Presidential Vampire: Fate of the Union, page 7
And now Jeremy is suffering in silence.
And nothing I say will remove that fact.
What will he think of me, when I say that I knew, deep down, what was going to happen? Maybe some part of me was hoping for it because it meant that Jeremy and I could finally be together and not have to hide anymore. Ugh, why am I my own worst enemy?
Or maybe I just wanted revenge. To destroy this system from the inside.
"Ember?" Jeremy asks.
"It's nothing," I say, too quickly, as I think of Marcie.
Yes. I got her arm broken, which wouldn't have happened if I had just run. I can't win.
"I know Goodman is a horrible monster."
"I try not to be around him. But I'm scared that's the only way I'm going to find out more," I say.
Jeremy nods as the red lines in his eyes darken. "You shouldn't have to deal with this."
The SUV pulls up to another restaurant that must harbor another entrance to the underground. And I know we have a long night ahead of us, poring through books that may or may not offer clues. "What's done is done. There's no going back now."
Jeremy and I spend that entire night in the Diamond headquarters, which is mostly empty because there are no meetings and nothing new to discuss. Mike joins us, and so do Nathan and Zane, and together we flip through books that Mike himself checked out from the public library earlier that day. Turns out he was ahead of us, and his active hours aren't limited to when the sun is down. My brother can safely walk around Washington during the daytime hours, and he can disguise himself to boot.
Mike doesn't say much as he reads up on his Civil War history, particularly the Confederacy. While Goodman could have come from either side and easily erased any regional accents he picked up as a human, I'm guessing from the depictions of plantation houses I've seen in his mansion and his residence that he might have come from an area where they were common.
Mike makes lists of every general he comes across, and the list is too long for my liking. "Any one of these guys could be him." His voice echoes off the big walls of the meeting room.
Jeremy frowns at the list. "Nathan, do you have anything to say about that?"
The agent clears his throat after thinking. "The Diamonds have been trying to unlock Goodman's former identity for years, right along with Warrington's. Of course, even he is forbidden to speak of his human past, just like the rest of us. The problem is that he has buried his past especially deep. No one knows who turned him. Even Senator Voss hasn't been able to get any information from him."
"But why?" I ask. "It must be something that would get him in trouble, then. That's why we have to find it." Could destroying him politically be the start of annihilating him? Then an idea hits me. "They faked my death. They faked Jeremy's." I look at Jeremy as he frowns and balls his fists. Sure, that got him away from his father. "They must have faked Goodman's, too. We need to look for a human who 'died' around the time Goodman came on the scene, or right before."
Nathan nods. "Many human men died during the Civil War years. They were bloody. Someone could have taken any one of them for a vampire's heir. And we don't even know who turned Goodman."
"His human self would have been interested in politics, or someone wouldn't have chosen him," Mike says, scratching off a few generals whose death dates are too late in history to have been Goodman. "And probably business. I've been researching Goodman. He's worth, shit, way more than any of us are, combined. Even you, Jeremy, with that cushion under your ass." He glares across the table.
Jeremy holds back a snort. "I can tell you're Ember's brother."
"Okay," I tell them, hating this. "No fighting. We have a common enemy."
"And I'm not that rich, right now," Jeremy admits. "My father took most of my wealth when he turned me, so he can have the money for his campaigns. The only good thing is that my sperm donor didn't get to keep it."
I nod, angry for him. But at least Jeremy got revenge by taking the attention away from him.
I eye the clock on the wall and realize I have less than an hour before I must meet the guards. "Look, I think Goodman is taking me to work with him tomorrow night, so that might be a safer place to ask questions. He'll expect me. Mike, keep researching every guy you can, and once we find out who Goodman really is, we might know how to get to him."
The start of the next night, I get up early. As in, eight P. M early. That's my morning now, and I feel groggy at first, but a shower helps me to wake up and cast off the feelings of disgust that I now wake with every morning.
Goodman has confirmed that I'll go with him to his office today, which is Monday, and that I'm about to sniff out the atmosphere in the Senate building. Senator Scarborough will be there, and it's my job to run some errands and conveniently figure out the Heart Party Senator's schedule. Goodman has given me no other details.
Scarborough is oblivious, but if Goodman is going to send me after him, then he means business. And that sends a shudder down my spine.
I put on some black dress pants and do my hair with a curler that comes with the bathroom, which is something I never used to do. But it calms my nerves. I'll have to interact with Goodman more than normal today, and this is the time to prod for what makes him squirm. Other than perhaps the sun itself. I need to know his worst fears. His hidden weaknesses.
I need to find out who he is, because before he was the first Goodman, he was someone.
Without Jeremy beside me—he won't be able to see me much during work nights, unfortunately—the scariest part of the job falls on me.
Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.
Once in my dress shoes and in a tucked-in blouse that makes me look like a professional assistant, I leave my room after picking up my pajamas off the bathroom floor. I won't force Marcie to pick them up again, and if Goodman asks why, I'll just say picking up after myself is a habit, and maybe one that I need to break.
Once he's gone, I can apologize to her.
