Demon Accords 6: Forced Ascent (41 page)

“That all sounds great except the part about presenting to the world.  What did you mean?” I asked.

“If you think Brystol’s been hitting the talk shows, you’ve seen nothing yet.  We’ll put you on every major news and daytime talk show in the nation,” she said with a smile.

“Ah, Tanya, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.  I’m not very good at the public speaking thing,” I said, more than mildly terrified.

She patted my knee and smirked.  “You,
zayka
, are possibly the most natural speaker I have ever seen.  In the past few days, your words, more than anyone’s, have changed the entire world.  You’re humble and sincere.  People eat that up, particularly in today’s cynical world,” she said.

“I hate to agree, but she’s right.  Maybe it’s that oh, so unsophisticated North Country bumpkin boy in you, but you do come across as entirely credible.  We’ll have you and the fur ottoman pose with kids; the moms will eat it up.  You tell them that there is no danger and it’ll go a long way,” Lydia said.

“I can’t tell them that there is no danger from vampires and weres.  I’d be lying through my teeth and doing everyone a major disservice,” I protested.

“See that right there—that’s what we’re talking about.  You tell it like it is and people believe you, plus now that Brystol has had her say, we’ve got the whole angelic thing going on,” Lydia said.  “It’s going to be a battle, Chris, so we’ve got to use everything we’ve got, which is, thankfully, quite a lot.”

“A battle for what?” I asked, already pretty much knowing the answer. “I thought we won the battle.”

“A battle to prevent interspecies warfare, Chris.  It would literally tear the world apart and kill millions.  We won a battle against demonkind.  Now we have to battle against human nature, and that one is much less cut and dried.  Your days of living under the radar were gone when Brystol outted you on her blog.  But now you have to embrace it and live it.  You have to be an ambassador between species,” Lydia said.

I stared at them in horror.  It was possibly the worst course my life could have taken.

Nika gave me a sympathetic smile and Stacia, who was born to receive attention, tried to look blasé about the whole thing, but I could feel her excitement.  Lydia was laughing at my expression and Tanya just held my hand.  ‘Sos chuffed and settled back on the carpet, his head by my feet.

The co-pilot poked his head out from the front.  “We’re landing in ten minutes.  The tower warned us that there is already a crowd forming outside the fences. Thought you should know.”

“Is good.  Finally a use for pretty boy face, eh?” Arkady said to me, smacking my shoulder as he headed to the galley for some blood.

Outside the cabin window, the rapidly setting sun was bathing the Big Apple in gold tones as the pilot circled us for our final approach.

Lydia plopped a pad and pencil down in front of me.  I looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“For your speech, hotshot.  You got like ten minutes to get something written, actually less cause we’re gonna have to clean it up and correct all the bad grammar.”

I looked the pad and tried to think up words.  Unfortunately, only one came to mind.  Shit.

Epilogue

The oily brackish water slid silently off my face mask, with not even the slightest burble to announce my presence to the three men standing in the dark on the East River dock.  None of the three were looking my way; one was staring out across the river, one watching the waterfront in one direction, the last watching the other.  Even the driver of the idling white panel van was watching some kind of device.  My approach underwater had been perfect, my emergence absolutely silent, yet all three stiffened just ever so slightly to my eye.  “Beowulf,” the one looking out across the river said, very, very softly.  “Beowulf,” the next said.  He was followed by a “Beowulf” from the last man on the dock and one from the driver who paused to scan some instrumentation.

I sighed and swam over to the metal ladder that extended into the water at the end of the dock, giving up all pretense of silent stealth.  For some reason that I don’t remember, all the security guys who work with me use the word
Beowulf
as an all-clear signal.  It started with Deckert and his men and spread to the vampires who guard me as well.  If things were hinky, they would have said “Grendel,” which makes sense as Grendel was a monster and if things went bad, I’d release my own inner monster.

“Everything all right, sir?” the nearest Darkkin bodyguard said as I came up the ladder, dripping East River water and shedding my gear.  “Your nighttime swim go okay?”

“Not really…” I paused, realizing I didn’t know his name. 

“Travis, sir.”

“Not really so great, Travis, plus I probably caught something in that water that even the V-squared can’t kill,” I replied.

He helped me with my gear; the rebreather, mask, fins, and wetsuit, leaving me steaming in the November night air in just swim trunks.  Then he poured the better part of five gallons of fresh water over me to wash off the river water.  I toweled off and climbed into the back of the van. Travis climbed in back with me. One of the others was riding shotgun and the last one drove a motorcycle. 

The motorcycle led as we headed into Manhattan.  In the back, I stripped off my suit, dried off, and pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt while thinking about both my night’s mission and the last week of activity since Washington.

A lot had happened.  First, true to her word, Tanya had begun reorganizing her business ventures, bringing them under one corporate structure.  She’d openly hired some of the largest firms on Wall Street to help orchestrate it and then granted interviews to CNBC and Bloomberg television to discuss it.  The CNBC one still stuck in my head.

Filmed in her newly appointed Manhattan office, it had been her and one of CNBC’s beautiful and razor-sharp reporters.

“We’ve been hearing the buzz on the street, Ms. Demidova, and given the recent events in Washington, I think you can understand why our viewers might be a bit more than fascinated to hear about your ventures with you being a…” Marie Barrera said, petering off.

“Vampire?  It’s okay, Marie, if I can call you that?  That’s what I am—a vampire, although my people prefer the name Darkkin.  Yes, to answer your question, I can imagine that there is a certain interest in us at this time,” Tanya answered.

“Well, the world has always been fixated on vamp… vampires or Darkkin, but now that we know you are real, it’s well… it’s blown up,” Marie answered.

