I've been taking part in this year's NaNoWriMo. Not a huge amount done so far, but plugging away. Here's the first chapter of this year's entry. The prologue is here. Nag me on Twitter here to write more words!
Chapter One
As witches went, Juniper tried to avoid
the stereotypes. Sure, she had a cauldron, where else to make the
potions? However, she had a polite giggle rather than a cackle, there
wasn't a wart or boil in sight – and goodness help her if there
was, it would make the Presidential Make-up Team faint. There was,
though, one thing that fit the image. She could shriek.
“WHERE IS MY CHIEF OF STAFF?” she
demanded of the hapless secretary outside the office that was notably
devoid of the object of her outcry. The reaction was instant, not
least because the secretary had not seen her coming. He was sitting
down, an error in itself, so he exploded into the air in a gangly
mess of elbows and panic. Yes, the shriek worked wonders.
“Where is Algernon?” she asked as
the secretary pulled his flailing limbs into a semblance of shape
again.
“Ah... Madame President... ah...”
he gasped, eyes searching around.
She placed her knuckles on the desk and
leaned forward, eyes narrowing. Very carefully, deliberately, she
repeated, “Where. Is. Algernon?”
The secretary swallowed. His eyes
swiveled. He gulped out a single word.
“Congress.”
Juniper smiled. “Thank you,” she
chirped, then whirled on the heels of her shiny red shoes and crisply
marched out of the office. Molly fell in alongside her, matching her
stride.
“You don't have to terrify that poor
man,” Molly sighed. “He's nervous at the best of times when
working with Algie.”
“I know,” smirked Juniper. “It's
just it's so easy. Besides, I really did need to know. It's an hour
to the vote. If Algie's over at Congress, he must be making sure
everyone is doing as they were told.”
Molly shrugged. “I thought you'd
already taken care of that. A little potion here, a little notion
there...”
As they breezed back past the cramped
desks of the West Wing, large men in dark suits at their heels,
Juniper lowered her voice. “More notions than potions this time,”
she said. “Though there were a few swing votes that needed a drop
or two in their brandy at last night's late session. Petersen and
Maloney, Wilbur and Awford should all be thoroughly supportive
today.”
“Do you think...” Molly began, a
cautious note in her voice, “I mean, do you ever wonder if.. we're
doing the right thing?”
Sweeping in through the door to the
Oval Office, Juniper glanced back at her press secretary. “Of
course,” she said, cocking one eyebrow. “We're the good guys.”
The next hour flew by. There were
papers to sign and hands to shake, never enough time and phone calls
to make. Sometimes it's like being trapped in a Dr Seuss rhyme,
she thought. Except Dr Seuss rhymes never talked about soldiers or
debt, or the things senators wanted so their needs were all met.
Wait, she thought again, once you start rhyming, you can't
stop.
There were papers on the plans for the
expansion at the Library of Congress – though it might be nice,
Juniper mused, if some of the members did more reading. There was a
briefing on the tiniest of shifts in the Secret Service protocol that
grim men had mulled over for three months before asking her to say
yes. A couple of ambassadors stopped by for handshakes and
photographs they could show back home. And there was no call from
Algernon.
Molly stopped by with press clippings
of note, and rolled her eyes as she told how a reporter was asking
about Juniper's husband's golfing trips. Of all the things they could
ask about, she said, and they're busy asking about Brian.
Then Molly turned up the sound on the
news from C-SPAN as the members of the House started their vote. “Any
time now...” she said.
***
“Any time now,” Molly had sighed,
as the election count came in. Back then, they were in a hotel suite,
a ballroom below packed full of supporters waiting for the crucial
races to report in.
Molly had constantly been at Juniper's
side through the election race, at every town hall meeting, at every
local constituency gathering. She'd seen every handshake, every
little piece of glamour cast to persuade any lingering doubters.
But still, Juniper didn't know for sure
if it would work. After all, no one had ever tried using magic to
convince people to vote for them before. She didn't know if the
glamour would last long enough to carry the person she cast it on
into the voting booth and to mark the X next to “Arkwright” on
the form. She didn't know if the TV debates would count against her
with the inability to cast spells to influence the viewers. Instead,
she sipped her apple zest before the cameras rolled and persuaded the
reporters afterwards that she had won, which they duly wrote.
So there were nerves as she sat in that
hotel room waiting for the news of the vote, as 24-hour news channels
gushed eagerly over every poll, over every early set of returns.
And in the middle of it all, Juniper
felt something very odd. She felt... unsure.
She had excused herself for a private
moment and then, in her own room in the suite, she had slid out the
suitcase that she insisted on carrying everywhere herself, despite
the many hands of helpers. She laid it on the bed, popped it open,
and lifted out The Way of Odd.
It was more battered than ever after
all the years she had carried it around. From school bag to college
backpack to bulging briefcase to the suitcase of a presidential
candidate.
She sat with it on her lap and leafed
through it, though she knew it like her own reflection. She knew the
worn-away name on its side, she knew the chunk bashed in its side
from a locker slammed on it by a clumsy college-mate. She knew the
space where five pages were missing and always had been since she
first received it from Molly. She finally settled on a page with a
simple spell, a spell to soothe and calm.
I want to be commander-in-chief,
she thought, I ought to be in command of myself.
And the room was suddenly still. After
all the pell-mell of the campaign trail, after the tiredness and
exhaustion, the sleeping on buses and planes and flashing smiles to
mask the weariness when cameras were around, here she was at peace.
Blissfully, beautifully calm.
And that's how Molly found her a few
moments later when she burst through the door with phone in hand.
“Here it is,” she shouted as
champagne corks sounded behind her like a fusillade of cannon, backed
by party streamers and cheers. “This is the call!”
***
There was a knock on the door and Mrs
Eudelay entered the Oval Office, Juniper's private secretary. An
older lady with gentle manners but firm heels when you tried to cross
a line you could not cross, she was the watchdog at the door, the
honey scent to sweeten visitors. Her lantern eyes nodded towards
Juniper. “Mr Crowtree on line one,” she said in a low voice.
“Algernon! At last,” said Molly.
Juniper smiled. “About time we got
the confirmation,” she said. She made her way around the desk she
had been leaning on, looking at the presidential seal in the middle
of the carpet as she reminisced about that champagne cork day. She
sat down, tapped the speakerphone into life and called out.
“Algernon, thought you'd fallen down
a well. How much did we win by?”
There was a cough at the other end, a
spluttering as Algernon cleared his throat.
“Madame President, well, you see, the
voting began 20 minutes ago and...”
“Out with it, Algernon. It's been a
busy day. What's the margin?”
“Ahh. Yes. The margin. Fifteen,
Madame President.”
Juniper leaned back and smiled.
“Fifteen. That'll do. Thanks, Algernon, tell everyone good job and
well done on the win.”
Algernon coughed again. “Ahh. Yes,
Madame President. I will. Only... here's the thing...”
“The thing? What is it, Algie?” she
asked.
“We didn't win by fifteen.”
She frowned. “What do you mean? You
just said the margin was fifteen.”
“Yes,” he spluttered back. “But
we didn't win by fifteen. We lost. We lost by fifteen.”
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