Tooth and Nail (31 page)

I felt my mouth drop open. More of them were out there? More hurt, possessed kids. Older kids, who had gotten worse, sicker. How many … ?

“So what else do you need so you can
understand
?” Svein demanded. “Do you need me to spell it out?
Clayton’s the bad guy
.”

I breathed in deeply, out hard. “Frederica just said we can do this without bloodshed,” I pointed out.

“She said that before she knew TV-Spree is his new weapon of choice.”

“Don’t you think she can come up with a better idea than execution?”

“No,” he said bluntly. “She would be against this solution, but she wouldn’t be able to come up with a better one because there is none. I have nothing but the highest admiration for Frederica, but she’s an idealist.”

“I thought the Olde Way
was
an ideal.”

“We live here now,” he said. “We need to adapt a little better to reality.”

“But …”

“
This
is reality,” he repeated, “and this is what
you
were
born
to do.”

I froze, and the anger rose up my spine and radiated out to every finger and toe until I curled them tightly. I forced myself to breathe, and I braced my sneakered feet on the floorboard, pressing my back against the passenger seat in an effort to hold in my offended wings. My back teeth jammed together, and when I spoke, I didn’t unclench them. “That’s what you think? That I was born a warrior, born to blindly fight our battles without question? I
chose
this,” I reminded him. “And do you actually think that because I’m half human, I’m half violent and reckless, and I’ll be
okay
with killing someone?”

My fingernails dug into the heels of both hands. “Maybe humans aren’t perfect. Maybe the fae are. Maybe a fae father wouldn’t leave a fae child forever in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. Maybe he wouldn’t leave the fae mother to cry herself to sleep for a year. I don’t know. I do know that humans aren’t perfect, but they’re not the polar opposite. They’re somewhere in between fae and something I never hope to see. And maybe as a consequence of that limbo, humans
can
swing between good and bad.”

I twisted in my seat so I was facing Svein. “But I’m not going to kill anyone. I’m not that angry, or that hopeless. I’m not the person on the subway platform who killed your parents. I’m a fighter, but only to defend my way, and to defend the Olde Way. I’m not a fighter who’s out to kill someone else’s way. That’s not my place. My place, what I was
born
to do, is to make it right. I don’t happen to think murder makes anything right.”

I stopped for a moment, my breath hiccuppy and shallow. “I’m going to figure out how to stop Clayton without killing him, because when you morning fae finally do bring back the Olde Way,
I
-” I jabbed my thumb into my sternum “—am going to be worthy of it.”

I grabbed the door handle and pushed, and the cool evening air, mixed with the scent of sidewalk and new leaves, brushed in. “Thanks for all your help,” I said, stepping out, “but I think that due to creative differences, we’ve come to the end of our professional relationship. I’m going to take it from here.” I bent down to look at him one last time. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I can live with that. I can’t live with disappointing myself.”

I slammed the car door and walked home. Halfway there, I realized I was cold, but I swung my arms by my sides, refusing to wrap them around myself for warmth.

CHAPTER 19

W
hen I got home, Avery and his father were sitting in the living room. “Here she is,” Avery said.

Johnson McCormack stood and kissed me on the cheek. “Lovely to see you, Gemma.”

“Did I know you were coming tonight?” I asked him, smoothing a hand through my hair and tugging the wrinkles out of my shirt. “I’m sorry. When I worked full time, I kept flawless track of time. Now that I’m leisurely, I never know what day it is.”

Johnson was as tall as Avery, with completely white hair. I’ve seen pictures of him younger, with dark hair, but the pictures didn’t make any sense to me, because the white hair was a true manifestation of his personality—strikingly distinguished and utterly original. His smile was wide and frequent. I didn’t know Avery when his father had run for office, so I couldn’t tell whether Johnson’s good humor was a coping strategy he’d cultivated to deal with the loss of his career or whether it was just the way he’d always been. He was nice to be around. Avery had told him at some point about my father, and Johnson never brought it up; rather, he quietly assumed the role when he felt the situation warranted it. Nearly a year ago, I had confided to him about a co-worker at the polling office whom I’d been clashing with, and Johnson had listened, asked me questions, and offered sound, serious advice accompanied by a pat on the shoulder and an assurance that he knew I could handle it. He was generous, smart and sharp, and I wanted to take a pickaxe to the anonymous jerk who’d embroiled him in needless—and ultimately career-crushing—scandal.

