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Authors: Melinda Snodgrass
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least you’re
my
fraud, and you’re a fraud that appeals to what’s best about people. Give them hope. Help them hang on. We need them and we need you.”
Cross stood and looked down at me. “You’re taking an awful risk. I’m one of the monsters. I just happen to be on your side … for now. If I feed and use magic, I get stronger. There’s a chance I’ll revert to my essential nature, and then you’re really fucked.”
“And I believe in your ability to grow and change, too.” We held a look for a long time. Then Cross nodded and walked from the room.
SIX
I n the late afternoon the Round Robin Bar in the Willard Hotel was fairly subdued. The after-work rush of lobbyists, lawmakers, bureaucrats, lawyers, and hookers hadn’t yet arrived.
Rhiana paused just inside the door and surveyed the room. She knew it was a famous Washington, D.C., watering hole, and this was the place Jack Rendell had suggested after she’d called him and asked to meet, but she’d never been here before. It was pretty, with wide expanses of rich green watered-silk wallpaper bisected with narrow vertical wood panels. It smelled of aftershave and liquor and money.
Jack Rendell leaned on the circular mahogany bar, one foot resting on the brass rail. A wide-mouthed martini glass was held negligently between his fingers, and the light through the red glass stem stained his fingers like blood.
There were only a few patrons in the bar, all of them were male, and they all reacted to Rhiana’s entrance. The hem of her long black wool coat swung at her knees and brushed at the tops of the stiletto-heeled black boots worn over form-fitting pants. She finished off the ensemble with a cashmere sweater, and a scarf pinned on her shoulder with a large amethyst brooch. There was a rattle like dry leaves in a high wind as
Wall Street Journal
s and
Washington Post
s were hurriedly lowered, and Rendell, sensing the tide of male attention flowing toward a single point, turned. The attention ebbed when it became apparent where Rhiana was heading.
“Hey,” Rendell said, saluting her with his glass.
“Hi.”
The young bartender hustled their way. His eyes were alight with interest and pleasure as he looked at Rhiana.
“Get you a drink, miss?”
“A Dubonnet on the rocks.”
Jack drained his martini and waved the glass at the bartender. “And I’ll take another.”
“So, how did things go with the archbishop?” Rhiana asked.
“He’s conferring with Rome. I expect we’ll get some action in a day or two.”
“Good.”
The bartender deposited the drink in front of her. She took a sip and couldn’t control the corners of her mouth.
Jack laughed. “You really are a baby, aren’t you? Would you rather have a Coke?”
Rhiana nodded and swallowed past the lump in her throat. She was feeling too depressed and humbled to respond with haughty rage to Jack’s familiarity. And she had asked him to meet her. The Coke arrived, and Rhiana gratefully cleared her tongue of the sharp alcohol taste.
“Why did you order it?” Jack asked. “The Dubonnet, I mean? It’s not a very common drink anymore.”
“My grandmother … adopted grandmother. She just loved Jackie Kennedy … all the Kennedys really. She talked all the time about how beautiful and sophisticated Jackie was, and how she drank Dubonnet on the rocks.”
Jack looked down at her, and some of the sharp calculation faded, replaced by a gentler emotion. “That’s kind of sweet. But stick with me, kid, and I’ll teach you how to drink.” He threw back his head and laughed. “That’s a hell of a trade. You teach me magic and I teach you how to booze.”
“Shhh. Not so loud,” Rhiana said.
Jack looked around the historic old bar. “Why not? All of this … this bullshit”—he swept an arm around—“is going to be gone soon.”
“Yeah, but we don’t want them waking up and panicking.”
“Really? I thought the whole point was panic. Well, never mind that. You called
my
fraud, and you’re a fraud that appeals to what’s best about people. Give them hope. Help them hang on. We need them and we need you.”
Cross stood and looked down at me. “You’re taking an awful risk. I’m one of the monsters. I just happen to be on your side … for now. If I feed and use magic, I get stronger. There’s a chance I’ll revert to my essential nature, and then you’re really fucked.”
“And I believe in your ability to grow and change, too.” We held a look for a long time. Then Cross nodded and walked from the room.
SIX
I n the late afternoon the Round Robin Bar in the Willard Hotel was fairly subdued. The after-work rush of lobbyists, lawmakers, bureaucrats, lawyers, and hookers hadn’t yet arrived.
Rhiana paused just inside the door and surveyed the room. She knew it was a famous Washington, D.C., watering hole, and this was the place Jack Rendell had suggested after she’d called him and asked to meet, but she’d never been here before. It was pretty, with wide expanses of rich green watered-silk wallpaper bisected with narrow vertical wood panels. It smelled of aftershave and liquor and money.
Jack Rendell leaned on the circular mahogany bar, one foot resting on the brass rail. A wide-mouthed martini glass was held negligently between his fingers, and the light through the red glass stem stained his fingers like blood.
There were only a few patrons in the bar, all of them were male, and they all reacted to Rhiana’s entrance. The hem of her long black wool coat swung at her knees and brushed at the tops of the stiletto-heeled black boots worn over form-fitting pants. She finished off the ensemble with a cashmere sweater, and a scarf pinned on her shoulder with a large amethyst brooch. There was a rattle like dry leaves in a high wind as
Wall Street Journal
s and
Washington Post
s were hurriedly lowered, and Rendell, sensing the tide of male attention flowing toward a single point, turned. The attention ebbed when it became apparent where Rhiana was heading.
“Hey,” Rendell said, saluting her with his glass.
“Hi.”
The young bartender hustled their way. His eyes were alight with interest and pleasure as he looked at Rhiana.
“Get you a drink, miss?”
“A Dubonnet on the rocks.”
Jack drained his martini and waved the glass at the bartender. “And I’ll take another.”
“So, how did things go with the archbishop?” Rhiana asked.
“He’s conferring with Rome. I expect we’ll get some action in a day or two.”
“Good.”
The bartender deposited the drink in front of her. She took a sip and couldn’t control the corners of her mouth.
Jack laughed. “You really are a baby, aren’t you? Would you rather have a Coke?”
Rhiana nodded and swallowed past the lump in her throat. She was feeling too depressed and humbled to respond with haughty rage to Jack’s familiarity. And she had asked him to meet her. The Coke arrived, and Rhiana gratefully cleared her tongue of the sharp alcohol taste.
“Why did you order it?” Jack asked. “The Dubonnet, I mean? It’s not a very common drink anymore.”
“My grandmother … adopted grandmother. She just loved Jackie Kennedy … all the Kennedys really. She talked all the time about how beautiful and sophisticated Jackie was, and how she drank Dubonnet on the rocks.”
Jack looked down at her, and some of the sharp calculation faded, replaced by a gentler emotion. “That’s kind of sweet. But stick with me, kid, and I’ll teach you how to drink.” He threw back his head and laughed. “That’s a hell of a trade. You teach me magic and I teach you how to booze.”
“Shhh. Not so loud,” Rhiana said.
Jack looked around the historic old bar. “Why not? All of this … this bullshit”—he swept an arm around—“is going to be gone soon.”
“Yeah, but we don’t want them waking up and panicking.”
“Really? I thought the whole point was panic. Well, never mind that. You called
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