4
Zoey
“OMG, who is that deliciously handsome Son of Erebus who just walked through that door?” Aphrodite cooed.
I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder. Stark made a noise between a snort and a sigh.
“Wait, I know who it is. It’s my man!”
Aphrodite tilted her head back, perfectly timed for Darius to bend down, murmur, “Hello, my beauty,” and kiss her. He straightened and shook his head slightly. “Champagne for breakfast?”
“Always, handsome,” Aphrodite said. She flicked her finger against the empty orange juice glass and added, “But I made it healthy with this.”
Darius glanced at me. “She actually drank that?”
I nodded. “Yep. Gulped it down like a trooper.”
“It was just orange juice. It tastes good,” Stark said.
“Then next time you drink it,” Aphrodite said.
Stark looked utterly baffled. I just shook my head and rolled my eyes. Sometimes—actually, most times—it’s easier to just go with whatever craziness Aphrodite spouts versus trying to actually make sense of it. Stevie Rae told me once that she listened to Aphrodite like she read Shakespeare—not actually getting every word, but eventually understanding the basic message. As usual, I agreed with Stevie Rae.
“What is the urgency, my beauty?” Darius asked after bowing formally to me and nodding to Stark.
“Kalona showed up in Z’s dream warning of danger. He told her to read Neferet’s journal. We did. It’s as bad as you might imagine. Now we’re going with Z to Woodward Park. Hopefully shit is not going to go wrong. Which would be the first time. So, I sent out the Bat Signal, and here you are. The end.”
I watched as several emotions flashed across the Warrior’s face—surprise, fear, anger. He glanced at me. I nodded. He sighed.
“And I was naively hoping the emergency was that the dining hall had run out of champagne.”
“That would be more on the lines of tragedy than emergency,” Aphrodite said.
“Has Neferet truly begun to stir?”
“We don’t know.” I spoke with much more bravado than I felt. “But we’re going to find out.”
“Tell me why we decided to walk again?” Aphrodite said as she leaned on Darius, lifting up her foot to study the red sole of her Louboutin stiletto boot. “OMG, gum? I stepped in some Neanderthal’s gum?”
Stark and I were walking ahead of them. I glanced over my shoulder. “We’re walking because it’s a beautiful December night—not too hot and not too cold—and midtown is all dressed up in holiday lights. Aphrodite, it’s pretty. I wanted to enjoy it.” I didn’t add, While we can, because if Neferet somehow gets loose we’ll probably all die, but my unspoken words hung over us.
“We told you to put on sensible shoes,” Stark added.
“Last season’s Louboutin’s are as sensible as I get,” she said as she scuffed down the sidewalk, trying to get rid of the last of the gum.
“Check out Utica Square. I love how it looks all lit up for the holidays. It reminds me of a giant snow globe,” I said.
“I’m averting my eyes,” Aphrodite said.
“Is she still boycotting Utica Square because of Miss Jackson’s closing?” Stark whispered to me.
“Yes, I am,” Aphrodite answered. “Fucking barbarians. Do they expect me to shop at Saks? Like the rest of the upper-middle-class people?” She shuddered. “No. I’ve resorted to online Nordstrom purchases.”
“But, my beauty. You just returned from a shopping trip to Dallas. You said the Nordstrom there was a paradise,” Darius said.
“Hyperbole,” she muttered. “Sad, sad, hyperbole.”
At the corner of Twenty-First and Utica, we turned left, crossing the street and walking past festively decorated office buildings and the yummy McGill’s restaurant. There was a little rise in the road and then we were looking down at Woodward Park.
“Ah oh,” I said.
“What the hell?” Stark asked.
Aphrodite and Darius caught up to us, and we all stared at what should be a dark, deserted park lit only by the vintage-looking streetlamps. Currently it was anything but deserted and dark. There was a large crowd of what appeared to be reporters, complete with a big Channel 2 News van and several cameras surrounding a woman who was standing in front of a podium (Podium? At Woodward Park? Huh?) facing the throng of people. Camera lights flashed, but we were too far away to hear what was being said.
“Oh, for shit’s sake. That’s my mother.”
The three of us gawked at Aphrodite. Then our gazes swiveled back to the park scene and, sure enough, now that I was looking closer I could see that the woman was indeed Aphrodite’s beautiful, hateful mother, Frances LaFont.
“I wonder what she’s up to?” Stark said.
