The Ferryman Institute (47 page)

Before Koroviev could respond, Alice was already answering for him. She spoke defiantly, even as she wiped at her eyes. “Excuse me? Yeah, hi, me again. For the record, it was totally my fault. I made him do it. I told him I needed to see Charlie, urgently, that I knew something bad was going to happen. I mean, it turns out I was right, but still, I know what he did was against policy or whatever.”

Charon's words were ice. “That doesn't excuse this transgression.”

“Except,” Melissa said, “he saved Dirkley Dupine and the president of the Institute, that being me; tracked Javrouche as our eyes and ears; and most likely saved Ms. Spiegel's life by informing Virgil about Javrouche's impending arrest of Charlie. I think that should count for something.”

Charon merely sighed and shook his head. He, too, was looking increasingly helpless. “A matter of discussion for another time.”

Alice looked up at Charlie, still in his arms. “Who's Virgil?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

He gave her good shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Long story,” he said. “Nice outfit, by the way.”

“Thanks,” she said, looking down at her ensemble, “they were out of pink.” She patted him on the chest before taking a step back and clearing her throat. “So, what happens now?”

Charlie honestly hadn't thought that far ahead and wasn't sure he wanted to. “I might be able to delay things for a while, possibly until you've recovered. Buy a little bit of time. Other than that, my options are pretty limited.”

Alice smiled weakly. “I heard through the door. Doesn't sound like you really have much to work with.”

He shrugged. “It is what it is.” He was stalling, truth be told. It just felt like the moment he stopped talking to Alice, it would all be over. He'd have to go through with his choice and disappear into the afterlife beyond or, worse yet, consign himself to immortality. Suddenly, standing with Alice next to him, neither option seemed very appealing. The chance to leave—the option he'd always wanted—was finally on the table, and yet this girl standing in front of him made him reluctant to even consider it.

It seemed the moment was just about ready to slip away when Melissa jumped to her feet and turned to face the man whose team she'd managed for years. She'd been watching him and Alice, but Charlie realized only now that her eyes were slightly damp.

“There's another option. A better option,” she said. She spoke with the same fervor of a preacher visited by God in the night. Melissa looked between Charlie and Alice, weighing something against the two of them. “I have a proposition. I want to offer you my position as president of the Institute.”

At this point, Charlie wasn't even surprised anymore. The way things were going, he fully expected to be asked to take over as King of the Universe before the day was over. What was surprising, however, was Cartwright's immediate and visceral reaction to her offer.

“Madam President, you can't be serious!” Charlie couldn't remember a time when he'd seen Cartwright this upset in person.

“No more, and that's an order,” she whipped back, though the tone lacked anything harsh in it. “This is my decision and mine alone, Virgil. Not another word.” Cartwright almost visibly held his tongue.

She turned toward Charlie again, picking up her folder as she did. “So, the presidency. It can be a real pain in the ass, and the hours can be long, particularly when you have Ferrymen who regularly disappear on you, hint hint. It's rewarding, though, and you get to focus more on the people at this place than the morbid stuff you're used to dealing with. It's not a perfect trade, but it's a step in the right direction. However, there's one perk that comes with the job that I think you'll find particularly interesting. You see, Charlie, the Institute has this rule . . .”

As she spoke, she opened the folder and placed one of the edges in her palm.

“. . . that while the president runs the Institute, they must be a mortal. The presidency brings with it a lot of power in its own right, so it'd be too dangerous to put that in the hands of a person who doesn't die. Again, checks and balances and what have you.”

Charlie flinched as Melissa ran the folder savagely across her palm. She grimaced as the thick edge dug into the fleshy part of her hand.

“What that means, though, is that I can offer you something no one else can.”

With her hand clenched in a tight fist, she held it over her glass of water. Just when Charlie was about to ask her what she was doing, he saw it. Dripping down from inside her hand, the color of pure crimson, was blood. A large drop hung daringly above the glass until, finally, it fell into the water with a tiny
splash. The blood diffused throughout the liquid, spreading out among the water like sanguine smoke. Stunned, Charlie looked up from the glass to find Melissa's eyes, glimmering with a kind of shimmer reserved for the mad geniuses of the world, locked on his own.

“I can offer you your humanity back.” A grin commandeered her lips, which only made her expression seem more frenetic. “So, what do you say?”

A
lice didn't really have any idea what was going on, but the word
humanity
had been used and suddenly the whole room seemed like it was going to collectively lose its shit. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that, one, nobody there had quite expected to be talking about this and, two, there was something else going on, something no one was addressing.

Apparently, Alice wasn't the only one with that feeling, either.

“Madam President, surely this merits some discussion,” the woman with the blond hair said.

“I agree,” a man buried underneath a hood added, followed by the rest of the gathering more or less voicing the same opinion.

Melissa, however, didn't seem too bothered by what they thought. She continued pulling files from the bag she'd brought with her. “As I told Virgil, this is my call.”

“Except the Council is to determine your successor,” a dark-skinned man replied. “You should be well aware of that. We picked you, after all. This isn't your choice to make.”

“The other option is you lose Charlie for good,” Melissa countered. “Given every conversation we've had about him, including
the one we literally just had a few minutes ago, do any of you really object?” She shook her head. “Not for nothing, but I'm making some pretty awesome lemonade over here with the lemons we've been dealt.”

Alice didn't really know who this Melissa character was, but she approved of her spunk.

