My entire being is numb, save for my feet that somehow understand they must move me forward. My hand is tucked into the crook of Orlando’s elbow—not because I put it there, but because Orlando hasn’t let an inch of space come between us since I emerged from my bedroom.
Lucky for me, Orlando is not a talker. After I told him he could leave and didn’t need to come to the meeting, he responded by staring me down until I rolled my eyes at him, consenting to let him come along. He drove me to the meeting in silence, which was probably best. My limbs are functional, but still a little tipsy. I don’t understand what happened to make my body like this, and I’m sure as heck not going to ask Orlando about it.
Orlando knows Rome ditched me for more than just this meeting. I don’t even want to make eye contact with Orlando, for fear of seeing pity in his eyes aimed my way.
We walk through city hall in silence toward the conference room. People whisper when they see me pass, but that’s nothing new. They always gawk when they see the Last Deadblood. Or when they see a human near a vampire. But when they remember who my family is and who Orlando’s family is, they go back to their whispering in lieu of the scandalized mute stares.
I’m not sure which one I prefer.
A nap. That’s what I prefer. I want to lie down and not talk to anyone for a solid year.
Rome left me.
Today is the first time since I moved back to Mayfield that I have voluntarily traded my heels for flats. Orlando’s form practically swallows mine as we walk in step, being that I am a scant five feet tall. After the kiss and the crash, and then Rome’s prompt exit, I’m not as steady on my feet as I would need to be to rock stilettos.
Rome is gone, and I can’t do a thing about it. I can simply put one foot in front of the other. Though right now, even that feels like a grand effort.
I am fighting for his people, and he can’t be bothered to show up for our appointment?
Guilt taps me on the shoulder, reminding me that vampires are not “his people.” They are my people, because they live in Mayfield, just like me. I am fighting for my neighbors (though, I’m sure they all wish I was dead, so they didn’t have to worry about my toxic blood).
The receptionist greets us with manic head bobbing and wide eyes, directing us down the hallway.
I’ve said nothing yet, which I prefer. I figure the longer I can keep my mouth shut, the less apt I am to display my broken heart.
Not broken. Stony.
This is a dream. A nightmare. It must be. That Rome would walk out like that in the middle of…
The pain is too great to parse through, so I put one foot in front of the other, going where I am directed.
We are on time for the meeting, but it looks like we are the last to arrive—a fact that I know bothers Orlando, though he doesn’t say anything about it. The room is filled with the mayor, the governor, three journalists, the city’s treasurer, the head of the school board for the East End and the head of the school board for the West End, plus a number of secretaries.
There was not supposed to be this many people here.
Governor Ingrid Mason is an authority figure I have always admired. To be a woman in power who possesses infinite poise and grace while still maintaining her hold on the issues is a feat not many can achieve.
She took my phone call. She didn’t scoff when I told her of my ideals.
She showed up.
I draw courage from the fact that she will not get in my way, and perhaps might even be on my side.
She would not let a flake of a man ruin her chances at establishing peace and moving the world forward. She didn’t balk at my suggestions for Mayfield because I believe deep down in her heart, she wants this sort of thing to be put into motion.
She just needed someone to light the bomb who can get out of this mess without the thing exploding in her face.
Here we go.
There are two seats left at the head of the long oval table, meant for Rome and me. My heart hammers at conducting this meeting without backup. I worry the sound of my nerves has become audible, even as everyone at the table finishes introducing themselves. It’s not until Orlando helps me to sit down that I realize I might have to explain Rome’s absence.
“I will be speaking for the Valentino family today,” Orlando informs the room. Instead of assuming his gargoyle-like position at the doorway, Orlando slides into the seat beside mine. He leans back in his chair, though not sloppily, and does his best to intimidate the room into silence while seated.
This, apparently, is a skill that translates well to any room, no matter if Orlando is sitting or standing.
The room goes quiet, and all eyes turn to me.
This is no time to clam up, so I strike forward, flipping open the portfolio that contains the copies of our plan. I pass them around while I pull out my notes, hopping on the first talking point without easing us in.
Let’s get this over with.
Though I am not rude, I make it clear in my tone that I will be controlling the room today. We go point by point through my list, with the others asking only clarifying questions.
They turned into a cooperative lot after Orlando rested his arm across the back of my seat. It’s a clear message to the room: utmost respect shall be paid, or Orlando will be displeased.
When Orlando is displeased, bodies disappear.
I have the beginnings of a headache, which mutes any attempts I might have made to be pleasant.
The head of the East End’s school board scoffs at me. “But to ask the East End to give up a heavy portion of their funding? You can’t be serious.”
The man from the West End representing the school board is a fellow in his fifties called Christopher. He hasn’t spoken yet, no doubt assuming my plan is sweet, but he holds no hope of it making it past this room. He doesn’t speak in his school’s defense. I’m guessing he lost the will to fight for justice a decade or more ago—back when the vampire children may have had a chance at a decent education. His complacent checked-out expression tells me he can’t be the only one fighting for his kids anymore.
It’s my turn now.
