and carried it as we wended our way through the desks accompanied by the trilling of phones. And now that we were among them I could hear more than a murmur; I could hear actual words. The volunteers were busy sending the arguments listed on the voter guide into receivers and presumably from there into the credulous ears of California voters.
Belinda Cartwright was waiting in the door of her office. She was a pretty, perky brunette, taller than me with a very curvaceous figure. She was dressed in a red suit set with gold buttons on the coat, a skirt at a demur mid-knee length, and red, open-toed, high-heeled shoes. A pen thrust into her chignon, and a pair of designer glasses gave her the look of a naughty librarian. She smiled at both of us and offered her hand.
“Miss Ellery, Mr. Ambinder. Pleased to meet you. Mr. Ambinder, I enjoyed your series of articles on female circumcision in sub-Saharan Africa. Very enlightening and offered a stark comparison of religious ideas.”
Maslin shot me an I-told-you-so look, then turned back to Cartwright and said, “It wasn’t intended as a moral comparison. I was looking at the medical effects of the procedure on women.”
“Of course you were maintaining your journalistic integrity, but I could see what lay beneath the words,” she said.
“Wow, that’s quite an extraordinary power you have,” Maslin said.
The smile didn’t slip. “Mock me if you want, but I really have an ability to know what’s in a person’s heart.”
I wasn’t sure what happened, but suddenly I found myself channeling Maslin. “Ms. Cartwright, please. I’ve done my research. You’re a graduate of Cornell, you worked for Congressman Rankin from Mississippi as his chief of staff, you worked for the Senate Finance Committee, you’ve written articles for the Cato Institute, and you were a lobbyist before you founded Liberty Front. Remember who you’re talking to.”
She gave me a look that revealed the woman behind the mask. What I saw was smart, sharp, and calculating. “That’s fair, and allow me to remind you that I also do my research. Linnet Ellery—graduate of Yale Law School, summa cum laude. Did Law Review. Clerked for a Supreme Court justice one summer. Joined Ishmael, McGillary and Gold last year and won a major case regarding the ownership of a multimillion-dollar company.”
There was a moment of silence, then I said, “I guess we’re even.”
She gave me a predator’s smile. “Do come in,” and she waved us into her office.
There was the usual assortment of framed photos on the walls. Cartwright with various presidents and religious leaders. There was a gavel on the desk with a brass plaque from a former congressman who gave out “civic awards” to people in exchange for a five-thousand-dollar “donation.” The furniture was nice and tastefully arranged. She waved us to a sofa and took a seat in an armchair across a coffee table from us.
“So how much of this manure do you actually believe?” Maslin asked and tossed the voter guide onto the coffee table between us. “Or are you just using the energy of the angry and ignorant to push your agenda?”
There wasn’t the reaction I expected. Cartwright kept her cool and just studied Maslin as if he were an interesting new specimen of bacteria. She then swept up the voter guide, crumpled it, and tossed it aside.
“Yes, it’s simplistic, and you would probably call it blatant fear mongering, but I’m working this issue because I am actually very concerned. We have inhuman creatures—for God’s sake, some of them are dead— taking greater and greater control of our institutions and industries. The position of humans in this brave new world is in question. I’m damned worried, and you should be too.”
You hate to admit an opponent might have a point, but she had a point. Vampires were scary, and I could attest to how frightening a ravening werewolf could be, but then I saw the flaw in her logic.
“But why target the Alfar?” I asked. “They’re probably the least involved in human affairs in any significant way, and unlike vampires they don’t have to prey on humans to survive.”
“Not true. Their conquest of Hollywood is deeply troubling. The more they fill our television and movie screens, the more accepted the Powers become. We’ll be conquered, and we won’t have seen it happening.”
“So why aren’t you involved in this lawsuit?” Maslin asked, and I wanted to kick him.
Cartwright read my dismay and gave me an edged smile. “Already in the works. Our attorneys are preparing papers and will be petitioning Mr. Sullivan to be joined in the same fashion as Jeff Montolbano and that Alfar. Getting the Alfar off our televisions and out of our movies would go a long way to neutralizing their influence on our children.”
“Let’s get back to Proposition 9. Why marriage?” Maslin asked.
“Because it’s visceral. No daddy thinks any man is good enough for his little princess. If we can make all those daddies—and mommies for that matter—think a monster is after their daughters, it’ll be the first step. If we can convince people that the Alfar aren’t human—which they aren’t—we’re a step closer to having humans take a look at all the Powers and realizing how dangerous they are.”
“You’re giving me whiplash here,” Maslin complained. “So which is it? Are the Powers secret masters of the universe controlling every human institution and our very lives, or are they undeserving minorities looking for special treatment?”
“Both. And any other argument that’s going to work and rally the humans.”
“Wow, cynical much?”
I jumped in. “So you must be very pleased about these killings.”
“Naturally we’re always deeply saddened when someone loses their life, but this did shine a bright light on the issues we are raising.” It was a politician’s answer, smooth and noncommittal.
“Kind of convenient how the murders started happening right when you’re flogging this proposition,” Maslin said.
“Are you implying we had something to do with them? You people on the left always ascribe nefarious plots to conservatives. I suppose we should thank you for believing we’re so powerful, but it’s utter nonsense. And our members aren’t violent.”
“Well, I certainly hope not, because I’ve been getting threatening phone calls, and I think they’re from someone in your group.”
“Do they identify themselves?”
“No. It’s a threatening phone call. They don’t usually introduce themselves,” I said, more tartly than I intended.
“Then you have absolutely no proof. It might be some Alfar making the calls to make us look bad.”
Maslin let out a snort. “I think you manage that pretty much all on your own.”
I shot him a shut up look and got us back on track. “But back to these murders: you will take advantage of them,” I said.
“Why wouldn’t we? It’s the Alfar finally showing their true colors.”
“Okay, now, that’s utter nonsense,” Maslin broke in again. “If the Alfar are a bunch of murdering whack jobs, why hasn’t it happened before now? Why didn’t it happen forty years ago, or thirty years ago, or twenty years ago? What’s so different about now?” Maslin asked.
“I have no idea. Maybe you should ask an Alfar.” Despite Cartwright’s best efforts, Maslin was starting to get under her skin so she focused back on me. “Miss Ellery, I understand that you work for a white-fang law firm, that you were fostered by vampires, but you’re a human, and a very intelligent one. Put aside some of our more colorful claims and look at the underlying facts. The Powers have been manipulating us for generations, but suddenly they have come into the open.” She looked back at Maslin. “You might want to consider that question too, Mr. Ambinder. Why have they gone public? What are they planning? And what do they want?”
Human First is high on my list of suspects, but how in the hell could they have gotten the two Alfar to go rogue?
Those had been Maslin’s final words when I dropped him off at his car. He had gone off to research. I had gone back to work, but a day spent banging my head had me no closer to an answer. I realized I needed to get out of my head and out of a chair, so I’d headed to the Equestrian Center. It was a foggy night. The white planks of the fencing formed ghostly lines, and the lights around the riding arena couldn’t really penetrate the mist. They just made it more pearlescent and reflective. Vento gave a disgusted snort as I brought him down from a flowing canter to a walk. It was clear he missed the pasture back at his barn in Brooklyn, and he was eager to stretch his legs and run.
I had hoped that doing something physical would jump-start some ideas, but so far it hadn’t worked. All I
