Rise of the Poison Moon by MaryJanice Davidson Page B

waiting,” Hank began. He was sitting behind what was once the police chief’s desk. The vanity wall, Jennifer was amused to see, had been stripped of a previous occupant’s awards and replaced with his own Salesman of the Month certificates.
    “Huh,” Jennifer remarked casually as she scanned the wall. “I didn’t know you sold propane, and propane accessories.”
    “I haven’t had much time for it lately,” he replied, missing the amusement in Jennifer’s tone. “I keep them here as a reminder of a better time. A time we might return to, if we can all pitch in together.”
    It’s funny, she told herself. He tries to sound like a leader, but comes out like . . . well, like Salesman of the Month.
    Elizabeth glanced around, noticing the lack of chairs beyond Hank’s own plush, leather, wheeled office chair. “Hmmm.”
    “Excuse me.” Carrot Helmet had bustled in behind them, carrying the plastic chairs they had used in the hallway. “I remembered I forgot to put chairs in here for your meeting, Mayor Blacktooth.”
    “I told you I didn’t—”
    Dr. Georges-Scales beamed a thousand-gigawatt smile at her former patient’s sister. “Thank you, Chief.”
    “Yeah, thanks,” Jennifer added, inwardly chortling at the flash of annoyance that creased Hank’s face like a fleeting wrinkle. She carefully, slowly, deliberately seated herself with a wriggle and appreciative sigh. “Saaay, this is nice.”
    “As I was saying, Lizzy,” Hank said, glaring at Jennifer, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m sure you can imagine the demands I’ve got on my time these days.”
    “Um? Oh, yes, the burdens of leadership,” her mother agreed, pleasantly enough as the police chief left and shut the door behind her. “Say, it’s lovely to see you promoting the next generation of peace officers so rapidly.”
    Hank shrugged. “We’ve been through three police chiefs since Glory died. I’ve been forced to rely on younger members of the force.”
    Her mother gave him a look from beneath her lashes. “Perkier, too.”
    His cheeks reddened. “So anyhow. What’s on your mind, Lizzy?”
    “You are aware of my husband’s recent death.”
    He bit his lip, trying for a diplomatic moment. “I had heard. How did he die, exactly?”
    “That’s why I’m here.” Elizabeth sat and pulled her chair right up to Hank’s desk. This left Jennifer sitting in the background, which suited everyone fine. Mother had made clear to daughter what her role here would be, and Jennifer waited for that moment. “He died from the same sort of sorcery that destroyed city hall.”
    Hank’s eyes widened, and Jennifer recognized fear. Good. He gets that we’re all vulnerable.
    “Hank. We’ve not agreed on very much over the years. Since Glory died, it feels like it’s gotten worse.”
    He coughed. “There have been agreements in principle. You’ve rendered aid to dozens of my warriors.”
    “And in return, they’ve left the hospital alone. This has been a wise policy, Hank. Thank you for that. I wonder if we might come to a deeper agreement.”
    “Such as?”
    “My daughter has arranged for her colleagues in the Blaze to search for Skip Wilson and apprehend him. While they do that, it would help matters a great deal if those you command would . . . tone down.”
    This elicited a frown. “Tone down?”
    “No more provocative rallies. No more hobblings. No more killings. Just protection of the innocent.”
    “What do you think we’ve been doing, if not protecting the innocent?” He waved his arms at the walls, and Jennifer didn’t know if he was referring to police actions or outstanding customer service in propane-accessory supply. “What do you think it takes, Lizzy?”
    “I think it takes less drama than you’ve inspired.”
    “You felt the same way about Glory—”
    “Don’t.” Elizabeth took a breath. “Please don’t compare yourself to Glory.”
    “Why shouldn’t I?” His tone was petulant now, as if he