I take up the baton he shrugs at and prepare myself to beat the ignorance in the room to death with it.
…or perhaps I should do something less violent but equally effective.
I run my tongue over my top row of teeth, all diplomacy leaving me the moment Rome left Mayfield. “I don’t much care where the funding comes from. If you need to slash the budget of the schools in the East End, so be it. If you need to allocate funds from somewhere else in the budget, fine by me. It’s no concern of mine how you correct the problem. I am merely bringing it to your attention that this foolishness is over.”
Perhaps I shouldn’t be insulting the people whom I am hoping will be cooperative, but I have little in the way of sweetness lingering in what remains of my soul.
Marjorie, the head of the East End school board, sits up straighter. Her dyed blonde hair flips over her shoulder. “Then whom do you suggest I fire at my school to tighten our budget? Which teacher do you think is expendable?”
I scoff at her jab, seeing exactly how this bitterness will be replayed in the press if I don’t get ahead of it all now. “I think you could learn a thing or two from Christopher on budgeting. I suggest that if you cannot figure out how to tighten your budget, you two merely switch funding. You’ll make do with what he uses, and he will buy all sorts of non-essentials like books and whatnot with the budget you currently have.”
The mayor and the governor are silent, watching the match like a game of tennis—the argument volleying back and forth.
Marjorie splutters her indignation. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever…”
“Then back to my original proposal that the budgets be split evenly between the two territories.”
Marjorie collects herself, smoothing out the ruffles on the front of her blouse. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We have a higher rate of graduation than they do in the West End. Our students have better test scores.”
I lean forward and stage whisper to her, as if she is dense and can’t see the proper answer, even when it is obvious. “You also have more books and teachers. I wonder if there’s a correlation.” I straighten my spine, maintaining an attitude about me that demands not just respect, but reverence. “You have more children in school because their families have enough money not to pull their kids out so they can get jobs and help support the household. Your schools have a higher rate of graduation because they have infinitely more resources to help those children. Your test scores are higher, forgive me, because you don’t have thirty-five children crammed into each classroom. Your teachers are not pushed past their breaking point.” I sit back, grateful for Orlando’s arm around my chair. “Do you assume you can spout the talking points used to make the wealthy feel good about themselves to scare us into silence?”
“Us? You’re human, Miss Kennedy! You’re fighting for the wrong side.” She scoffs at me and then looks around the room for validation.
I point at her, my voice deadly and quiet. “Right there is the reason why I am here. That attitude. The part of you that says we deserve more simply because we happen to have an advantage at this moment in time. The side I am fighting for is all students. All children. The fact that you think it is acceptable to only fight for children who look like you is appalling, and has been noted by everyone in this room.”
Not like they’re not all guilty of the same thing. Not like my unconscious bias hasn’t tugged me in the same poor direction when I’m not careful to keep myself in check.
“Her name is not Miss Kennedy, Marjorie,” Orlando corrects without holding back. “She is Madam Deadblood. You will not show her disrespect in my presence.”
It’s the only thing he has said in a while, yet it is the perfect chiding.
My mother was Madam Deadblood or the Last Deadblood when I was still referred to by the press as the Youngblood.
This is my time to take hold of the mantle and squeeze the corruption from this divided city.
Marjorie throws her arms into the air. “What are your qualifications? Why on earth are we sitting here, listening to her?”
I don’t have it in me to smile, even if it’s a wicked smirk. “Because the mayor and the governor are smart enough to understand that if you don’t listen to me, the rest of the world will. No one cares about the vampires now, but if they get a good look at the abuse going on so near to their beloved Deadblood?” I shake my head and cluck my tongue at her. “I shudder to think the scrutiny your financials will be under then. I am giving you a chance to do the right thing. If you don’t take this last warning and change things now, I am fully prepared to take this thing as far up the flagpole as it can go.” I pause to examine my nails. “I wonder if you’ll still have a job by the time I’m finished? If businesses are allowed to discriminate against vampires and not allow them entry, imagine what your salon, your grocer, your post office, your world will do to you once your corruption is exposed.”
Marjorie gasps, scandalized that I have threatened her livelihood.
I have no qualms about any of it. My heart has dwindled down to nearly nothing, beating only for people who will never know it is me who fought for them.
Good. I don’t want a single person to smile at me ever again.
I stand, and Orlando follows suit. I pick up my portfolio and make my way to the door. “I need to make a phone call. My time is valuable, so I trust you can get somewhere both fair and amicable by the time I get back.”
The Mayor Stapleton finally speaks up. “And if we can’t?”
I narrow my eyes in on him, enjoying his squirm. “If you cannot see that all taxpaying citizens of Mayfield are cared for, then perhaps you have finished serving your purpose in this office.” I cast my judgment upon the room. “Your time might be over, but I assure you, mine is just beginning.”
Orlando follows me as I stalk into the hallway, shutting the door behind us as the room erupts in a heated debate.
Even if we win this today, it is a small victory. It is one step forward in a backwards society.
Though I know I nailed the presentation, I feel nothing still.
Rome is gone, and part of me is lost, too.