“I’m not suggesting we ask them anything. I’m talking about a constitutional convention.”
He snorted. “The Constitution has never been amended that way. It’s always gone through Congress first.”
“League members in every state are coordinating with their legislatures as we speak,” Rosemarie said. “All we need are two-thirds of them.”
“League members in every state.” He crossed his arms. “Considering how close your election was, Miss Harper, I have trouble believing you could get all your state leaders to doanything.”
Lydia broke out the demure smile she used on antagonists. “On this issue, we see eye-to-eye. Take a look.”
She slid him her two-page record of every state president’s signature—even Maine’s—under a resolution to push for a convention. He glanced through it, eyebrows raised.
“So you see, yours won’t be the lone voice,” Lydia said. “But you will have the advantage of being one of the first, which is always good for the reputation. You might even be able to launch yourself into the newly opened Congress.”
She let that thought ripen. Then she added, “Unless you agree with the Twenty-fifth Amendment, Senator.”
“Of course not,” Gray said, a wariness in his eyes that Beatrix took as a good sign. He was sizing Lydia up, reconsidering whatever notions he had about her. “I can’t understand how it ever got passed, Frozen Conflict or no Frozen Conflict.”
“I was ten in 1970,” Rosemarie said. “Trust me, there’s nothing like the early part of an arms race with four superpowers to make people too scared to think straight. Besides, at that point, wizards already had most of Congress.”
The politician grimaced. “Which brings me to the other objection: Even if we do manage to repeal the amendment, there’s no guarantee they won’t win all their elections anyway.”
“Yes,” Beatrix said, “but for the first time in our lives, it won’t be a foregone conclusion.”
Gray leaned his elbows on his desk, staring—practically glaring—at Lydia. “You know, Miss Harper, I’m not an idiot. You’re a neo-suffragist. You don’t just want wizards out, you want ladiesin.If you’re not planning to run for Congress yourself in a few years, I’ll eat my hat.”
“I’ll provide the salt.” Lydia leaned in, folding her hands on his desk. “Can we count on you as a sponsor in January?”
He looked again at the document with all its signatures. A minute ticked by. Two. Beatrix made herself be quiet, as hard as it was.
“All right.” Gray sighed. “All right, I’ll do it.”
After that, Beatrix was nearly as busy as she’d been while helping plan the everything-that-could-go-wrong League conference.
She worked with the other county chapter presidents to coordinate visits to the rest of Maryland’s legislators, all one hundred eighty-seven of them. She tagged along on the appointments Lydia handled herself that weren’t between eight and five, alert for anything deadly that could be made to seem like an accident. She cast and re-cast protective spells on her sister, their house, the car. She lay awake at night, wondering when the next attempt would come.
And when she finally fell asleep, Blackwell—employer, lover, tormenter—was always waiting for her.
Until suddenly he wasn’t.
She woke in her bed the next morning and thought for a few seconds that the dream had just begun. Except there was Lydia, stirring in her own bed. Beatrix needed a full minute to conclude that no, she hadn’t had a dream, hugely disorienting after three straight months of sharing her nights with Blackwell.
She found the scrap of paper with his telephone number and dialed it, fingers trembling.
“Hello?” he said, reedy but undeniably alive.
“Omnimancer.” It came out more relieved sigh than word. “I’m sorry if I woke you—I was just ...” She grasped for what. Worried? Confused? Disappointed?
“I wasn’t asleep.” He paused. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“Oh. Oh, I—I see. I …” A question, she ought to ask him a question. His phone was tapped. She needed a normal reason for calling, and it shouldn’t be to inquire if he was all right. “I wondered if you needed anything from the store.”
“No, thank you.”
“Right. Well—good-bye,” she said.
“Good-bye, Miss Harper.”
His tone was so somber, she shivered. Had something happened? She rushed to work. She waited for the usual explosions—waited and waited. Finally, beside herself with anxiety, she ran to the attic, knocked on the door and let herself in after a minute with no response.