“Nothing good,” I said. “That’s for sure.” I glanced at my friend, who was staring at her mom with a kinda shell-shocked expression, her face washed the white of a porcelain doll. “Have you talked to her since your dad died?”
“No. I called her after we beat Neferet. I thought she’d want to know that I was okay. I don’t know why I thought that, but still. I called. Her PA passed along Mom’s message to me, which was that she is ‘permanently not available to talk to the person who used to be her daughter,’” she air quoted. “That was last year.”
“She is consumed by anger and ambition,” Darius said, sliding his arm around Aphrodite’s shoulders and holding her close. “That is what you escaped, my beauty.”
“Hey, Stark and I can go down there. Go back to McGill’s and order a glass of wine. We’ll do some recon and meet you in a few,” I said.
Aphrodite shook her head. “No. She said it. I’m not her daughter anymore, so she doesn’t get to fuck with my life anymore.”
Darius touched her cheek gently. “Bullies seldom stand when confronted by those who aren’t weak or alone. You are neither.”
“Yeah. Especially not alone.” I took her hand and squeezed.
“And definitely too hateful to be weak,” Stark said, his smile making it the compliment he intended.
Aphrodite blinked several times and then drew a deep breath and stood a little taller. “Okay, let’s go see what kind of shit she’s stirring now.”
Closing ranks around Aphrodite, we followed the sidewalk down, crossed the street, and moved slowly to the outskirts of the group of people just as a familiar voice from the crowd called out a question.
“Mrs. LaFont, the next mayoral election isn’t for almost a year. Why announce your candidacy so early?”
Aphrodite sucked in a shocked breath.
Mrs. LaFont’s cerulean eyes searched the crowd until she spotted the reporter. “Chera Kimiko, so lovely to see you. I was afraid we’d lost you to marital bliss. Glad to see you’re back with the news, though I do prefer Fox’s sensible politics to Channel 2.”
Aphrodite made soft kiss-kiss sounds.
“Thank you, Mrs. LaFont,” Chera said without losing a beat. “And I think reporters should report the news and not fabricate it. Would you like me to repeat my question?”
“No, dear. I remember the question perfectly well. I am announcing my candidacy for mayor of Tulsa early because I believe the good people of our fair city need to be given hope.”
“Hope? Tulsa’s unemployment rate has fallen 1.5 percent over the past year, and is currently at its lowest since the oil boom. Housing sales are up. We’ve finally raised teacher pay competitively, and the construction on Harvard Street has actually been completed.” Chera paused as the crowd laughed softly before concluding. “What does Tulsa need to hope for?”
“Do you remember the Biblical story of Sodom and Gomorrah?” Mrs. LaFont said, an icy smile on her perfect face.
“Oh, shit. Here we go,” Aphrodite murmured.
“Those twin cities thrived, too, even as they were rotting from within. I’m sure their unemployment rate was down, as well. Just before God, in all His wisdom, smote them for harboring vile sinners. If you recall, angels of the Lord couldn’t even find ten righteous men to save the cities.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. LaFont. I don’t understand. Are you saying Tulsa is harboring sinners and you need to save us from them?” Chera asked.
“Well, I didn’t say that. You did. And since you did, let me explain. I don’t think it does any of us good if we gain wealth, but lose our souls in the process.”
“Ma’am?” Chera asked, clearly as baffled as the rest of the crowd.
“Vampyres.” LaFont spoke the word as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “Vampyres are the vileness we’re harboring.”
“Ah oh,” I said softly. “Maybe now would be a good time for us to leave.”
“Not a chance,” Aphrodite said.
“But Mrs. LaFont, Tulsa has spent the past year working with the House of Night. There is even a new program in the works that will allow area students to take classes at the House of Night—tuition-free. There’s a farmers’ market on the school grounds every Thursday night, which is open to the public, and their new High Priestess, Zoey Redbird, has instituted a cat rescue program in conjuncture with Tulsa Street Cats. Human–vampyre relations have never been so good,” Chera said.
“And don’t forget, the House of Night saved us from Neferet!” called another reporter I didn’t recognize.
“Don’t you forget Neferet came from the House of Night. They are the reason she loosed her evil on our city. If it hadn’t been for the House of Night, those twelve hundred people, my husband included, would be alive today. How many of them were your brothers and sisters? Husbands and wives? Sons and daughters?” LaFont paused to let the crowd murmur restlessly.
