I don’t shake the mayor’s hand, not because I want to start a fight right off the bat, but because I am not going to let anyone see my fingers trembling this early in the game. Instead of a handshake, I feign that we are the sort of people who will get along instantly, so I go in for a kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to see you, Mayor Stapleton. Thank you for making the time to meet with us.”
Mayor Stapleton is sweatier in person than he is on television. His rounded belly is smoothed out by well-fitted clothes, but it is clear from his eyes darting toward the closed door that he has been dreading this meeting.
I will my hands to settle, telling my body that we now have the upper hand, so there is no need to be on edge.
“Have a seat. Sheriff, Miss Kennedy.”
“Madam Deadblood,” I correct him, choosing the most formidable name the media has given me.
There are two chairs opposite his desk, which tells me he had no intention of letting Rome and Orlando inside. Yet he won’t go so far as to refuse to meet with them, because that would be bad for his image.
What a weasel.
Before I can start with my prepared speech, the mayor and my father start joking around. They talk about the weather, of all things. Then they discuss the bang-up job they’ve done in keeping the East End’s crime rate down for so long.
Letting off the junkies in the East End by taking them to rehab is how my father has kept the crime rate in the East End down, while it’s been assumed the crime is out of control in the West End because the vampires aren’t given an option for rehab, but are carted right off to jail.
About ten minutes in, I turn to my father. “Don’t you have a phone call?”
The sheriff grimaces and then ducks his head. “Excuse me, Jim. I’ll be right back. My daughter has a few things she would like to discuss.”
My frustration over being ignored doesn’t affect my tone, but it does increase how direct I am willing to be. Before the mayor can work out a pacifying comment, I cross one leg over the other, leaning back in my seat. “Now that you two finished patting yourselves on the back for a job half-done, perhaps we can discuss allocating funds to help revive the West End.”
The mayor’s mouth falls open. “I’m sorry? More funds than what I just doled out to clean up the parks over there?”
“Far more, in fact. The funds aren’t being distributed evenly throughout Mayfield.”
“And how do you guess that?”
I fix him with a simpering expression. “By the magic of sight. Most of the publicly owned property landscaping is handled by landlords in the West End, as opposed to the city, because the city doesn’t lift a finger to do the same job it does in the East End over there for them.” I hit my next point, knowing there’s no turning back now. “The vampire school is so underfunded, the children are sharing textbooks, while the children in the East End have multiple digital devices assigned to each student. I want to know where the vampire tax money is going, since it is clearly not being spent on them.”
My father comes back inside with an apologetic smile on his face and Rome and Orlando in tow. “See, Mister Valentino? The mayor wasn’t dodging you. He was right here the whole time.”
The mayor’s secretary comes in behind the three. “I’m sorry! Mayor Stapleton, they just stormed right past me.”
Orlando stares him down. “We had an appointment.”
“But you can’t possibly think…”
Rome takes the seat beside me—my father’s seat—setting the tone of importance to which the room will be expected to follow.
I love it.
If we were alone, oh, the filthy things I would do to this man on this very desk.
The sheriff pats the secretary on the back good naturedly. “Don’t worry. I’ll call the cops to make sure no other vampires show up for the appointments they book in broad daylight. The nerve.”
I snicker under my breath. I didn’t know my father could be funny.
Mayor Stapleton stands, smoothing the buttons on his dull blue dress shirt as his forehead dampens anew. “Mister Valentino, I wasn’t expecting…”
Rome’s cool yet authoritative demeanor is a stunning sight, indeed. “You weren’t expecting me to show up to my appointment with you? How shameful of me to tolerate a reputation where people don’t take my word seriously. Tell me, are you in the habit of making an old man stand? Because there are only two chairs here, and nothing for the sheriff.”
The mayor motions for the secretary to grab two more chairs, though I know Orlando won’t deign to sit in one. “My oversight. What can I do for you today, Mister Valentino?”
I lean forward. “I believe Mister Valentino might prefer you answer my question before dodging the subject. Why is it that appropriate, equal funds have not been allocated to the West End? Their population is denser than the East End, yet they are underfunded two to one.”
Rome sits back in his seat, relaxing while Mayor Stapleton squirms. “I was thinking this was more a favor to your father, meeting you.”
I pull authority out of my hat and wave it around as if I know what I’m doing with it. “And I was thinking you were serious about taking this meeting. I have an appointment with the governor tomorrow, and I’d like to be able to give her some answers.”
If that’s not a bluff, I don’t know what is.
Luckily, no one gives me away.
The mayor leans forward, looking like he has finally caught on to the fact that he is on the job. “You have a meeting with the governor about this? I can’t imagine she has opinions on how the budget of Mayfield has been divided up.”
I let out a light laugh that has bitter notes ringing through it. “Funny, that. See, it turns out that everyone cares when whole chunks of our society are ignored, yet taxed as if they matter equally with the others. With the crime rate being what it is, Mayfield is getting all the wrong sort of notoriety. Why wouldn’t the governor care about that?”
The mayor opens and closes his mouth. “What you’re asking isn’t something you can demand.”
His dodge does nothing to cool my temperament.
Declan was right. Playing nice and making friends won’t do a darn thing. You can’t change what hasn’t been brought to light.
“Believe it or not, I am capable of doing the barest amount of research. I am so amazing that I can call the school board of a high school in the East End and ask them for a copy of their public numbers, and then I can call the school board in the West End, too.” I fix the mayor with a cool smile. “I know, color me impressed with myself. Two phone calls in one day. And I managed to file my nails.”
