Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (98 page)

I noticed Mallory said the words, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vice President,” just as Rosie had coached her. I looked at Mallory’s face as Montalbo held her in a half-hug and it was scrunched in concentration, so I could only think she was using the brief moment of contact for her mind control.

After the greeting, Vice President Montalbo said, “I’m pleased I was able to meet you today, but unfortunately I only have a few minutes before my next meeting. Did you have any questions or concerns before our photo session?” He leaned back against his desk with his arms crossed.

We exchanged uneasy glances, all of us momentarily caught off guard and speechless.

Jameson stepped forward, his arm extended. “Would you like a peppermint?” In his palm was one of the candies he’d filched from the waiting area.

“How kind of you,” the vice president said, taking it from his outstretched palm. “Thank you.” He tucked it into his pocket.

Jameson’s offer of stolen candy jarred us out of our shyness. Mallory sidled up to Montalbo asking, “Do you have any pictures of Tipper? I just love dogs!” She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, which looked kind of weird, but he didn’t seem to mind. Turned out that he had an 8x10 of his dog, Tipper, right on his desk. He picked it up and Mallory fussed over the image. Not to be left out, Jameson went around to his other side and admired Tipper too. I’d seen my share of dogs in my lifetime, but I pretended to care while the vice president answered Mallory’s questions about Tipper’s age and health. We all listened to cute stories about the dog and nodded and smiled as he spoke.

Nothing about the vice president struck me as being out of the ordinary. How could this nice man who told boring stories about his dog be secretly aligned with an organization determined to overthrow the government? Hard to imagine. If only there was some way to get him to reveal the man within.

The vice president set the photo on the desk behind him and said, “I’m afraid I’ve been talking too much,” he said.

“Oh no,” Mallory assured him, her arms still linked in his. “We love your stories.”

“If you have any questions about national policy or about the White House, I’d be glad to answer them,” he said, smiling down at her.

“I have a question.” I stepped forward, my hand half raised. “Is it hard to always be second string?”

He frowned. “Second string?”

“Second in command. Understudy to President Bernstein. Whatever. You know what I mean.” I smiled.

“I would hardly say I’m the understudy to President Bernstein,” he said. “The vice presidential office serves a much bigger role than most people realize. I travel quite a bit serving as the country’s representative, I speak on behalf of the president when she’s otherwise occupied, I’m Presiding Officer of the Senate, and the Chairman of the Board for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.” His chest puffed out with pride.

“I see,” I said, “but still, you don’t have much power, do you?”

An expression crossed his face like a storm cloud covering the sun. I’d clearly struck a nerve. The room got quiet and Mallory shot me a look that said I had gone too far. I wished Nadia was here. She’d have been able to sense what was going on below the surface. Was he just irritated that I was being a smart-ass kid or did he have a real problem with his lack of power? If I had to guess, it was the latter. I was starting to believe he was one of the Associates.

“I don’t think Russ means it the way it sounds,” Mallory said, glaring in my direction. “He’s not usually so rude.”

Vice President Montalbo said, “No, he’s right. I don’t have much power.” He pulled his arm away from Mallory, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Not much power at all. At least not right now.”

He picked up the phone and asked his assistant, Kimberly, to come in to take a group photo. We lined up as instructed and she took several photos. Afterward, she told us they’d be mailed to the address she’d been given.

As we walked out of the room, Mallory spoke out of the side of her mouth. “Nice job insulting the vice president, Russ.”

I shrugged. “I just wanted to know how he felt about being number two.”

Nadia

At the hotel, I dropped my bags at my feet, put my voucher on the counter and said, “The airline made a reservation for me. I'm checking in.”

The two young women behind the counter (they didn’t look any older than me) stopped talking and gave me a look that said they didn’t appreciate the interruption. “Excuse me?” one of them said, adjusting a headband attached to a hair piece. The hair above the headband was straight and brown, a stark contrast to the reddish brown curls cascading below.

“I’m checking in,” I said. “My flight was cancelled.”