“Dad just dropped by,” Avery said. He’d shed suit and tie for jeans and a T-shirt. “I’m going to run out and grab a couple of pizzas. Ball game’s about to start.”

“Are you sure you don’t have work to do?” Johnson asked him. “I really just stopped by to say hello.”

“I always have work,” Avery said, “but it’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. I need a night off. Want anything special, Gemma?”

“Whatever you’re getting is fine.”

Avery tugged on a baseball cap and left. I grinned at Johnson and plopped down on the rug in front of him. I grabbed the remote off the coffee table and flicked on the flatscreen. As happy as I always was to see Avery’s father, the timing wasn’t ideal. I was planning to spend the evening coming up with some kind of perfect plan to stop Clayton. I could always escape to the bedroom after I ate, and do some thinking. I was still insanely angry at Svein, but knew that anger was useless if I couldn’t figure out a non-murderous plot. And I only had four days to get it all done.

For the moment, I was obligated to be a gracious hostess. “How’s Avery’s mom?”

“She’s fine,” Johnson said, “thanks for asking. She’s volunteering a little late at the hospital, and then it’s poker night with the girls. Left me to fend for myself.”

“Guess she figured you could handle it.”

“I think she knew I’d head over here for some guy time.”

I laughed. “Sorry to interfere.”

“You know you’re one of the guys,” he said, and winked.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“How’s your right hook?”

“Maybe not quite what it was,” I said, grimacing as I recalled Smiley calling me an old lady. “But I still wouldn’t advise you to stand in front of it.”

“I’m not that kind of fool, my dear.”

We both looked at the screen as I surfed through channels. When I found the Nationals’ pre-game commentary, I glanced at Johnson. His eyes were still on the screen, but he didn’t seem to be seeing it. He was thinking hard, seeing something only in his mind. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, but suddenly his smile was thinner, and more tired. “Gemma,” he said, “I want to ask you something, but please don’t tell Avery I was asking.”

“Of course not.”

“Is he all right?”

I dropped the remote on the rug beside me, leaned back on my hands, and frowned. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t he be?”

He sighed. “It’s tough, doing what he’s doing.”

“It’s been tough,” I admitted. “He’s working even longer hours than he did as a DA. Sometimes he’s fatigued, but then he pulls himself right back up. He’s going on Graham Wright’s late-night talk show this weekend, which is pretty cool. I’m sure he’s glad to have a night off to watch the game and hang out with his dad.”

“I’m really proud of him,” Johnson said. “Really very proud. He knows why I stay out of the public eye instead of campaigning for him. But I hate that I have to stand back. I want everyone to know how proud I am, and what a good son he is, and how committed he is to doing good things for Virginia, and the country.”

I shifted a little, slightly uncomfortable. He and I never talked about his past career, and it was certainly not a topic I would have broached. “Avery knows,” I said. “He’s your greatest admirer. And don’t worry about the public support. I’ve got that covered for both of us.”

He nodded slowly. “I have no doubt. But he witnessed what can happen to a career if—and I don’t want him to be thinking only about that.”

“He’s vigilant,” I said. “I’m not going to lie to you. He thinks about it, worries about it.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of talking heads out there who say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

I sat up straight. “But you didn’t do anything wrong. Why would anyone still be implying you were guilty when you proved you weren’t?”

“People don’t remember I wasn’t guilty,” he said gently. “They only remember a scandal with my name on it. My exoneration wasn’t interesting enough to make headlines. And Gemma, it’s all about headlines. Facts don’t mean anything where public opinion is concerned. If you want to ruin someone, go to the media with a rumor or some allegations. Once it hits the streets and public opinion takes an ugly shape, that person’s life will become nothing but a series of defense tactics. It won’t matter if, in the end, they’ve done nothing wrong.”