When it’s clear to my father that he is part of a meeting that has gone further south than he was prepared for, he dips his head to the room. “I’ve got some work to see to. Let me know if my daughter makes the mayor cry, will you, Orlando?”
“Give her five minutes, Sheriff.” Orlando slaps my father’s hand just before my father exits.
If that isn’t the cutest thing...
Now the gloves can really come off.
I take a gold pen off the mayor’s desk just to be a brat and dominate his space. I tear off a piece of my notebook paper, promising myself I will not leave this room until actual change is in the works.
“Being that there are more vampire children in Mayfield than human children, their school should have more funding.”
The mayor shakes his head. “That’s not how this works. Funding isn’t per capita; it is allocated based on test scores. The West End scores lower every year, so they get less funding.”
Rome’s jaw tightens, so I double down on my directness. “Let me get this straight: underfunded schools have children who score lower? And every year, the gap gets wider and wider, until they are considered lucky if they graduate at all? I certainly hope you are merely stupid and not diabolical. We can work with stupid, but corruption runs deep.”
Rome angles his torso toward me. “If the stain is too deep, then sometimes it’s not worth it to try to make it better.” His eyes narrow in on the mayor. “Sometimes it’s more advantageous to throw out the trash and start fresh with someone else.”
The mayor draws himself up. “Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?”
Rome tilts his head to the side. “Are you a stain on society? You heard Madam Deadblood’s question: are you stupid or are you racist? Can you improve or are you unfit for your post?”
I lean forward. “Your post is to represent both ends of your city, not just the people who look and act like you.”
“I was elected by votes from the East End,” the mayor argues. Though, as his words hit the air, I can tell he regrets them.
My words come out slow and deadly. “Could that be because vampires don’t have the legal right to vote?”
And just like that, the mayor’s mouth snaps shut.
“Here is what I want this month,” I begin, sitting back in my seat to mirror Rome’s feigned ease. “I want a meeting with you and the person who does the budget for the city. I want this meeting tomorrow at nine in the morning. Dirty stains on society are easier to spot in the daylight, don’t you think, Rome?”
My boyfriend casts me a sliver of a smile. “That’s the rumor. I just so happen to be available tomorrow morning. Do you think the reporters who follow you around like lost puppies might be up and ready for a story by then?”
I feign a gasp of awe and touch my sternum. “I daresay they might. Fantastic idea.”
“Tomorrow is a weekend,” the mayor reminds me, earning a well-timed glare from Rome and myself.
Rome’s voice is controlled without a hint of hurry. “I believe you’ve wasted enough weekends to spare us one. If the Last Deadblood is requesting a meeting, you can either comply, or I can make you comply. Then again, perhaps the media can guilt you into caring about the people you are supposed to represent. Either way, you will be where Madam Deadblood wants you.”
The mayor’s blustering is expected, but largely ineffectual.
“Tomorrow morning, I will be here to meet with you and your budget person,” I continue, grateful Rome is beside me. “We will make some much-needed changes so that the children of the West End have a chance. I am ashamed that you’ve lost faith in a people you were elected to protect. This is their only safe place in the world, and you’ve made them fight for every scrap of respect and opportunity.”
The mayor’s face is red. “Young lady, I do not appreciate being lectured.”
I do my best to remain unruffled, though I have to say, being called “young lady” irks me. “I don’t much care what you appreciate. I don’t appreciate you dropping the ball so badly that I have to come in and teach you how to stand up straight. You time in the sun is over, old man.”
That’s right. A “young lady” deserves an “old man.”
The mayor loosens his collar. “What makes you think you can come in here and demand anything?”
I stand, deeming the meeting as over. I got what I wanted: a meeting with someone who can change policies.
Still, I stare down the mayor as Rome rises beside me. “I can demand citizens are treated fairly because I live in this city. I can demand meeting after meeting because there is no shortage of people who want to gawk at the Last Deadblood. It seems my curse comes with a few perks, and it’s high time I tapped into them to incite a bit of change.” I go for the bare truth, even if it makes me squirm on the inside. “I opened a business in Midtown, and suddenly, commerce in that area is booming. I breathed life into that neighborhood simply by going there.” I look him up and down, owning every bit of my privilege to the hilt. “I want to use my power to help Mayfield. You’ve been using your power to help only the people who are like you. You had your chance to do the right thing. Now I’m going over your head. Either get on board or watch your career slip through your fingers. I don’t care which you choose; change is happening now. Take credit or take the blame. Those are your only choices.”
Rome pauses at the door Orlando opens for us. He turns his chin over his shoulder to fix the mayor with a calculating stare. “We will see you here at nine tomorrow. Call in anyone you need to make the changes Madam Deadblood demands. Patience is a virtue I’ve never put much stock in. Do not test my temper on this.”
A thrill runs through my spine as we exit. Though my hands are trembling, my heels are steady as we make our way to the street.
“That was incredible,” Rome says in a quiet whisper meant only for me. “You are a sight, tré-sur. Tell me I am on the schedule tonight to stay with you.”
I grant him a small smile. “Absolutely. Wear exactly this outfit and exactly that adoring expression.” It’s a good joke, because he only wears the one thing: black fitted slacks and a white dress shirt with the cuffs rolled, paired with a silver belt buckle.
Rome brushes my hip covertly. “I don’t know any other kind of expression to wear when I look at you.”
Orlando opens the back door of the tinted window sedan for me.
Before I slide in, I tilt my head up at the autumn sky, embracing every bit of the sunshine in Mayfield.
Maybe there is hope for this divided city after all.