“Yes, so we’ve noticed.  But back to the point of your visit: you’re interested in what kind of company Demidova Incorporated will be when I’ve finished pulling it together, right?  That’s a hard one to fully answer, as I don’t think there are any current corporations just exactly like it.  We will have a division that is focused on synthetic blood, blood cleansing techniques, blood supplies, and the like.  That one is near and dear to my heart, as you might imagine, and we have a lot of expertise in blood,” she said with a smile.

Marie laughed lightly, some of her nerves easing. “I imagine you might, at that.  Will that be aimed at supplying blood to your people?”

“Partly.  Synthetic blood will be a big seller as my people emerge into the light, if you’ll pardon the corny metaphor.  But beyond that, it offers tremendous potential for patients, human patients with blood-borne diseases.  We are working on techniques that could potentially eradicate Sickle Cell Anemia, Leukemia in all its forms, HIV, Hepatitis, and viral hemorrhagic fevers like Ebola.  I think there might be markets for that sort of thing, don’t you?”

“You really feel you have a chance at curing those illnesses?  That would be beyond huge,” Marie said.

“We’ve been focused on human blood for thousands of years, Marie.  We know all about it. But did you know a Darkkin can drink diseased blood and suffer no effects at all?  Our own body chemistry destroys them utterly and we think we can provide that to everyone.  But beyond the medical division, the Corporation will also have extensive real estate holdings, hotels and commercial properties, shipping and trucking enterprises, high tech research firms, defense industry companies, insurance and finance companies, and much more.  We have businesses in almost every country on the planet.”

“All staffed by Darkkin?”

“No Marie, staffed by people.  Human, Darkkin, and were.  Think about it.  My businesses never sleep.  During the daylight hours, humans run the show and at night, my Darkkin brothers and sisters take over the same desks.”

“Your employee expenses will be at least twice that of any other company,” Marie suggested.

“They already are and yet I’m making money.  Why?  Because I’m operating when others aren’t.  Twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.  Now, I know there are plenty of companies that do that now with shifts, but I guarantee that no human will stay as sharp in the wee dark hours of the night like a vampire.  Even my Christian gets a bit sleepy when the night gets very old.”

“Will he be part of your company?” Marie asked.

“He is my Chosen, Marie.  He is a part of everything I do, but as far as day-to-day stuff – not so much.  He is needed for other things, more important things.”

Stacia disappeared for a few days, summoned back to Brock and Afina for explanations.  I was nervous about that, as previously the packs had dealt harshly with any were who risked exposing the species.  Yet she was calm as a cucumber, insisting on going alone, confident she would be all right.  I sat in an SUV outside Lupine Industries headquarters with Deckert and a couple of his guys, trying to follow her emotions though my weak link to her.  I could point to where she was and I knew she was physically okay, but that was the extent of my knowledge.  When it became apparent that she wasn’t in immediate danger, I left.  She came back two days later, not saying a word about her meeting but radiating resolve, guardedness, and a small but solid core of satisfaction. She was immediately approached for interviews, guest shots on television shows, and even some guest modeling.  She dove right in, handling her new fame with a surprising amount of levelheadedness. 

She did have one small incident.  She had the opportunity to do a photo shoot in downtown Manhattan.  The event stopped traffic, with major paparazzi crowding around the shoot.  Partway through, an independent photographer bumped into a single mom with two kids who happened by.  The baby in her arms was fine but her toddler was knocked into the street, into the path of a bike messenger.  Stacia noticed it from thirty-five feet away, dropped her shoes, and sped over, leaping the crowd in one jump to grab the kid and step around the biker.  It was caught on at least five cameras. 

She handed the kid back to the grateful mother, told the photographer to watch it, and went back to the shoot like nothing out of the ordinary.  It made prime time news on every channel.

I had my own set of appearances, handed to me by the publicity firm that Tanya had hired, specifically my new double nemeses, Kyle and Jules.  One flamboyantly gay and uber-sarcastic, the other cool, calculating, and completely without mercy.  They dealt with the constant barrage of fans, haters, religious groups, and politicians that came literally out of the woodwork.

I did every major news show but successfully avoided the late night talk circuit.  My questions were mostly the same, just worded differently.  Did I talk to God (no), did we really go to Hell (yes), was I on good terms with the President despite the lack of any photos showing us together (a teeth-gritting yes)?  And, of course, the big one—are you an angel?  My answer was more complicated for that one.  It mostly went like this: 
“Well, (insert interviewer’s name here), angels aren’t allowed to manifest on earth; it would be a breach of the Accords.  That would result in war, and we wouldn’t likely survive it.  What about the angel at the church in Washington, you ask?  Well, he was on holy grounds, and he was answering the breach of Accords that Amaymon made by being on church premises.  But Barbiel wasn’t an Archangel.  You wouldn’t want to see an Archangel manifest on the planet.  They are God’s war angels and they’re weapons of mass destruction.  It would be bad, bad, bad.  Only Fallen angels could possibly be here on earth.  Am I a Fallen angel?  Next question, please.”

The media filled in the blanks for themselves, which was fine, as I wasn’t going to talk about it.

Jules came to me one day with a list of potential appearances.  “Pick one,” she said, pushing her thin glasses up her nose.  Lydia was hovering near the door but looked away when I glanced at her.

“Let’s see, guest announcer on MTV Awards show—Hell no. Guest on
Saturday Night Live
—no way.  Two, no three requests to go to governors’ inaugural balls in January—no, no, nyet.  Here, I’ll do this one—the Children’s Hospital,” I said.

“Ha!” Lydia said.  “Told you!  I win,” she crowed to an unflustered Jules.  For her part, my publicist from hell, who was almost the same height as Lydia, barely batted an eye.  “Fine, Chapman. As long as he keeps doing them, I’ll keep taking your suggestions and your bets.  Which one, Chris? There’s like seven or more?”