see Senator Walsh. It’s no problem. You can tell me his room number.”
The officer’s tense face relaxed. “Okay. Just checking.” He walked back and watched the spinning door.
The attendant tapped some keys on her computer. “He’s in room 427. Anything else I can do for you?”
“No. Thank you very much.”
Once in the stairwell, Norman blurred his way to the fourth floor. When he emerged, human activity exploded in his face. Doctors and staff rushed around the corridor in frenzied haste. Police officers stood posted at positions throughout the long hall. Men in suits and glasses placed their hands on their ears and spoke into tiny microphones. This was total chaos.
Norman took a step down the hall. A man in a suit instantly stopped him. “What are you doing here?”
Norman recognized the brute from the school, Brady. “An ambulance took me here.”
“You shouldn’t be on this floor. Leave at once.”
Norman raised his eyes to meet Brady’s, grasping the man's will. Before the agent even spoke a command, he released Norman’s arm.
“That way.” Brady pointed down the hall.
“Why don’t you radio to your colleagues and tell them it’s okay to let me through.”
The burley guard lifted his hand to his face and spoke into his sleeve. “We’ve got Wingman coming to see Crossbow. He’s cleared.”
Norman weaved his way through the frantic crowd. Each Secret Service agent he passed, watched him the whole way.
Room 427. Norman raised a hand to knock, then thought better of it. He grasped the handle of the door and pushed it open.
If the hall had seemed explosive with energy. The room was twice so. The four walls could barely contain the men in suits. Some were large and had that plain clothes but obvious look of Secret Service, but they were overwhelmed by smaller men tapping on phones and rifling through papers on clip boards.
Walsh lay in the center of it all with a bandage wrapped around his shoulder. He looked through spectacles at the screen of a tablet that a woman held in front of his face. A doctor stood on the other side of his bed and held a stethoscope over his chest.
Norman moved to the doctor’s side. “Is he okay?”
The doctor turned to Norman. “Who are you?” He glanced down at the bloody shirt. “Are you supposed to be here?”
“Senator,” shouted Norman over the noise. “Are you okay?”
Walsh lowered his glasses and looked to Norman, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
“Bernard! What are you doing here?” Walsh glanced to the woman standing next to him. “Trudy, what’s he doing here?” He tilted his head to one side, looking past Trudy at the agent who stood behind her, hands crossed.
“He was cleared,” said the guard.
“Are you okay? They rushed me away before…”
“Get him out!” shouted Walsh. His annoyance nearly boiling over into anger.
The agent uncrossed his hands and stepped forward.
Norman hooked into the agent’s will and spoke. “It’s okay
. I’m cleared.”
“It’s okay. He’s cleared,” said the agent.
Norman didn’t have the energy for this. He was nearly spent from healing the wound and the glamoring he’d already done. He felt surprisingly weak. That gunshot wound had taken so much out of him.
Walsh's tensed eyes relaxed. “I see. Clearly you can get what you want here. So what is it you want? And make it fast. I’ve just survived an assassination attempt and have a lot of work to do. Oh, and thank you for jumping in front of me.” Walsh pushed the glasses back up his nose and went back to reading the tablet. “I didn’t know I inspired that kind of loyalty.”
Norman may have saved Walsh, but it was not out of loyalty. At least not to him. He was loyal to his nymphs. His influence over Walsh could protect them.
Norman turned to the doctor and shot him his teacher look. It was enough. “What happened? They moved me off before it was over.”
“It was never really a danger.” The doctor reached over to a tray next to Walsh and lifted a small object. “Wood bullet.”
That explained the lingering pain. Wood. Who kills a human with a wood bullet? Norman’s mind seized. No one. This bullet had not been meant for Walsh. It had been meant for Norman.
17
The Ranks
When Norman entered the Condo, Felicia leapt up and wrapped her arms around him. The TV was on and all the nymphs turned from it and smiled. Except for Tyreese. He never smiled. Declan placed Norman’s map on the coffee table and stood up.
“You’re back,” said Felicia.
Norman returned the embrace. She felt good to him. Like home. “I’m fine.” He released her to arms-length. “Juda?”
Felicia wiped a wet eye. “He just left. You didn’t see him?”
Norman shook his head. “The people in hoods.”
“Juda and Adrian explained everything to us. I thought you knew,” said Felicia.
“I was at the hospital.”