by Joshua Roots
Meat and Greet
The problem with a good offense is that it usually requires information.
I was three cups of coffee into the next morning, digging through the personal files of Devon and the other Elders, but still completely stumped.
My gut told me that somewhere, buried in that stack, was the right piece of leverage I’d need to start hunting the jackasses responsible.
My shaking hands also told me to switch to decaf.
The information Seamus found was split into several sections, all separated by sticky-notes. In addition to emails, he’d scrounged up browser histories, the names of desktop folders and a handful of personal papers that weren’t behind the archaic structure of the secured database.
Remembering the advice that the only way to eat an elephant was one bite at a time, I’d started with the emails.
Unfortunately, those proved to be completely useless. There was a flurry of discussions about food and sports, none of which mattered to me. So what if Rancin didn’t like chicken salad? Heck, the only email that stood out was a message from Elder Bristol to her husband a few weeks back ranting about the crushing defeat the Orioles suffered at the hands of the Yankees. Her love for the O’s rivaled my own, which made me feel a bit more akin to her.
Not that she’d ever given me the time of day, but still. It was nice to know the Elders were, in fact, human.
A good offense also requires uninterrupted time to process all the information. Halfway through the email traffic, my phone vibrated loudly, startling me.
Thankfully, it was from someone I actually wanted to talk to.
“Hey, Dad.”
“You have some explaining to do, Marcus,” he said without preamble.
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
He grumbled something unintelligible, then took a deep breath. “I’m referring to your friend, Pastor Rado.”
“Oh?” I felt bad that I’d almost forgotten about him.
“Apparently I helped you go behind the back of both the Council and Ambassador Jones. What you did was both uncalled for and disrespectful of her rank. It also makes the Council seem foolish for stiff-arming the Mosaic Group for so long.”
Crap. Maybe I was still detrimental to Dad’s career.
“So it’s a no go?” I couldn’t hide my own disappointment.
“Quite the opposite. I spoke with Elder Rancin this morning and she informed me that the reason why the Elders have been delaying this meeting is because they want as much buy-in from the Council as possible. As it stands, we are still almost evenly divided. But, she was able to convince enough of the Elders that the current media attention was a perfect time for us to reach out to the various faiths.”
“Good job, Dad!” The old man could sell snakes to St. Patrick if given enough time and motivation.
Dad sighed. “Honestly, I think it’s good for everyone. The old cadre is still reluctant to trust the Church despite the extension of the olive branch. And with the current make-up of the Elders, we could have gone another ten or twenty years before enough new blood was on board to force the issue.”
“In other words, we made the right call.”
“The right call, yes. But we went about it the wrong way. Certain processes exist for a reason, son. Whether you like them or agree with them, you need to follow them. Failing to do so disrupts the stability of the Council. More important, it angers a lot of high-ranking people.”
Echoes of Devon’s threat rang in my ears. “I’m sorry,” I said, guilt stinging me. “I’ll make it up to you soon.”
“You’ll more than be making up for immediately.”
My stomach flip-flopped. “What do you mean?”
“Rado mentioned you by name, so the Elders decided that you deserve to be part of the initial meeting.”
The coffee in my belly rumbled. “Now is a really bad time. I’m knee deep in research.”
“Sorry, son. But you pulled the pin on this grenade. Now you have to deal with it. Consider this a lesson in sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Be here in an hour. Oh, and Marcus?” he added. “It’s an official function.”
He hung up.
I stared at the silent phone for a good minute.
Then I cursed.
* * *
Sixty minutes later I was standing in the entrance of HQ along with almost three dozen of the Council’s finest brown-nosers. The entrance was still under construction, but the majority of repairs were either complete or hidden behind massive, ugly art. Someone probably figured that it wasn’t kosher to have giant holes in the sheet rock, but given the hideous tapestries and paintings, I wasn’t sure our interior designers had made much of an improvement.
We really did need to work on our aesthetics, especially when we were entertaining dignitaries.
Despite me not being the Council’s favorite product, I still found myself participating in the occasional—boring—function. Part of that was due to my father’s rank within the governing body. The other part was because the Shifters were one of the few surviving upper-crust elites from the days before the Delwinn Council.
In the years since returning from my self-imposed exile, I’d worked hard to minimize the number of official functions I attended. I’d skipped most graduation ceremonies, had avoided Skilled weddings, and had in general stayed away from all political meetings.
The only event I actually enjoyed was our upcoming Reformation Ball, but that was because there was an open bar and lots of dancing.
My ability to run from my responsibilities as a Shifter had vanished in the wake of our battle with Quaos. Having been assigned to HQ, I’d been forced to glad-hand with my “peers” more often than I liked.
Being thrust into the limelight recently didn’t help matters. More eyes were on me now. And I hated it with every fiber of my soul.
The entrance of HQ felt stuffy, what with all the bodies crammed into one space. Granted, the room could handle well over a hundred people, but after the recent attacks, being around a crowd made me nervous. I kept scanning the doorways, searching for anything that seemed out of the ordinary.
