“Enough squabbling,” Jasmine said, drawing everyone’s attention. “There’s too much at stake here.”
Mrs. Ward leveled my uncle with a harsh glare. “Why do you let the children stay?”
It was my turn to say, “Excuse me?”
“Because they’re also part of this investigation.” Uncle Victor leaned an arm against the back of his chair and twisted around so as to fully face my sister. “But if my niece can’t control herself, she won’t be welcome here anymore.”
Jasmine nodded curtly before slouching back against the wall next to me.
“I didn’t tell you about Fadele and Nij because they aren’t involved in this,” Mr. Ward said, having abandoned the role of the amiable politician. “We swore a long time ago that we’d stay out of each other’s way. We haven’t seen them since. If either of us drifts too close to each other’s territories or work, we send emissaries to leave anonymous notes in public places with a specific tag underneath.” He spread his hands out and settled back into his chair. “I haven’t received any messages in over a year.”
“Darling,” his wife said, placing a hand on his forearm. “What about that chalk message about proposition two-one-eight?”
“It could’ve been left by anyone.” Mr. Ward turned to my uncle and added, “The tag was missing.”
“When did you find this message?” Uncle Victor asked, pulling out a brand-new notebook and pen.
“That’s irrelevant,” Mr. Ward said dismissively.
“But it might not be, so spill it already,” Jasmine snapped.
“Jazz!” our uncle said with enough force to make me flinch. “Let me work or leave.”
Grumbling to herself, Jasmine crossed her arms.
“What’s the matter with you?” I asked so only she would hear.
My sister tapped her fingers against her arm as she continued to give Mr. Ward the stink eye. “It’s been too long since the Salamander showed himself. I bet you anything we’re going to be sensing the death of another campaign member any day now and this guy is still keeping things from us.” She scoffed. “It’s bullshit and I’m over it. Uncle Vic is being too nice.”
“That’s days before the first murder,” our uncle was saying when we started paying attention again. “These strings of murders could very well be related to that message, sir.”
“What is this proposition?” Mrs. Smith asked.
“Prop two-one-eight,” Mr. Ward said, puffing his chest out with pride, “is the reason I’m going to win the election. It’s the intention to have all imported goods from foreign countries, including global companies operating overseas, not based in the U.S., pay an increased tariff—” He glanced at me and Jasmine before adding, “—taxes or have goods held for confiscation. All imported goods must be declared upon arrival to the U.S. and have an additional assessment to make sure all goods have been registered and the proper taxes assessed before being distributed to the market.”
He was really excited now. “This is to increase U.S. income on foreign goods sold to the U.S. market, and encourage local, U.S. based companies to push productivity within the U.S. market in a grander attempt to make America self-reliant and grow an internal revenue.”
His wife was petting the back of his hand and beaming at him by the end. “It’s brilliant.”
The Smiths exchanged a worried look.
“If this proposition passes, it’ll make it harder for Fadele and Nij to transport their illegal goods. It’ll also cost them more to do business with foreign countries.” Mr. Smith shook his head. “How could they not see this as an act of aggression against them?”
“The proposition isn’t going to pass,” Mr. Ward said with a smirk. “The liberals will never allow it.”
“But, by being the first to propose this, David has set himself apart from the other candidates and made a lot of people in his district very happy,” Mrs. Ward added.
“Another lying politician,” I muttered. “How original.”
Uncle Victor pretended not to hear me and instead addressed the Wards. “How were your immortal brethren to know your real intentions with this proposition?”
“Immortal?” Mr. Ward asked, forehead wrinkling in confusion. The power couple looked at each other before they started laughing. It was the most grating sound I’d ever heard because it was so fake.
“Fadele and Nij aren’t immortal,” the soon-to-to-be senator said in between chuckles. “Where did you get an idea like that?”
Jasmine and I rolled our eyes at each other, like, “Can you believe this guy?”
“You want to take this one?” my sister asked, gesturing to the power couple. “I’m not allowed to speak anymore.”
“Yeah, all right.” I stepped forward, waving a hand between me and my twin. “Cursed by Death at birth. She accompanies the souls of the recently departed into the afterlife. I get to watch it happen.” I took one of my contacts out, startling everyone in the room except for my uncle who leaned back in his chair and sighed up at the ceiling. “Purple eyes, like Death herself.” I returned my contact, blinking hard against the new stinging. “We know you guys were cursed too so—ow!” The contact slid off to the side. Goddammit! I should’ve just left it out.
Everyone must’ve seen it move because they cringed or looked away uncomfortably.
“So you can cut the bullshit and tell us everything you know about the third couple,” I finished with a growl, savagely rubbing my eye.
“We don’t know anything,” Mr. Ward insisted, refusing to look at me. “It’s like I said, we haven’t spoken to or seen them in years. We don’t know what aliases they’re using or where they’re operating from. We’re already risking too much just by sending random employees to leave those messages for them every so often. Why would we risk tarnishing our reputation further by keeping any sort of tab on them?”
“You four know them best,” Uncle Victor said, drawing a wide circle in the
