Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
With the entire world buzzing about “Juno’s Miracle” as it’s been styled, she never has a moment for anything else. It’s always the campaign. Solidifying her lead. Touting her plans to save the country.
At least she hasn’t mentioned superhumans again—not to me or the media. There have been questions, of course, plenty of them. But Fatima keeps tight control on any press interactions, ensuring Juno is insulated from any truly probing questions.
My unease has grown more each day that she’s been absent, so much so that I had a panic attack on the train that took us from Austin to DC. I’d curled into a ball, my breathing coming too fast and blood rushing in my ears. This inauguration was a foregone conclusion, Juno’s victory decisive despite myriad voting problems and the thinning populace.
All the noise from the campaign is silent now, the world finally still. The worries that’ve been eating at me seem small under the wide expanse of cloudy sky overhead, the National Monument pointing out just how insignificant we are in the face of everything.
The Mall is empty, no one risking the plague or the rows of razor wire to show up for the event. Most of the DC monuments have been closed to the public for months, and not even an inauguration is a good enough reason to open them up again. Without all the pomp and cheering spectators, the whole thing seems like a phoned-in exercise, children playing at democracy or a dry-run before the real event. Even so, it must be done. Juno isn’t the type of person to miss any detail or leave any opening for someone to challenge her term in office.
Unused to wearing heels, my feet ache from standing, and the borrowed dress I’m wearing does nothing against the cold. I pull my coat tighter and wish Juno would focus on speaking faster, not clearer with that determined tilt to her inflection. I suppose my discomfort is nothing in the face of unifying the nation and reassuring the world that the United States is still united. All the same, I can’t wait to get inside and out of these clothes.
I’m certain I’m not the only miserable one out here. Glancing to my right, I see Valen standing across the aisle from me, his eyes forward, his stillness almost preternatural. The snow doesn’t seem to bother him. Neither does the sun. I suppose the vampire theory is out the window. Even so, after his feat with the blood, I have to admit he’s unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. Months have passed since the demonstration in front of the press, but I know just as little now as I did then. That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about him, asked around and even tried searching what’s left of the Internet for any data on him. Nothing. He’s a ghost, someone who didn’t exist until he showed up at my sister’s office. And now he’s embedded, a part of Juno like some sort of deadly parasite. He turns his head just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes a deep blue in the filtered light. As if he knew I was watching him. My heart thumps harder against my ribs, and I look away.
Juno’s promised me answers, promised me the best lab in the country, and most importantly—promised me access to Valen’s blood. Now that she’s being sworn in, those promises are about to come to fruition. A pit yawns in my stomach, a place where I put all my self-doubt and worry. What if I can’t work out a vaccine? What if I have every tool at my disposal and still fail? What if I’m not good enough? It’s a never-ending litany, a minefield that I dance through anytime my brain gets the least bit quiet. There’s also another dark place my thoughts go. Valen. His people. I can’t help but wonder what Juno promised him. Something tells me Valen isn’t offering his precious blood for nothing in return.
I force myself to focus on the pomp and the ritual. Changing of the guard. Even so, I’m aware of every movement Valen makes, though he makes very few—simply turning his head minutely, like a hawk scanning for prey far beneath him. Once Juno’s finished with her oath, a small military band plays from a platform below us as a few dozen dignitaries, her Cabinet, and a handful of members of the Supreme Court stand and applaud.
I can’t keep myself from glancing at Valen, though he doesn’t look my way again.
Front row seats at the inauguration are usually reserved for former presidents or high-ranking senators. But now it’s only him, the seat beside him empty and the next one taken by the Speaker of the House. He’s made it to the most powerful spot in the country—right behind my sister. The thought sends a fresh chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the freezing temperatures.