Unfortunately, that didn’t narrow things down.
For starters, the Councilmembers surrounding me were all high-ranking officials and not the low-level newbies or political strap-hangers that normally attended daily meetings.
I was impressed. The fact that the upper echelon was in attendance gave weight to the gravity of this situation.
Like all professional politicians, Councilmembers were always working an angle. I knew for a fact that most of them didn’t trust or even like the Church—and their faces showed it—but their desire to be seen as major players trumped their dislike.
Granted, the only people with real power were the Elders, but that didn’t stop the rest of the Council from trying to appear important.
In addition to the surprising number of Councilmembers on hand was the number of Elders not present. I’d seen Marquette and Rancin earlier, but that was it. That many absent from something as momentous as this meeting was clearly intentional. Perhaps I was seeing the rift within the Council firsthand.
The frustrating thing about the situation was the mixed message. On the one hand, the Skilled appeared eager and welcoming, but the lack of true authority made it seem like it was all just smoke and mirrors. A person could interpret that as an insult. If that’s what the Elders were going for, then so be it, but I couldn’t help feeling like it was not only unnecessary, but stupid.
The Skilled had spent almost a millennia living in fear of Normals and the organized religions of the world, so the least we could do was act like grown-ups and not pouting children.
But historic occasion or not, the whole thing was nothing but a detractor for me. I needed to be reading Seamus’s files that were sitting in my car, not standing around waiting to kiss up to a bunch of strangers.
“Hey, Marcus,” a familiar voice said.
I tensed.
&nbs
p; “Jethrow,” I replied at the man who appeared next to me.
“You lose a bet?”
I fingered the collar of my brown “daily” robes with a grimace. “Official function, official uniform. At least, that’s what I was told.”
“I’m honestly shocked.”
“I’m not a fan of wearing heavy wool in July.”
Jethrow smiled weakly. “I know. Your face is broadcasting your displeasure so loudly, you might as well be wielding a bullhorn.” He nodded at the crowd around us. “You may want to loosen up. It’s common knowledge that you’re the reason why this meeting is happening. Everyone also knows you went behind Ambassador Jones’s back to set it up.”
I glanced at several Councilmembers who immediately looked elsewhere when we made eye contact. If they knew I was behind this, then what did that mean for Dad?
Had I further jeopardized his career because I thought I was doing the right thing?
Could I forgive myself if I had?
“Lovely,” I grumbled.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think you made the right call. Sometimes we need to be pushed out of our comfort zones if we hope to progress. The Council more than anyone.”
His words of platitude struck a chord with me. One that I didn’t want played because I didn’t like the song.
Or the musician.
“No offense,” I said evenly, “but I really don’t care what you think.”
His pale lips lowered slightly. “I—I understand.”
We were silent, me fuming about the collateral damage I may have caused Dad, Jethrow likely wondering why he bothered trying to stay friends with me. Then he cleared his throat. “So, what’s your take on all this?”
I turned, looking him in the eyes for the first time. The edges were strained and the lines deeper. His face seemed thinner than before, his cheekbones more prominent. Maybe the strain of recuperation had been harder on him that I’d thought. Whatever the reason, his tired, older expression caused a twinge in the area of my heart where my old friend used to live.
“I don’t like it,” I said in a low voice.
“Why?”
I shrugged. “My gut is saying something is off, but I can’t put my finger on what. Maybe it’s the fact that only two Elders showed for this meeting. Like it or not, this is a huge deal. This conglomerate represents the organization who started the millennia of persecution against us and they are nearly begging us for forgiveness. Yet here we are, offering them only a fraction of our governing body. Doesn’t that smack of disrespect?”
“We’ve beefed up security,” Jethrow offered.
The guards were certainly dressed in their full battle-rattle. The Normals were decked out like Marines ready to storm the beach while the Combat Warlocks and Mages scanned the room, their long, wooden staffs held at the ready. To the outside observer, the Skilled guards blended into the crowd, but to me, they stuck out like sore thumbs. They were rigid, telegraphing their roles rather than fading into their surroundings. It was something that wasn’t an issue when Arbent was the head of Warlocks. Granted, his talents were needed on the rift repair teams, but the lack of his leadership was painfully evident.
“Security is one thing,” I said, disappointed with the sloppiness of the Warlocks and Mages, “respect is something completely different. We’re half-assing this shindig. What kind of message does that send, huh?”
“Well, three more Elders are in the meeting hall, but I see your point. All the Elders, and heck, the entire Council, should be involved in this asinine dog and pony show.”
“You? Insulting the Council? Color me shocked.” My sarcasm was as thick as wet concrete.
Jethrow sighed. “Listen, Marcus, I know you think I’m just a ‘yes man,’ but the reality is that there’s a lot I don’t like about what goes on. Sadly, change is a slow process, one that takes generations to fully complete.”
“So things will be different when you’re an Elder?”
“Yes.”
I glanced at him, shocked by his honesty.