A visit to the steel kitchen reveals that the largest fridge holds those green-tinted bottles that have been keeping certain urges under control over the past few days, and once I take care of that and the hunger in my gut that I've come to hate, I find Goodman not emerging from his locked room, but alone in the big library.
He sits with his legs crossed, reading Romeo and Juliet. He speaks Romeo's lines slowly to himself, lost in the story, as if he's Romeo himself. I'm not fooled. Goodman might be a fan of the classics, but he's still a monster.
A monster who likes Shakespeare, maybe, but a killer all the same.
"When do we leave?" I ask. I will not call him Father. Ever. And I doubt he thinks of himself the same way. He's never once demanded the title, just business. I'm here to perform a purpose, whatever it is.
And then what?
"In ninety minutes," he says, snapping the book shut with one hand as if he's been caught looking at something inappropriate. He rises and quickly replaces it on a shelf. "You have seen my schedule, have you not?"
I've found out something new about Goodman, but I won't let him see my satisfaction. "Yes. You have three Committee meetings today."
He just nods and snaps, "And tomorrow?"
"Am I supposed to memorize the entire schedule for the week?" I let a bit of attitude shine through.
Goodman advances, lowering his voice. "You are to be my head assistant. That means that you keep track of my schedule and delegate tasks to the others."
I don't dare to back down. "I don't remember when you told me that. And I'm not going to go through a test first before I enter the public and have a job?" I ask. Jeremy had to go through the Panel with us activists, because this city had to test him, too, to make sure he had lost his compassion. What better way to do that than to pair him with humans who were in danger?
Humans he could care about?
His icy eyes flash. "We do not have time for those games. The next Panelist program is in nearly a year, and you will not be staying out of public sight until then. Jeremy needed to go through the program, perhaps. Actors are a special bunch. But not you," Goodman says, switching his tune. He smiles. "Remember. The rules do not apply evenly for everyone. But never say that out loud."
"But Jeremy is the First Son?" It's a legit question. "And you just did."
Goodman hardens his gaze. He switches moods on a dime. Ugh. The Senator reminds me of Jeremy during his worst moments. He's good at hiding what he's really thinking and keeping me on my toes. "The quiet parts make your plans work. It is making noise that brings you to the wrong kind of attention. Never bring attention to yourself."
His jaw works, and not just with anger, but with—
Is that the tiniest hint of terror deep in his eyes?
Goodman is afraid of something. I stare into those red-lined depths, silently begging him to say more, to tell me a story about when it all went wrong, but he quickly turns away, the motion warning me not to press any further.
He has fears.
A weakness.
And I've just seen the first hint at what it might be.
I have to ride beside the Senator in that SUV to the Senate building. Apparently, he's not terrified of the faint light left by the setting sun, and the SUV has tinted windows, anyway. Of course, the sun is going down right now, not coming up, so it won't be an issue for many hours yet.
The Diamonds won't be able to use that against him, then.
But I watch his every move during the ride. Goodman mostly scrolls on his phone while I pretend to scroll on my tablet. It's mine, for tracking his schedule. And he talks about my duties as the guard drives us closer to the Capitol.
"You have charge of my human assistants, though you cannot lay a hand on them," Goodman explains. "However, they can be quite useful for certain errands, especially when your own eyes are stretched thin. And we have assistants in many places as well who are not public. I will provide you with a list if your performance is satisfactory."
Excellent. I'm getting somewhere. Despite my shitty choice, I still can do something right. "Did one of them kill Melissa Scarborough? Jeremy told me about her death recently." That, sadly, is a safe topic.
Goodman smiles and watches the road ahead. "Yes. Brian Donnors was her claimed human, but I paid him well and handed him a weapon that could end Melissa while she slept. The plan worked well. Money is an unbelievably valuable tool if you know how to use it right."
He's giving me information.
Information I can give to the Diamonds, so long as it doesn't get traced back to me. I'm learning how Goodman operates, and I'm getting the feeling he likes to have others do his dirty work while he sits back.
"Got it," I say. "Can I use money to have someone spy on her brother? Someone unexpected?" It's a lie, of course. Scarborough might suck as rest as the other politicians, but I have no grudge against him, and I don't want to make Goodman happy.
"That," Goodman snaps, "would be a stupid idea."
"You just suggested it," I blurt. Or is it a stupid idea if it's not yours?
"Everyone is looking for how I work. I have a reputation that goes before me, and while it's useful, I have many enemies looking to expose my methods to the world. I maintain the right image in front of my voters, and they cannot find out that I must use unconventional methods to stop the Hearts from taking over with their tyranny. Humans rarely understand."
I want to gag. Politics. Translation: If people find out I'm a backstabber and a killer, they won't vote for me. And I don't trust you to choose good spies. Well, what did I expect? I forget that there are a lot of open secrets in Washington that most of the population doesn't know. The people of Colorado probably see Goodman as a champion for their state, who was there from the beginning.
But the Hearts make him tick, and that's good. "So, how do you suggest finding new spies?"
