“Whatever you are, you’ve been angel Ambassador to my government for three hundred years.” She eyes him with a wary look, and I have to agree, this guy seems a little sketchy. A protective urge coils up my spine.
Xavier gestures around the room. “I helped design this Senate building, in fact.” His eyes flash bright blue. “I know things about the quasi government you couldn’t guess at.”
Correction: he seems a LOT sketchy.
“Obviously, you’ve more than your share of secrets.” Mom lifts a red sheet of paper from the file. “Here’s a summary of the grievances against you over the years.” She gives the paper a shake. “Using angelic influence seems to be your favorite way to get work done. That tactic is illegal in and will no longer be tolerated in this office.”
Xavier hitches his ankle onto his knee and smiles. “There’s never been a formal complaint. What’s the nature of the problem, exactly?”
Mom slams the paper into her folder. “Angelic influence. You know, mind control? When angels find the good in a mortal soul and use it to change their behavior.”
My brows pop up. Angelic influence? Who knew they could control minds?
Xavier makes a tsk-tsk noise. “Perhaps you’re thinking of dreamscaping. A handful of angels and demons have this gift. They can send visions to others’ dreams, sometimes even communicate with them in their sleep. You must be confused.”
Uh-oh. I’ve tried that ‘you’re confused’ line on Mom before. It only makes her angrier.
Mom raises her hand. “Please. We both know that angelic influence is nothing like dreamscaping. You connect to non-angels and inspire them into your so-called good deeds.” She slaps her hands onto the desktop. “I’m not a fool. Most of my angelic requests have one goal only: to prevent fully evil souls from entering Heaven through trial by combat. And why’s that? Angelic influence doesn’t work on the truly evil, so you could never control them.”
Mom’s spot-on with this one. In my Arena matches, I fight their worst souls for that very reason: pure evil would be uncontrollable in Heaven.
Xavier frowns. “Nonsense.”
I roll my eyes. He’s so full of it.
“I knew that would be your position. That’s why I’ve been spending the past months gathering evidence to the contrary. In our first meeting, I’d like to lay out the facts, clear and simple. After that, we’ll have an honest discussion about how our offices will interact going forward.” She rises to her feet and steps in front of Xavier’s chair. “Are you ready for an honest discussion today, Mister Cross?” Her eyes flash red.
I grin. That was the verbal equivalent of a gut punch. I never pictured wrath as having a place anywhere outside the Arena, but Mom brings it to a whole new level. Go, Mom, go!
Xavier rises to his feet. “Senator Lewis, if it means we can actually get to work, then I’ll promise anything.”
Mom grips her elbows. “Anything?”
His eyes flare blue. “That’s what I said.”
“Then repeat after me. I will not use angelic influence.”
A muscle twitches along his jaw. “I will not use angelic influence.”
“Promise noted, Ambassador Cross.” She steps back to her desk and retakes her seat. “I’ll see you in a month.”
Xavier eyes her closely. “No, you’ll see me Monday.” Turning on his heel, he stomps out the door, slamming it behind him.
Spinning her chair around, Mom kicks the wall. “Exasperating!”
I sigh. I feel your pain, Mom. Nothing’s worse than a handsome guy with a snarky mouth and superiority complex.
Tim slowly opens the door and steps into the room.
“Is everything alright Senator? I heard noises.”
“Where’ve you been the past few minutes, Tim?”
“At my desk.” His forehead creases. “Filing, I think.”
“You didn’t see anyone walk past you?”
“No.”
Mom speaks in a low voice. “He used angelic influence. Hopefully for the last time.”
I rub my chin. It makes sense that angelic influence would work on anyone with a smidgeon of goodness in them, so long as the angel was powerful enough.
Tim frowns. “What did you say, Senator?”
“Nothing. I’m fine, Tim. Thank you for checking.” Mom watches her assistant step back toward the door. “Oh, Tim?”
“Yes, Senator?”
“There’s a cocktail event in the ballroom downstairs after work. Would you like to go and have a drink with me?”
Tim smiles. “Yes, Senator Lewis. I would.”
Ugh. That might answer the whole ‘which ghoul is my Dad’ question.
They continue to speak, but their bodies become sand again and slip back into the earth. For the rest of the night, I dream that I keep trying to cook the perfect worm soufflé. It’s freaking nasty.
Chapter Ten
When I open my eyes, one thought flashes through my mind: my dad may be a ghoul named Tim-29. It lines up with everything I learned from Mom and my dreamscapes. It’s just really depressing.
I step into the kitchen, ready for this morning’s Maternal Inquisition. Mom sits at our scratched Formica table, sipping her coffee. She eyes me carefully. “Did you have another dream?” The Inquisition beginneth.