Skin Deep

CHAPTER 34

THE NATIONAL ARCHIVES sat between Seventh and Ninth Streets like a monolith-because it was a monolith. Big, dramatic, solid, the limestone-and-granite building was constructed to impress and to last. Layers of security protected precious documents inside, second only to that granted to the president. The archivists tended and preserved government records-both grand and mundane-so that researchers and citizens could access their history and understand their country. Except, of course, if their government didn’t want them to, Laura thought.

The Guildhouse monitored the U.S. government’s actions as much as any foreign entity’s. The disappearance of strategic documents from public view did not go unnoticed. U.S. citizens had no idea of the daily minutiae of their government-the signing statements and policy procedures that affected their way of life and over time eroded their rights. The American government gazed with envy as Maeve ran the Seelie Court as only an absolute monarch could-perhaps the only true monarchy left in the world that functioned. Slowly, as the papers and records vanished into the bowels of the National Archives, their access restricted, the rule of law changed, tightening its hold on an unwitting populace.

Laura mingled with dignitaries making their way around the Archives to the entrance. On the Pennsylvania Avenue side, she noted a statue-a seated woman staring into the distance, an open book on her lap. The figure seemed caught in a moment of realization, as if something she’d read had prompted her to wonder about its implications. She didn’t look happy about it. The engraving on the pedestal read WHAT IS PAST IS PROLOGUE.

A chill swept over Laura in the warm night air. The phrase echoed in her mind, a line from Shakespeare. A sense of dread touched her, the truth of the statement burning like a firebrand of warning in her inner vision. The future was a mystery, but its course could be seen. A few fey had the ability to see the future-or at least possible futures, but the final outcome always surprised. Laura shook off the feeling, determined not to let omens tease her fears for the evening.

Sinclair waited for her at the main-entrance security checkpoint on Constitution Avenue. She admired his tailored black suit and expensive tie, which he wore as comfortably as his day-job wardrobe of fatigues. He hid more than one weapon under his jacket. Other security officers working undercover for the event had guns as well. The fey sensed iron content, so the undercover status of anyone in the room carrying a weapon was undercut by sensing abilities. Laura gave Sinclair an advantage by adding a glamour to his medallion that masked the metal presence.

Flashing her badge, she skipped the queue and went through the metal detectors. The guest list for the opening included high-level officials from domestic and foreign governments. Secret Service agents patrolled the perimeter, and a more obvious metropolitan police presence directed traffic to the surrounding streets. Those who kept note of such things recognized that security was higher than usual for such a gathering. Even given the list of senators and House members and the high-level fey from both the Guildhouse and the Teutonic Consortium, security was tight.

“The president still insists on coming?” Laura asked quietly.

Sinclair scanned the crowd. “And Hornbeck. Not bowing down to terrorists and all that.”

“And when someone dies, we get blamed for their ignoring us,” she said.

A small smile flashed across Sinclair’s face. “I love my new job.”

They climbed the stairs to the main level of the building. “Foyle’s on board now?” she asked.

“Completely. If anything, he’s more on top of this than the Secret Service,” Sinclair said.

Laura watched people filing into the Rotunda. “The passion of the converted. I’m worried you told him too much.”

“It was unavoidable. He knew about the threat to Hornbeck. Once Secret Service muscled in on Triad, he had to know what was up,” said Sinclair.

The reports of Alfrey’s former association with Blume’s firm had set off too many alarms for the Secret Service. An immediate review of Triad staff ensued. Whatever his motivations were, Hornbeck retained enough clout to keep the security firm at the event. With Blume’s presumed innocence in the matter and his staunch defense of the integrity of his firm, political considerations came into play, and Triad was allowed to retain a role in security. As an alternative to an outright firing, no Triad staff were allowed inside the building. “Secret Service is confident?” she asked.

Sinclair nodded again. “They booted everyone who had less than five years with the company or a known association with Alfrey off the Triad team. Backgrounds were rechecked. Triad stays outside,” he said.

She made a point of not looking at him. “And you were assigned to me. What a lucky coincidence for you.”

He grinned. “When opportunity knocks, I tend to answer.”

Amused, she glanced at him. “Let’s find my assistant, Saffin. She’s been here all afternoon running the final checklist.”

Sinclair took her arm, but Laura slipped out of it. “You’re security, Jono. Not my date. Two paces behind, please.”

He smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

A string quartet played in the loge while across the way guests milled around the expansive floor of the Rotunda. The Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution remained on display for the evening, though the Bill of Rights was secured in the vault below. Normally when visiting hours were over, the documents were electronically lowered in their sealed casements to a basement vault. Rumor had it that in addition to being fireproof and bombproof, the vault two stories below was nuclear bombproof. Laura once asked the chief archivist if it were true, but the woman changed the subject.

Waitstaff circulated through the crowd offering appetizers, champagne, and seltzer. Between the volume of people and lack of space, a formal dinner had been nixed early in the planning. No one on the Washington event circuit went hungry, though. On any given night, back-to-back fund-raisers or parties provided enough food to qualify as an evening meal. Not particularly healthy food, but no one starved.

