King Hall (Forever Evermore, #1)(30)

Someone was feeling overprotective. I was positive Philip had been about to ask me out for coffee or lunch or something else equally mundane, and I was sure Jack had sensed it too. I enjoyed the humor of the gesture, and proceeded to “help” Jack take his jacket off. By the time this was done, Ezra was speaking with Philip, distracting him.

As if I needed the help, gentlemen.

I wouldn’t do anything with Coms, except drink from them when the mood finally suited. Only bagged blood for me still. Besides, I would probably break a Com if anything ever went past a date. Which I didn’t want, even if the Com was as nice-looking as Philip Masterson.


All in all, the first half of the afternoon went well.

I had been thrown into senior classes at King Hall — no more Creative Writing degree for me — taking three years’ worth of Political Science courses all at once. My brain was fried — it would continue to be until graduation — from all the studying I had done over the last few months, but those courses definitely helped me understand the conversations.

When placed in a room full of politicians, what did one talk about?

Politics, of course.

Thank God, I hadn’t been sleeping in class. Much.

I kept mildly quiet during the discussions, but answered questions intelligently — I hoped — when asked. The most vocal of the Coms were Philip, Arthur, and Justice. Beatrice was quiet, but spoke logically, and none of her questions were at all offensive. Surprisingly — stereotype, whatever — the person who I thought would have the most to say, Curtis, was the mime of the group. He nodded, or gestured with a hand, but I was pretty sure he only said four sentences in the two and a half hours we sat there. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was of the quiet, brainy sort, or if it was because he was nowhere near as clever as his father, the President. Time would eventually tell.

Jack primarily led our side of the discussion, Pearl adding factual input only from time to time. Ezra, like me, spoke when he was spoken to. I don’t know if it was the mystery he exuded, but anytime he spoke, everyone quieted and listened. I didn’t feel him using his power, so it was just him they seemed impressed by. Me, they listened to the same, but added a cocking of their heads, watching me like I was the sideshow at a circus. In other words, I didn’t get the impression they were awestruck by little ol’ me.

All except Philip. Every look he gave me, or word he spoke in my direction, expressed a quiet, yet confident, interest. One out of five wasn’t bad, even if the interest was more personal. I could work with that.

Justice spoke of the Mys/Com treaty and keeping it as strong as it had been for the past thirty years. The rest of the Coms jumped onboard the topic, seeming earnest in their agreement to keep the peace. The same held true for us. No-one wanted another war, or even another of the ten years after that bloody upheaval where an uneasy truce had followed before the treaty was signed. Because of this, I could tell they all knew about the attack that had taken place, but they carefully skirted the conversation around it, only once briefly glancing to me, expressing their sympathies. Justice, by the same token, had unique ideas about integrating our Laws with Com laws to make a more unified nation, but I wasn’t positive anyone — Com or Mys — was ready for that.

Arthur wanted to talk about integrating more Mysticals in to the United States of America’s defense departments. We carefully edged around the notion. The last thing we were going to do right now was hand over our people to make Com armies stronger. Maybe, in the far, far off future, we could talk about keeping Mys and Coms safe together, but not when there was a Com group targeting us and we didn’t know who the head of the extremist group was.

Simply put, we didn’t trust them right now.

That would take time, and this was only the first, tiny step.


Exiting the building, we were again ogled.

Pearl peered longingly at a boutique across the street, but kept quiet. The streets here were so busy. So full of Coms. If they mobbed us right then, we were goners. No matter how powerful we were.

Wind whipped through the gaps between the bodyguards, ruffling my hair, and I hunkered down in my jacket, hating that I felt fearful. Like I had much of my life. It felt like a never-ending battle, but I knew tricks in dealing with it. Imagining a safe place, warm and protected, helped to keep me together. Sadly, my life growing up had somewhat prepared me for this.

Jack sighed behind Pearl and me, his words quiet. “I’m hungry. I didn’t have breakfast.”

Pearl shook her head. “Neither did I.”

It probably didn’t help that there was a small Mexican restaurant near the parking garage. There was a spicy aroma from it wafting on the frigid breeze. The scent heavenly to my senses, my stomach chose that moment to growl in sympathy and agreement. I hadn’t eaten, either. The scent intensifying the closer we got, I murmured, “Maybe, we can find something on the way back to the debriefing?”

We had to talk with the Kings when we got back to Choep. I knew they were going to drill us on our observations of the up-and-coming Com leaders of America. We were going to need sustenance to deal with them.

Ezra growled low in his throat, stopping so suddenly that Pearl and I banged against his back, Jack smacking into us. He pivoted as we unpeeled ourselves, whispering harshly, “We’re acting like a bunch of pussies.” His fists clenched. “I’m starving, too. Let’s get something to eat.”