Page 40 of Gates of Tartarus

He grits his teeth, glances out the window, and forcibly relaxes his body, leaning in slightly and plays with the other side of the same napkin. We’re presenting a charming photo op, but the air is tense between us.

“You’re reading me uninvited, Ms. Reed? Now, is that polite?” he hisses, words slithering, almost tangible, flashing snake scales, just the edge of fang.

“You told me I could, James!” I protest, innocence dripping from my words, “in the office that one day. Should I not have believed you?”

He freezes briefly, fingertips clenching the napkin edge, then smiles jovially, mask firmly back in place. “Of course, Kailani. My mistake. I do apologize. How... unusually careless of me. I can assure you I won’t be so careless again.”

We stare at each other for a long moment, the words hanging heavy between us, and I smile softly, using my sweetest voice to say, “That’s alright, James. We all make mistakes.”

I can tell I’m throwing him off balance and it’s making him worry. He sits back, cocks his head, and makes a decision. “Alright, Kailani. I’ll play whatever game you’re playing. Not fair as I don’t know the rules, but alright. You want to know what issue I care about? Favors. That’s what I care about. I want to gather enough favors, enough good will, enough support, that when I have an issue I want pushed through, it’ll be pushed through, cost be damned. I want to know that if there’s a bill regarding displaced people or migrant workers that I can get it passed. I want to make sure I have the clout to stop the use of palm oil in the United States. Fully ban it. I want to be the person people go to to make things happen. And I want to make the decisions that craft the direction of our nation. I want to be in the history books. How’s that for honesty?” He looks at me challengingly,

I nod slowly. “Okay, then. Okay.”

“Now your turn,” he smirks. “What issues are important to you?”

“I think you already know,” I reply. “I’m pretty open with them.”

“Children.” James smiles kindly, condescendingly. “Yes, I’ve done my homework. You care about protecting children. Due to your traumatic history, I assume.”

I sit up suddenly, eyes sharp and questioning. “What do you mean by that?” I ask softly.

His smile darkens, victory turning it sharp, his full lips flattening to razor edges. “I told you. I’ve done my homework.”

“Into sealed records?” I ask bitterly. “Sealed, juvenile records?”

“Ah now, don’t be like that, Kailani,” he replies, voice placating. “Some small strings to pull, but background checks are always done on dates. Please don’t be upset or offended. I assure you that, while it seems invasive, it’s protocol.”

“Protocol my ass. You deal in favors. And you had to use some up to look at those records.”

He nods. “Not as many as you’d think. Peopleliketo help me.Mostpeople like to help me, I should say. Most people enjoy being on my good side. A rising tide raises all ships, after all.”

“And your tide is rising?” I ask.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Kailani. Iamthe ocean, politically speaking. I’m liked byeveryone. I’ve worked tirelessly, countless hours, to become who I am. If people don’t like me, they at least respect me. I’m a politician who says what I mean, and I follow through on what I say. Iwillbe the President in the next eight years. It is almost inevitable.”

I think back to an article I read a few days ago, an opinion piece carried in the New York Times, with similar pieces echoing the sentiment in the Washington Post and the LA Times. It was titled “The Future is Bright: Ten Reasons to be Hopeful About American Politics”. Reason Number One? The man sitting across from me at the table. A member of multiple major committees, widely considered to bethego-to mediator between parties, able to work out almost unheard-of deals… It was a glowing endorsement of him as a human being. “Bringing the heart back to America,” the article had said. “Finally a man who exemplifies the American ideals.”Well, fuck, I think.

“You’re right,”I say, true realization finally dawning. “You’re right.”

“As I go, America goes,” Tennireef says softly. “It’s just fact. You and I can be friends, Kailani. I can help get funding for your programs. You can help me do a few small reads, making sure people plan on keeping their words to me, nothing more. With you on my side we can create something great. Monumental even. People with your skills are wasted in police departments. We need you in human aid positions – what if each foster system had someone like you, fully trained, on their staff? Think of what we could do! What we could prevent! With us on the same team you could help create a safer, more compassionate child-welfare system and we could implement it nationwide. I could have you set up a fully financed committee to completely revamp the existing system. Completely under your direction and discretion, unreservedly and unquestioningly supported publicly by me and mine. Kailani – we just... we could do great things. Together.” I stare at him in horror. He’s holding out my secret dreams on a silver platter. It’s like he’s been to my home, read my journals from when I was a child, like he’s riffled through my brain and pulled out all of the hidden pieces of shattered hope in front of me, puzzled back together.

“You don’t like me, I know,” he continues, uninterrupted. “And I think I’m finally beginning to understand why. You don’t want to do what it takes to get things done. You want people to be good, and do good things, or be bad, and do bad things. But there’s an entire spectrum of greys in between those opposites, Kailani. You want to barrel through obstacles to get things done, and you want the people on your side to do the same. I can’t promise that. I am, at heart, a man who will do what it takes to accomplish my goals. I amunwaveringin my commitment to my desired outcomes. You may not always approve of how I hit my end goal, but, and this is just the cold truth, I reach the goalposts significantly more often than you do. And if you join my team, you’ll start making it through the uprights as well.”

“I’m Icarus,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “I’m fucking Icarus, and you’re the sun. You’re Apollo.”

He reacts like he’s been electrocuted. James jolts upright, face tight, hands pressed to the table. “What was that?” he asks, voice tense. “What did you just say?”

Startled, I move back in my seat. “What?”

He looks at me carefully, then meticulously folds his napkin, waving off the concerned staff who are moving towards us. “I think,” he begins, voice clearly forcibly light, “that I’ve taken up enough of your time. I have very much enjoyed it, and hope we can repeat it again? And please think about my offer. I promise to be cognizant of your... sensibilities… and not ask you to read in any situation that would make you at all uncomfortable. I’d leave the choice up to you.”

Glancing briefly, imperceptibly, at the windows, James moves to where I sit, taking my hand and helping me stand, turning me slightly in the process so I’m more easily seen from the front of the restaurant, before leaning forward to place a cool, chaste kiss on my lips. Tumultuous emotion crashes into me in the brief second that we’re skin on skin, before he pulls back and my shields push him out. It’s too quick to discern what he was feeling, but it lingers, a jolt of adrenaline in my system, and I’m shaken. Everything moves quickly, too quickly from that point, leaving me scrambling. I’m not sure what happened – we should have two more courses. We don’t even pay – he and his bodyguard just guide me through the crush of bystanders to my bike, parked just to the side of the restaurant, and he lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing it briefly, then squeezing it and dropping it.

Beyond us the clatter of reporters’ questions rings out, assaulting my ears, and the lights of the cameras are confusing. James smiles at me, then turns to address the reporters, glancing at his phone and sending out a quick text, before answering some of their questions.

“Easy, easy, friends.” His laughing voice calms the crowd immediately, and he calls on different people, friendly and welcoming. “Hey, Carl. How’s the wife? Good, good. What’s your question? Just a friendly dinner. Suzanne? Again, just a friendly dinner with the lovely Ms. Reed. She works with the Seattle Police Department… I don’t believe she likes that moniker, so I’d ask we keep things respectful… No need to reference…”

My phone vibrates, and I look down, surprised to see Elizabeth calling. Picking up, I tune out Tennireef and the background noise.

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