“Assuming I live that long and am lucky enough to enjoy a successful career,” he added with a wry grin.
“Speaking of smart career moves, any word on McCain?”
Jethrow darkened.
The question was a reflex, a snarky way to shoot back whenever the emotions threatened to cause me too much grief. It was a defense mechanism ingrained after years of telling myself I hated Jethrow. But that didn’t make it right. Treble McCain may have betrayed the Council and his Hunter kin, but my old friend had suffered the most at his hands.
My heart ached.
So much for avoiding my feelings.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be. I will live with that mistake for the rest of my life.” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “But to answer your question, Treble is good at hiding. We’ll find him, though.”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually,” he echoed solemnly.
The twinge twinged harder this time and I found myself actually feeling sorry for the guy. In an effort to ease both our discomfort, I did what any red-blooded male would do in an uncomfortable conversation—I changed the subject. “So, you coming to the party on Saturday?”
“You mean the Reformation Ball which is supposed to honor the amazing union of the Skilled and Normal worlds, but now seems to be nothing but a huge media blitz for you and Elsa Klein?”
I almost laughed. I’d forgotten about his sense of humor. “That’s the one.”
“Yes.”
“I assume Carrie is joining you.” Just saying her name was difficult enough. Bringing it up with him was herculean—we both knew it was the first of many wedges driven into our friendship.
My old friend nodded cautiously.
“I’m glad,” I admitted. “It’ll be good to see you two together. Oh, and I heard through the grapevine that she’s preggers. Congrats. Hope it’s human.”
The shock on Jethrow’s face was priceless. I smiled, enjoying the fact that for once, I’d rendered the man speechless.
“There’s my dad,” I said, waving at my old man. “See you around.”
I weaved through the small crowd, avoiding men and women decked out in their finest robes, each accentuated with the family colors or crests. Most were combinations of powerful pairs like reds and yellows. The Shifters preferred subtlety, wearing all black with red piping on the edges.
“Why aren’t you in your formal robes?” Dad asked when I approached.
“They’re at the dry cleaners in preparation for the upcoming party.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “I suppose I should be thankful you’re attempting to be professional at all. Even if those are your ‘everyday’ set.”
“Hey, this is a huge step for me.”
Dad sighed. “Yes, I know.” He gave the room the once-over. “So, how are you doing with all this?”
“All of what? The media fame or the attention from the Council?”
“Both, actually.”
I shrugged. “I’m dealing with things, but haven’t enjoyed being at home recently because the crowds are getting out of hand. Don’t care much for the protesters or the news hounds. I may need to book a hotel room.”
“You can always stay at the Homestead if you like.”
The thought of curling up in the comfort and safety of my old bed was tempting. “Thanks. If things don’t spool down outside my townhouse here soon, I may take you up on that offer.”
“Your mother and I would love it.”
With as stressed as I was recently, I would too.
There was a commotion near the entrance and the crowd shuffled to get a better view. The newly repainted doors opened, revealing a small contingent of nervous men and women. They were dressed in various garb representative of their religious affiliation. Accompanying them were Elders Devon and Bristol.
I frowned. The data I’d seen had made it sound like Devon and Bristol were against
modernization. So why were they escorting the group?
Maybe they drew the short straws.
Devon looked, well like Devon always looked—perturbed. Bristol, on the other hand, seemed downright disgusted. She walked brusquely, her gray robes snapping at her heels. The religious personnel kept pace, but some of the older ones lagged behind.
Bristol was the first across the threshold, marching through the throng of Councilmembers like Moses parting the Red Sea. Her heels clicked with mechanical fury as she headed down the hall to our left. The religious leaders followed close at hand, but several paused to gaze around the interior of the HQ building.
At first I couldn’t figure out what the big deal was, but then it dawned on me that for the first time in almost a millennia, representatives of organized religion were inside the governing spaces of the Skilled.
Perhaps the arriving men and women wanted to soak in the occasion.
Then again, the entrance was still being patched together, so maybe they were wondering whether or not coming to HQ, the center of a lot of recent violence, was really a good idea.
Whatever their thoughts, the entire group continued through the entrance and turned down the hall toward the main conference rooms. Once everyone passed, the suck-ups and I fell in step behind them. Murmurs echoed off the marble, drowning the sounds of our footsteps. I couldn’t break out individual conversations, but what little I could piece together sounded as if our people were both excited and terrified of what was going to happen. Collectively they seemed to wonder if this implied that the bloody, centuries-old hatchet would finally get buried or if it was just another in a long line of betrayals.
Man, I hoped it was the former.
The small parade shuffled down the hall like cattle. I was beginning to wonder how we were going to get anything done with so many people, but that fear was squashed as soon as we reached the massive doors to the main meeting chambers. The religious leaders and Elders passed through unhindered, but Devon’s Admin Witch halted the rest of us.
“Elders and authorized personnel only,” she said politely.
“But we’re senior Council!” a Mage demanded.
“I’m sorry, but those are my orders.”