The reporter greeted the crowd, and they responded with thunderous cheers.
January had volunteered to be part of the rally when Deirdre announced it, communicating through the email that she believed to still be under Stark’s control. She had offered to warm up the crowd for the announcement—which Deirdre had warned her was likely to create a violent reaction. That hadn’t been a problem for the reporter.
“Here I come,” Deirdre said.
She jumped.
Deirdre landed on the stage with no sense of having fallen through the air. She was on the window, and then she was standing beside January Lazar, who looked startled to have Deirdre fall beside her.
After her days campaigning, Deirdre was as recognizable as Stark. The crowd erupted at the sight of her. They cheered, shouted, screamed. She couldn’t tell if they were happy or angry. Every single one of them looked like Gage and Stark, Gage and Stark, every last one of them Gage and Stark, from the edge of the makeshift stage to 42nd Street.
There was a microphone waiting for her. She was confident that microphone was real. It wasn’t Jacek’s viper form coiled around a metal pole, waiting to sink his fangs into her wrist.
Through the frame of buildings, she saw approaching spotlights. Helicopters. The OPA was coming.
They needed to make a show of a military presence. They wouldn’t do a damn thing against her.
“Where is he?” January whispered in a low tone, quietly enough that nobody off-stage would hear her. Deirdre had said in her emails that Stark would be at their rally. She had lied.
Deirdre’s lips moved. “He’s got better things to do.” She stepped forward to grab the microphone. It didn’t bite.
She realized that she hadn’t removed the intake bracelet. She jerked the sleeve down to hide it. Didn’t want this on camera on such a historic day. The historic rally that ruined the historic election.
“My fellow Americans,” Deirdre said.
Her voice echoed throughout Times Square. She flinched at the sound.
It wasn’t Stark’s voice coming out of her. That was Deirdre’s voice. Just Deirdre.
January Lazar’s camera was a couple feet away, off to the right, filming Deirdre’s face as she spoke to an angry public who probably expected a concession speech from Stark.
Everyone would watch this speech. Not just the people she hoped would see it—like Secretary Friederling and Rylie Gresham—but people she wished would have no clue that she had gotten in so deep. Old classmates. Jolene. Gutterman.
The only people who weren’t going to see it were Gage and Stark.
“My fellow Americans,” Deirdre said. “As you know, we had an election yesterday. I fought hard to make this election happen for my sake, for your sake, for all of us. Everton Stark and I had a vision of democracy—a government in the hands of the people. We agreed that the election was the best way to make that happen.”
Lies , hissed the serpent coiled around the microphone stand. Jacek thrashed in her fist as bloody tears dripped from the sky. You agreed on nothing. You broke Stark’s trust and he’ll kill you once he finds out.
Words tumbled from Deirdre. “We relied on an oath arranged by Rylie Gresham to maintain the honesty of this election. We strove to get everyone involved—even candidates among the sidhe known for their lack of integrity.”
Lies, lies, lies.
“We should have realized that our trust was in vain, and that Rylie Gresham, who hurt our country in so many painful ways, wouldn’t be able to pull off an honest election.”
The sea of faces was stirring. They were turning away from Deirdre to look at the far end of Times Square. At her height, she could see beyond them to hulking black BearCats as they moved in. Those were OPA assault vehicles, armored against attack. They had been a common sight before Genesis, but the OPA had stopped bringing them out as frequently.
Secretary Friederling was trying to put on a really good show.
Unless it
Learning to Kill: Stories