"We're in Syria," the president said as we were ushered into black, armored vehicles just like the ones we'd taken from the White House. "There's been war raging here for too long, and we've been doing our best to corral it. We've been sending aid to those who oppose the Syrian government since they continue to break so many humanitarian laws. I can't sit aside and watch it happen any longer."
I kept my thoughts about this to myself. I wasn't even sure what I believed when it came to war, outside of wishing it didn't exist. So many innocents suffered and died … especially children. It all just felt like a huge waste of life and hope and potential. The brave men and women who risked their lives every day as well … fuck. It was a lot to wrap my mind around.
"What's your endgame here?" Jacob asked. Like a true leader, he wanted more information to make the best-informed decision.
“The Syrian people deserve a democracy where they can vote in their next leader. That will stem the corruption and poverty rampant under the current leadership, which was what led to the uprising."
Jacob eyed him with one eyebrow raised and lips pressed together. "Are you trying to tell me there's no corruption in a democracy? Or that even with voting, presidents aren't elected based on false documentation and underhanded tactics?"
He wasn't directly digging at President Caine, but the implication was clear. Even America wasn't immune from corruption.
"Nothing is perfect," John replied. "Nothing. But our aim is to find a system that is as fair as possible."
I held my tongue, but as a person living in America, most of the time well below the poverty line, it pissed me off when people like the president talked about fairness. John Caine languished in luxurious mansions with all the food he could eat, fancy clothes he could wear, and luxury items he could buy. He had no clue what it was like for the average American, and clearly, since he was so happy with his democratic government, he wasn’t even open to seeing the flaws in his system.
Like he'd heard that thought, he zeroed in on me. "How do supernaturals work? Leaders aren’t voted in, and that makes sense because a power structure works, but what about jobs and money? Do you have any homeless or poverty? How do you deal with that?"
Jacob laughed without sounding amused. Neat trick. "We all have jobs, but no one is paid for them,” he said. “We work together to keep our society running, with most supes working in fields that interest them. In that regard, we have no homeless or poverty."
John Caine opened and closed his mouth, clearly stunned. "How? How is that possible? Are you telling me that there are supernaturalsthatlikecleaning people’s houses? Or taking out the trash?"
Jacob leaned over, getting right in his face, and it was like the human suddenly remembered that we were powerful and able to kill him without even touching him. "Trash duty is shared. Houses are cleaned by the people who live in them, or by magic, and we share our wealth.”
The president looked like a fucking fish at this point, opening and closing his mouth to suck air in.
“Why do you value money so much anyway?” Jacob asked him. “What intrinsic value does it even have?”
The president shook his head. “It gives structure to a society. Everyone has their place within it, and it ensures that all jobs are filled.”
Jacob shrugged. “And yet we only need it when we venture into the human world. Otherwise, we pool our food and materials, and there’s never an issue.”
The president didn't seem to understand, his eyes wide and glassy.
"If someone doesn't have a house," I said, "then the community builds them one. If someone needs food, they grow or find it somewhere and share. It's not always perfect, but it's as close as I've ever seen."
"Wh—where do you get the money for the human world then?" he choked out. "Do some of you work with humans and send it all back?"
Jacob seemed to be searching for patience, his voice curt. "No, our communities are rich because we live for a long time, and most of us invested early in land, stocks, minerals, and commodities. Those who struck gold, so to speak, share with those who didn’t. Some of our demi-fey are keen miners, and in doing the very thing they love, they happened to make us all wealthy. In human terms anyway."
One of the president's bodyguards snorted, and it was such a break from their normal silent invisible character that all of us turned to look at him. He didn't lift the dark glasses when he said, "I find it hard to believe that you share that much wealth around. Surely the ones who initially discovered the gold prefer to keep it for themselves."
Jacob just shook his head. "The reason you don't understand is the reason you have so many people suffering in your country. I can't explain greed to those who see it as success."
You could have knocked me down with a feather.I can't explain greed to those who see it as success.
My God. How did someone who looked twenty-five speak like he was Yoda reincarnated.
And why did I like it so much?
The car moved faster once we were out of the airport and on the main road. I focused on the world outside my window. "Whoa," I said softly. Jacob pushed in closer to my side to see from his position in the center seat.
War zone was an understatement.
The world here was rubble and dirt and death. I could almost smell it, even though the air in the car was clear of any discernable scent. But it was one of those images that was so strong, it was more than visual.
"This is the outskirts of Damascus," the president said. "There were some recent bombings in this area, so we won't linger, but it should be safer in the city."
I turned to Jacob, wondering if he was concerned with this information, but he looked relaxed as always. Clearly, the possibility of being bombed wasn't a worry, so I followed his lead. If there was one thing I knew about the Compasses, it was that they took their pack and families’ safety seriously. Through Grace, I was an outer member of their group; Jacob would protect me if shit hit the fan.