Laura spotted Saffin listening politely to an older man and woman. When they made eye contact, Saffin gave her a subtle look of pleading. Laura pretended not to notice the older couple and pulled Saffin away.

“Thank you. I didn’t know who they were and didn’t want to insult someone important,” she said.

“You look amazing,” Laura said.

Saffin preened. Her maroon designer dress highlighted her mocha skin. “I used my entire last bonus check for it.”

“And well spent. Is everything under control?”

She nodded vigorously as she looked around. “It was a little crazy this morning with all the security changes, but it’s good now. Oh! I should warn you. Once the speeches start, they’re dropping an airbe druad on the whole Rotunda. No one will be allowed through the essence barrier for about thirty minutes, so go to the bathroom now if you have to.”

Laura chuckled. Saffin had thought of everything. “I want to check the security on the Treaty before things start.”

Saffin touched her arm. “I’ll do it. We’re keeping it in the vault until Guildmaster Rhys makes his speech. You stay and mingle.” She leaned closer and whispered. “And there is a very handsome man behind you watching your every move. You should talk to him.” Saffin hurried off.

“My assistant thinks you’re handsome,” she muttered to Sinclair.

“You have an excellent assistant,” he said.

Near the Declaration of Independence, Hornbeck held court, with Tylo Blume at his side. Blume didn’t look like someone who had ever been denied a place at the table. In fact, he seemed pleased and relaxed as he laughed and talked with a Supreme Court justice. He should be happy, she thought. He got what he wanted.

On the opposite side of the room, Guildmaster Orrin ap Rhys moved through the gathering, oblivious to the Archives staffers and security personnel who scurried around him. For all their tendencies to vanity and superiority, most Dananns dimmed their essence and hid their wings from sight. It made dealing with humans easier-and enhanced the intimidation factor tenfold when they flashed their full power. Not Rhys. He was never shy about his normal appearance and more than happy to attract attention. He had been a negotiator of the Treaty of London and took pride in the achievement. To have another opportunity in the spotlight pleased him enormously.

Resha Dunne spoke with a group of fairies, mostly Dananns. A twinge of pity struck Laura at the sight of the glazed look on their faces. Resha’s social skills needed serious overhauling. Her desire to help him warred with her preference for his ineffectualness. A stronger leader in the public-relations area would make her job harder.

Sinclair followed her as she slipped back to the entrance. “I want to talk to Foyle.”

“He’s in the Public Vault,” said Sinclair.

The area behind the Rotunda served as an interactive display area. The exhibit of fey documents took up the entire space by special arrangement. Foyle waited near the entrance in full-dress uniform. Many people knew him as a police officer, either for his work on the force or with the Fey Relations Committee, so there was no point in trying to pretend he wasn’t security.

“Is everything going smoothly, Captain Foyle?” she asked.

He made a slight courtesy bow. “Fine, Ms. Blackstone. Is there anything you need?” he asked.

She was surprised he remembered her name. As Laura Blackstone, she had little interaction with him since the Archives handled security, especially with the president involved. “I’m just doing a last-minute walk-through.”

She passed into the exhibit area. On impulse, she stopped and turned back. “Captain Foyle, has anyone else been inside yet?”

“Just staff, ma’am,” he said.

She nodded. “Archives?”

He nodded as well. “And security. General entrance is scheduled for after the speeches.”

She smiled. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

She entered the exhibit. Computer screens lined the walls. Convergence and its mystery were presented first, a series of theories outlining recent thought as to how the event occurred. When the fey first arrived, they’d kept themselves hidden from the general public. They didn’t understand the world they found themselves in and tried to understand what had happened and where they were. Eventually, the Celtic and Teutonic factions revealed themselves to major governments in order to form alliances.

Original documents were on display within glass frames. The earliest documents showed High Queen Maeve’s diplomatic efforts with President Wilson. History was on her side. Wilson was keen on the unity of nations. Laura recognized Maeve’s hand in the subtle manipulations that played on Wilson’s fears of war-and especially his growing concerns with Germany. The Elvenking’s aggressive efforts to ally with the German government gave him pause, and the alliance with Maeve was inevitable. Maeve pushed for a series of stunning concessions from both the U.S. and Britain. The Seelie Court at Tara became officially recognized as a nation by treaty, and the rest of Europe fell in with their dominant allies.

Laura checked her watch. The speeches would start soon. Saffin? she sent. With the extra security wards in place, she allowed the sending a few moments to find its destination, but no response came. She retraced her path to the entrance, where Sinclair waited with Foyle. “Have you seen Saffin?” she asked.

Foyle craned his neck about the crowd. “Your assistant? She went down to the basement vault.”

Laura tapped him politely on the arm. “Ah, thank you. She said she would be checking that area. We should return to the Rotunda, Officer Sinclair. I think things are about to begin.”

They paused on the threshold of the Rotunda. The guest speakers had moved toward the podium next to the empty case where the Bill of Rights was usually displayed. Saffin should have been back upstairs at that point, but Laura still didn’t see her. She called Saffin’s cell, but it went to voicemail.

“She’s not answering her phone or my sendings, Jono. Saffin wouldn’t cut things this close. Something’s wrong.”