“Whether or not we object is beside the point.” The other woman, the one with dark hair, this time. “You're overstepping your bounds here, Madam President.”

Melissa took a long look at the people circled around the table, then sighed. “I apologize if I'm coming off as a bit flippant. I don't mean to be. However, this whole entire mess is my fault, and this feels like an opportunity to make amends. Besides, technically I
can
appoint my own successor. It's just whether or not you decide to oppose my decision that matters.”

Alice leaned in close to Charlie's ear. “Based on how you made it sound, I thought your job would be a lot more blood and thunder and a lot less . . . I don't know, C-SPAN-y,” she whispered.

“It usually is. If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea what's really going on here, either,” he whispered back.

“Oh. Fair enough,” Alice said. She thought for a moment. “Why would that make me feel better and not, you know, mildly concerned?”

Charlie thought about that. “That's a good question,” he said. He never provided an answer.

When Alice let her attention rejoin the conversation, Cartwright was speaking. “As long as there is an acting president, we cannot directly influence Institute matters. That fact is unavoidable. Our only recourse to overturning a presidential decision,
then, is a unanimous vote opposing it. Much as it pains me to do so, if this is what our president has decided as her course, then I will support her in it. I shall not vote against her.”

A man sitting across from Cartwright rolled his eyes at the remark. “Of course you won't. When this is all over, I'd like to open an examination into your own actions.”

“I await it with bated breath,” Cartwright replied.

“Enough. Regardless of the circumstances, with Virgil's vote, the president's decision stands,” said the dark-skinned man. “You have our consent, Ms. Johnson, begrudging though it may be.”

Melissa gave a short bow. “Thank you, Charon. I assure you I'm acting with the Institute's best interest at heart.”

“Let us hope,” he replied.

As the immediate conversation seemed to die down, Charlie took a step forward. “Can I interrupt for just a second?” he asked.

“The floor is all yours,” said Melissa, who at that point had returned to sifting through folders in her bag.

“Great,” Charlie said. The lack of enthusiasm in his voice suggested he meant otherwise. “So, the president—that being you—isn't immortal?”

“Correct,” Melissa said. “Remember: checks and balances.”

“Sure, I get that. But shouldn't you have bodyguards or something? Aren't you worried about . . . well, I don't know how to put this any other way, dying?”

The dark-skinned man spoke next. “The primary reason both the president's identity and mortality are kept secret is for their protection. As for death, every mortal dies eventually. The president is no exception. When their time comes, we choose a new president and move on.”

“I can't help but feel like there's a catch here,” Charlie said
matter-of-factly. He looked around the room, searching for affirmation, but when there was none to be had, it only deepened his suspicion. “Right, then. What's the catch?”

Melissa was now carefully laying out sheets of paper, signing them in spots before placing them into orderly rows. “No catch,” she said, answering quickly without even looking up. “If you become president, you still obviously can't live a normal life, per se, but it's much closer to the real thing.” There was an eerie silence that followed her words, and for her part, it seemed like Melissa was trying to look as busy as possible signing papers.

“Mel,” Charlie said. When she didn't look up, he raised his voice, speaking firmly and with conviction. “Mel!” That did the trick. “What's really going on here?”

“You're becoming president of the Ferryman Institute,” she replied, as if they were going to get ice cream. Without missing a beat, she was back to doing paperwork.

Alice eyed her carefully. The expression on her face seemed completely neutral . . . almost too neutral. Was that even possible? Was she reading too much into this?
That
was definitely possible, but something about this just didn't seem right. Not that she wasn't rooting for this to happen, even if she felt slightly guilty that it was a somewhat selfish motivation. It was just that, if Charlie became president, he'd be just an ordinary guy again . . .

Her thoughts trailed off as she surveyed the room. The Council members were either talking quietly among themselves or keeping busy with what seemed to be computers built into the surface of the table they sat around. As her gaze shifted, no one seemed willing to meet it. She caught Koroviev's eye and raised her eyebrow. He responded with a shrug. Alice moved on to Cartwright, or Virgil, or the Artist formerly known as Cartwright, or whatever it was he was going by these days. Their eyes met briefly,
but he immediately looked away. For some reason, that struck her as odd. She let her focus linger there, and after a moment or two, he looked back again. He seemed tormented by something and her eyes were only making it worse, almost as if they'd assumed the same power as the beating of the telltale heart. Sure enough, after a few seconds, Cartwright practically jumped out of his chair.

“Madam President, I apologize, but you can't do this without telling Charles the whole truth. He has a right to know.”

Charlie looked back at him in confusion, and Melissa's expression turned sour. A few of the other Council members looked over, apparently trying to appear uninterested when Alice guessed they were anything but.

“Virgil,” Melissa began slowly, like she was trying to put together the words one at a time as they came to her, “I gave you an order—”

“That I have disobeyed willingly, for which I apologize from the depths of my heart. But Madam President—nay, Melissa—I think your current plan is a recipe for more harm than good, and I simply cannot sit idly by and watch it happen. You are the president, yes, but you are a friend first.” He exhaled loudly, perhaps physically letting out what he'd been keeping bottled in his chest. “Please, tell him. He deserves to know.” And with that, he reclaimed his seat.

Melissa's eyes fixed themselves on the table she currently stood above. She lightly tapped the pen she'd been using against the glass surface,
tap taptap tap
, in no particular rhythm.