Into the pause, Chera asked, “What is it you’re proposing, Mrs. LaFont? What will be your mayoral platform?”
“That’s simple. My platform is: Make Tulsa Strong Again. I believe that says it all.”
There was a pregnant pause, and then Chera said, “What exactly does that mean?”
“Well, it means that we need to depend upon the good Christian people of this community to come together to preserve our culture and identity. We’re strong when we’re Tulsa—not when we harbor a ticking time bomb in the heart of our beautiful city. If I am elected your mayor, I pledge to rescind the House of Night’s lease on the old Cascia Hall Preparatory School and to escort every last vampyre out of our city. We need to take Tulsa back!”
“Ooooh! Question! I have a question over here!” Aphrodite had stepped forward and was doing an excellent imitation of Damien, flailing her hand with way more enthusiasm than she had ever shown in class.
Her mother’s cold blue eyes lit on her daughter. I saw them widen for an instant as an emotion flicked over them—shock, maybe? Or sadness?
Then those eyes that were exactly the shape and color of her daughter’s narrowed, and I realized what the emotion had been—anger.
“Would my security detail please escort this young lady from the park.” Mrs. LaFont said in a dead voice.
“Um, no, Mother.” Aphrodite sounded like she was lecturing a petulant child. “This is a public park. I have every right to be here. Well, right now I do. If you’re elected I’m sure that’ll change. Hey, maybe you can bring back marking undesirables with a yellow star, you know, to encourage the good people of Tulsa,” she pitched her voice to sound exactly like her mother’s, “to jump on the bully bandwagon. Because, like we all know, a bully only has to beat up a few kids in the schoolyard and then the rest of the sheep will start to follow you or avoid you out of fear.”
“This press conference is over,” LaFont said. “And this person—”
“Who happens to be your daughter!” Aphrodite interrupted.
Which didn’t phase LaFont at all. “This person has proven my point. She and her vampyre family have disrupted a free human gathering. Again. I will see you all on the campaign trail. Good night and may God bless Tulsa!”
Smooth as a snake, Mrs. LaFont glided from the podium. Her security team closed around her, hurrying her to a waiting limo.
“And they called me a hag from hell,” Aphrodite said, shaking her head in disgust.
“Oh, some people still do,” Stark said, obviously trying to lighten the tension between us.
I was watching Aphrodite closely. Her eyes were suspiciously bright. Darius was practically velcroed to her side.
I understood what she was going through. My mom betrayed me, too. But I still loved her. I couldn’t help it. And I didn’t think Aphrodite could, either.
“Come on. Let’s circle around through the rose gardens. By the time we get back here the reporters should be gone,” I said.
“Aphrodite LaFont?” Suddenly the lights of a camera were shining in our direction and Chera Kimiko was pointing a puffy microphone at Aphrodite.
“Yes, I’m Aphrodite. I dropped my last name, though. Kinda like my mother dropped me.” She tossed back her hair and smiled directly into the camera.
I thought she deserved an Oscar. She definitely has the hair for it. I mean, seriously, that long blond stuff is Disney-princess quality.
“You are Frances LaFont’s daughter, though, aren’t you?”
“Frances LaFont gave birth to me, but the truth is she hasn’t been a mother to me for years.”
“What is your reaction to her announcement that she plans to run for mayor?”
“I’m super confused. I mean, my father was a decent mayor. Well, if you ignore the fact that he cut taxes for the top 1 percent and had an abysmal record of allowing Big Oil to totally screw up our environment—hello earthquakes in Oklahoma! Anyway, in spite of my father’s Republican shortcomings, he was a career politician. He did his homework. He knew this city and its people. Mother was never, well, how should I put this so that it’s not offensive …” She paused, shrugged, and continued, “Never mind. I just realized that there’s no reason for me not to be offensive. My mother has always been more concerned with shoes, cocktail parties, and appearances than law and government. And what she just said proves she has a lot of homework to do before she could even begin to run this city.”
“What do you mean?” Chera asked.
“Well, her first official announcement after her candidacy was that she plans to revoke the House of Night’s lease on our school. Mother better check her facts. The House of Night doesn’t lease anything. We own the property. Outright. No mortgage. She can’t kick us out. Save your votes, people, for someone who deserves them. Toodles!” She blew a kiss at the camera, flung back her Disney-princess hair, and twitched off as cameras flashed and reporters called questions at her back.