“Everyone’s flight was cancelled,” she said, acknowledging me. As her head was bent over my paperwork, she popped in a breath mint. I held back from asking for one even though I desperately wanted to. My mouth felt so gross. “I don’t know about this. I thought we were completely booked.”

I had a bad feeling, not just from what I was picking up from these two women, both of whom radiated apathy and laziness, but also from what she was saying. The flights had been cancelled hours ago. It did seem likely that the hotel was full. “The woman at the airline said they’d reserved a room for me.”

“They say a lot of things,” she said with a snort. “Just let me look.” She typed on the keyboard, the other girl looking over her shoulder.

“Maybe they…” The onlooker whispered something I couldn’t hear.

“No, because that guest still occupies the room,” the other one answered. “Hmmm.” She tapped her fingers on the counter, deep in thought. They both stared at the screen until finally the one who seemed to be in charge said, “The airline did call about a room, and it does look like someone at the 800 number booked it, but the reservation is for a room that’s already occupied.”

My stomach sunk. “How can that be if it’s my room?”

“The guest who was expected to check out extended their stay.”

“Can they do that?” I asked, aghast.

She shrugged. “They did.”

“Can’t you honor my reservation? Ask the person to leave?”

“No, we can’t really do that. Sorry.” Both of them looked like they wished I would go away. Well I had news for them. I had nowhere to go.

I was so tired. All I wanted was to wash the airport dust off my body and sink into a soft bed, where I would astral project to Russ and confront him about that kiss with Layla Bernstein and then get some sleep, in that order. I needed a room and I wanted it now. “Can I speak to a manager?”

The one with the fake hair said, “I am the manager.”

My stomach sunk. “You need to find me a room. Please. Don’t you have anything?”

She shook her head. “All booked up. After all the flights were cancelled, we got swamped. It’s been crazy.”

“I’m an unaccompanied minor.” I didn’t want to pull this one out, but it had worked with the airline, so I figured it was worth a shot.

Her eyebrows arched upwards, echoing the line of the headband. “Is that true? Because if it is, the airline should have made arrangements for someone to accompany you. Would you like me to call someone in authority?”

Someone in authority? Meaning the airport authorities or the police? I wondered, but I wasn’t going to ask. I sensed she didn’t really want to pursue it. Lazy. “No it’s not true,” I said. “Just forget it.”

“Okay then.” She gave me a knowing smile. We both knew I’d just lied, but she didn’t care enough to make good on her threat. Or maybe she was cutting me a break. Either way, I was in the clear.

I picked up my bags. They’d gained about fifty pounds since I set them down. Every muscle in my body ached. I would have given up five years of my life for a comfortable bed and a firm pillow, that’s how tired I was.

Her expression softened. “If you want, you can sit in the lobby,” she said, pointing. “Normally we only allow it for guests, but I’ll make an exception for you.” I must have looked unsure because she added, “Unless you have somewhere else to go?”

I nodded wearily. “No, I’ll just stay here for now. Thanks.” The lobby furniture looked more comfortable than the chairs in the airport. It would have to do. I pulled my suitcase over to a chair and sat down, defeated. I found myself touching the cut on my neck and running a finger over the stitches. It bothered me. I couldn’t wait until the stitches were out and the cut healed.

Another airport refugee, a middle-aged man, sat in a chair opposite me. He was slouched in his seat, head back, mouth open. Breathing through his nose in loud, raspy bursts. Great. Just great. We’d be lobby roommates for the night. I opened my phone to call my PG contact. I’d already decided not to call my dad. He had enough to worry about. The Praetorian Guard was a different matter. I needed them to pick me up at the airport if I was ever going to get to Russ. I waited while it rang three times and when it went to voice mail I said, “Hello, this is Nadia. My flight has been cancelled and I won’t be there until tomorrow.” I explained about the weather and that they’d rebooked my flight, gave my new flight number and the time I’d be arriving. I hoped they’d still have someone there to pick me up. It just occurred to me that I had no idea where to go once I got to Washington D.C.