"I must vet them to the max," Goodman says. "Loyal Spades only. True believers in allowing natural selection to take its course, so that the deserving can thrive. Those who believe that the strongest vampires and humans can rule those who need it. The Hearts and their predecessors are going to destroy everything by allowing the weak to dilute our power."
I suppress a shudder as the Capitol looms larger. Goodman waits for my response. He's looking at me, expressionless.
Remember your survival skills, Ember. Simple answers. They leave little room for argument, and nothing for an attacker to grab onto and throw back. Attackers can't interrupt quick answers and scream at you. Shit, I have an entire mental guidebook.
"Got it," I say, forcing myself into a tone of agreement.
The Senator is like my parents, but on the opposite side of the spectrum.
And that makes me sick. I know what an ounce of disagreement will get me. Once again, I'm on eggshells. No, they're tacks. Laden with tetanus.
We pull up to the stone entrance of the Senate building and get out. Goodman waves the militia guards in with him, and the police officers manning the metal detectors don't bat an eye at the hidden weapons coming in. Yes, the officers fear Goodman, too, and they don't look at me as they wave us through without a scan. The rules apply less to Goodman, and to me, and that might be a good thing when I have to sneak around.
"Greetings, Senator Goodman."
Then I see him. Jeremy stands in the hall, like he used to back in the panelist days when I'd walk in.
But he doesn't move from the wall, and Nathan stands there beside him, ever vigilant.
"Jeremy," Goodman says, stopping. "Please understand. This is a workday. I know you wish to see—"
"I have nothing on my schedule tonight," he says with a grin, as if he just wants to hang out with me. And I want him to. I'm glad he's here, and that I won't have to weather this crap alone. "I have a night off from publicity and commercial filming."
"Surely you can find some other way to help with your father's upcoming campaign?" Goodman asks.
He wants Jeremy to leave. He's treating the First Son like a fly buzzing around his head, just without the arm-waving. What the hell? Goodman has been pushing me at Jeremy for the past few days, wanting us to get closer. Maybe he's afraid Jeremy will call him what he is: a moocher.
"My schedule is truly empty tonight. I was hoping to discuss the rumors about Warrington," Jeremy says.
Goodman shakes his head. "That will come later." Despite trying to get close to the Haywoods, he doesn't want Jeremy around for this workday.
And that's making alarm bells go off. But I keep my thoughts to myself and my expression neutral. "We must have a busy day, then?"
"Yes," Goodman tells me, motioning for me to follow.
I look at Jeremy and frown as I walk past him. He glowers at Goodman's back as he continues walking with the click of his shoes. And then he mouths, later.
I hope so. The thought of spending a full work night with this monster sends shudders down my spine, shudders that I'm glad he can't see. I leave Jeremy in the brick hallway, probably feeling helpless.
Goodman walks quickly, at a supernatural pace, and I'm able to keep up, which is good because everyone wandering the halls of the Senate building stares at us, mostly me, as we walk past with the two militia guards jogging behind us. Now that I'm here, he's upped his security. I don't remember Goodman walking around with his guards at work before. He used to just elbow-lock Nadine.
But the attack on his mansion must have him rattled.
And no one will dare to stand up to him.
And no one whispers in the halls as we leave the elevator to the ground floor.
I've never been to Goodman's office. Turns out, it's a corner office behind an unmarked door. He's careful about that, too. Or maybe he had a sign before and took it down after the attack.
Goodman, I realize, is a coward.
But if I say that out loud, it won't be good.
I watch as the Senator unlocks the door and pushes it open, despite being able to break locks with his bare hands. Well, apartment locks. I'm not sure how strong these office ones are. And in his office, which has another window shuttered by what I'm guessing is aluminum, sits two people who must have gotten here first and locked themselves inside. A third stands just inside the door, standing at attention, and she's wearing a black uniform like the two guards behind us.
Amelia.
She's also sprayed herself down with that unappetizing pine scent, and I turn away from her after I realize that her skin is untouched. And my heightened senses pick up that she's putting most of her weight on her left leg. It's true. Zane shot her in the right leg, and Goodman still expects her to work.
Even though I can smell the plastic of a bandage and the sting of disinfectant.
She looks away from me as I enter the office behind the Senator.
Amelia can't stand what happened to me.
And that makes me feel worse.
I step past her, not saying a word. Goodman's office is a lavish space with leather furniture, and paintings of forest scenes, old theaters, and even a few Shakespearean scenes on the walls. All the frames are metal, and his desk, like the ones at the residence, is at the very end of the room. It's made of glass and ceramic, not wood. Again, there's nothing in this space capable of even weakening Goodman.
There are four other desks and two are empty. Then I spot the two people seated on either side of the room. And I head to the one closest to Goodman's.
I can't help but gulp.
At one workstation sits Nadine, who is already busy poring through a laptop.
And at the other is one of the last people I want to see.
The crow-like face of the young vampire woman trains on me, and her dark eyes seethe with hatred as she tries to burn a hole in my chest. I look away, but Beatrice works her jaw so intensely that I can't ignore it.
Beatrice. Shit. Goodman did say he was going to approach her to bring her into the Spades, and I completely forgot.
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