“That’s not true,” I insisted, but I did so out of politeness, because he was right. “Most people know you were honest and straightforward. More importantly, Avery knows.” I sighed. “Try not to worry about him. Deep down, I think he knows that a scandal would be out of his control. They only thing he can control is himself, right? And he’s been a great candidate. People
really
like him. He’s got brains and good ideas and a charming girlfriend.” I smiled again. “If something did happen, if we had to weather something similar to what you went through, you’d be right there for him.”

“So would you,” Johnson said. “I’ll be honest. I would have had to love you no matter who you were, as long as my son loved you. But I’m proud that he managed to get you to fall for him, because of who he’s been since. I couldn’t have chose better for him myself.”

A lump rose in my throat and my eyes stung at the retired politician’s ringing endorsement of me, the one who could potentially wreck everything although I was trying so hard not to.

On TV, the leadoff batter stepped up to the plate, and we both fell silent, letting the awkwardly sweet moment pass by. But too quickly, my thoughts veered back to Clayton.

Well, I couldn’t destroy his lab. Not only would I be putting other people in his building at risk, but it would be useless because production of his toothpaste wasn’t restricted to that room anymore. Clayton was right—I was too late for that. Smile Wide was out there already, cases and cases of it waiting to be sold and shipped.

I could try to appeal to TV-Spree, but by the time I got through all the red tape that must block the important people at the network, it would probably be too late. I could stage some kind of boycott outside TV-Spree’s offices, but I was sure Clayton would cross my picket line with a glamour-filled grin and that would be that. Besides, a high-profile stunt by me wouldn’t help Avery’s campaign in the slightest.

I exhaled hard through my mouth and the hair on my forehead blew up and down. While I was considering every possible thing I could do to stop Clayton, the fact still remained that Mahoney wouldn’t let go either. I had a feeling that today’s phone call wouldn’t be the last.

“Oh, no,” Johnson said, as the second Mets batter sent one up and up, and the center fielder gave up seconds before the ball sailed over the bleachers.

If only there was a way that I could knock both Mahoney and Clayton out of the park at the same time.

Wait.

Mahoney wanted me to give him a story.

Clayton was a local dentist about to sell thousands of tubes of tainted toothpaste to kids.

Johnson had just said it himself: If you want to ruin someone, go to the media with an allegation. Public opinion counts more than facts.

“I’m home!” Avery called. “What did I miss?”

“Mets homer,” Johnson said, getting up to join his groaning son in the kitchen.

The D.C. Digger’s talent was getting information out there, and getting it out there fast. He was a popular blogger whom Washington insiders hated
and
respected, and he was on the radar of the large networks. If he broke an interesting story that held even the smallest grain of truth, people would take it seriously. Clayton’s story had more than a grain of truth. I had scientists who could confirm it—albeit anonymously.

And regarding Clayton, I was positive that as soon as it was publicly suggested that his toothpaste was eating away at teeth, his TV-Spree contract would sink, and sink deep. A huge television shopping network would never want to be liable for selling a questionable product. The possibility for massive recalls and class-action suits would be enormous.

Besides, everybody went nuts when they thought children were at risk. Would his product ever survive? My guess was no.

“Gemma,” Avery said, coming into the room with a plate of pizza and nudging my butt with his foot. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yes,” I said, grinning widely.
I’m going to save kids’ innocence. I’m going to save the Olde Way. I’m going to save you.
“I definitely am.”

>=<

Was it ethical to make a deal with devil two if it meant bringing down devil one?

Kind of hard to say, but as I stretched and watched inning three end with a strikeout, I knew I was ready to try it.

The Mets had won last night and Avery and Johnson pretended to be glum, but they had a carefree, fun night together and I knew the final score wasn’t important. I’d slipped away to make a quick phone call during a commercial break, whispering into my cell phone in the bathroom. I’d suggested meeting at the Tidal Basin at midnight, but he’d scoffed at my amateur effort at clandestine activity. The most effective place for a secret meeting, he’d informed me, was in the middle of a crowd.

After last night’s loss by two, the Nationals were out for revenge. My ticket was waiting for me at the window and I’d gotten here early enough to watch the players lie supine on the field, stretching their quads, then throwing the ball around the outfield. At the top of the fourth, my nose was definitely sunburned, there was no score, and the seat next to me was still empty.