My night in the hotel lobby stretched on endlessly. I couldn’t get comfortable, for one thing, but it wasn’t like I would have been able to sleep anyway. All kinds of totally bizarre fears filled my head. I worried that if I dozed off someone would take my stuff, or molest me in my sleep, or that I might drool or snore. I sat and watched as the seconds turned into minutes, taking so long that time seemed to be moving in slow motion. Finally, after hours had gone by, I decided to risk astral projecting to Russ again. I closed my eyes, ignored the noises around me, and let myself sink into a trance. When I felt ready, I thought the now familiar words:
Take me to Russ.

Immediately I was in his darkened hotel suite, next to the bed. He’d left the bathroom light on and the door was slightly open, wide enough so that I could see his head and one arm above the covers. Underneath, the rest of his body created a hilly terrain of blanket.

Russ!
I said.
Wake up!
It took all my energy, and it still wasn’t enough. Except for the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he didn’t move at all.
Russ! This is an emergency. Wake up now.
I wanted to shake him and wake him, but physically I was less than a puff of air. If I couldn’t tap into his thoughts, I had nothing.
Russ!
He shifted and pulled the covers tighter. I took this as progress.
Russ, can you hear me?

And then, victory. He mumbled, “Nadia?”

Yes! Yes! It’s me, Nadia. Wake up, Russ.

His eyes were still closed. The words he spoke next came out haltingly. “Is this a dream?”

No, it’s not a dream. I’m really here. Open your eyes!

One eye opened just a little bit. “I can’t see you at all.”

Good grief. I’d forgotten to show myself. I made an effort to make myself clearly visible, but in the half minute it took, he’d closed his eye again. No! 
Don’t fall back asleep, Russ! Listen to me, you can’t trust Mallory or Jameson. Watch out for them, okay? They’re in league with the Associates.
Technically I wasn’t sure if Jameson was in league with the Associates, but if he was under Mallory’s spell it was pretty much the same thing. I continued. 
Mr. Specter is not dead! You hear me? I’ve seen him with Mallory. They’ve got something planned for the Bash. There’s a needle in Mallory’s necklace. I don’t know what it does, but I can tell you it’s not good. Try to get the necklace away from her. There’s going to be trouble. Be careful.

He didn’t show any sign of having heard me.

Russ? Did you hear what I said?
For a split second I was tempted to channel my mother and ask him to repeat things back to me so I knew without a doubt that he’d heard me. I always resented the way mom did that when I was a kid—so patronizing, but I could see the value now.

Russ scrunched his forehead and said, “Trouble. Be careful.” He’d gotten the gist of what I’d said, but I wasn’t completely sure how much was just being repeated and how much had actually penetrated his skull. I tried again.
Russ! This is very important. Do not trust Mallory or Jameson. Keep Mallory from going near the president with that necklace. Mr. Specter is the commander and she’s following his orders. Do you understand?

I watched for signs he’d heard me but was getting nothing. His breathing was slow and regular now, like he’d lapsed back into sleep. A restful, happy sleep judging from the slight smile on his face. You had to be kidding me.
Russ!
This time I screamed his name in my head, but it didn’t matter. Still no movement. I kept trying, though, repeating my message again and again, each time pounding on every word. His lack of response was infuriating.

I stayed for a few minutes, frustrated and emotionally spent from trying to get through. I was on the verge of anger, and then felt guilty for being mad about something he couldn’t help. If only he would wake up. I had to know he understood and I wanted to know why he kissed Layla Bernstein. I was sure there was an explanation that made sense and I wanted to hear it and believe it.

I tried, and then I tried again, and kept talking over and over again, but nothing worked. After deciding I’d done as much as I could, I gave up and said,
Good-bye Russ. I love you. See you at the Bash.

I paused then, wondering if there was someone else I could go to for help. It had to be someone connected to the Praetorian Guard, so that eliminated most of the world. Mentally I checked off the possibilities. Mallory and Jameson: no. Mr. Specter, definitely not. I considered Rosie and Dr. Anton, but besides my visits to Rosie’s Diner, I didn’t feel like I knew them all that well. It was so hard to know who to trust. Mrs. Whitehouse? Absolutely, positively no. She was so awkward and patronizing I didn’t even want to talk to her in real life, must less go to her for help.