“If you will, Atticus.”
I took it from him and unfolded it, as Leif crossed his arms across his body, where Granuaile and Owen could see them. They relaxed infinitesimally.
“Thish ish a treaty,” I told them. “To be shigned by the four of ush if you are willing.”
“I’ll donate me bollocks to charity first,” Owen said.
“You’re not required to shign it,” I said. “Just lisshen.” Looking at the text, I became daunted. My jaw and tongue were in no shape to read this well. “Granuaile? Would you mind?” I offered the paper to her and she snatched it from me without looking, keeping her eyes on Leif.
“You stay super fucking still,” she told him.
“As you command,” he said.
Her eyes dropped to the contract and scanned it while Owen remained on guard.
“It says we’re to help him eliminate competitors among the vampire leadership,” she said.
“We will give addreshes to the Hammersh of God,” I explained. “We don’t have to do it ourshelves.”
“And you have already completed most of the work with your efforts to date,” Leif added. “I anticipate few if any obstacles at this point. I am, to the best of my knowledge, the oldest vampire in the world now.”
Granuaile continued, “It says that from now on, vampires may not occupy any part of North America west of the Rocky Mountains.”
“And?” I prompted.
“…And Poland.” Granuaile looked up at me.
“I do try to keep my promishesh.”
Leif pointed out, “The detailed language beneath says that vampires are to be given a month to evacuate those territories. After that, they may be unbound or staked on sight.”
Owen growled, “What do we have to give up for that?”
Granuaile dropped her eyes back down to the paper. “Everywhere else we have a truce. Live and let be undead, I guess. We don’t unbind vampires on sight; they don’t attack us. The war is over. Each side is allowed to defend itself in the case of physical attack.”
“Bah. That’s ripe for abuse. Kill a lad and then say he attacked ye and it was self-defense.”
Granuaile nodded once to acknowledge that and kept reading. “The vampires agree to maintain their population in the allowed territories in keeping with the Accords of Rome, which specifies one vampire per one hundred thousand humans.” She looked up at the ceiling, considering. “If you subtract the population of just Poland and the West Coast, that means a significant net reduction of vampires worldwide.”
“It’s all shite,” Owen said.
“Your Grove will be shafe, Owen,” I said. “Even when they are bound someday.”
He glares at me, but I know from experience that it means I’ve gotten through to him. If he isn’t yelling at me, at least he’s thinking about it.
Granuaile cocks her head to the side and points at the treaty. “If I’m going to sign this, I want additional clauses.”
“What did you have in mind?” Leif asked.
“Vampires agree to immediately divest their significant financial holdings from fossil fuel investments. Any energy investments will be in renewable, sustainable sources.”
“I see. What do we get in return?”
“The gigantic hint that fossil fuel investments are going to pay terrible dividends from now on.” She smiled at him. “I guarantee it. Sell while the selling’s good.”
“Done,” Leif said.
“And I want regular updates on the progress of Poland’s evacuation until it’s complete. Names of the vampires who leave and the cities they used to occupy.” She turned to me. “I’m going to see the sisters often, Atticus, and they’ll want to know.”
“The contract already specifies that you will get a full report at the end of the one-month grace period,” Leif replied. “After thirty days I will verify that every vampire has left Poland or else give you their location so that they may be unbound in accordance with this contract.”
“Ah. Good enough.” She set down the contract and drained her espresso. “Well, I’m satisfied. I’ll sign it.”
“Me too.” We both turned to Owen, who shifted his eyes between us.
“Ye really think this shite is worth signing?” he asked.
“I do. Join ush, and with our combined shtrength, we can end this deshtructive conflict.”
I did not add that we would “bring order to the galaxy,” but Granuaile put her hand up to her mouth to cover a smile anyway.
Owen missed it entirely. He said to Leif, “Add Ireland to the list of vampire-free zones and I’ll sign it. If there’s any arse-kicking to be done in Ireland, I want to be doing it meself, not leave it to some dead lad.”
“Done.”
“Good,” Owen said. “Let’s get this over with and start staying far away from each other.”
“Wait! One more thing!” Granuaile said. “A condition of my signature is that you have to finally answer this question, because I’ve been so curious: Do vampires poop?”
Leif slumped in his chair and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Please, no. Leave me with some dignity.”
“You can be as dignified as you wish when you’re leading the vampire world. We want to know.”
He gave a dramatic sigh and covered his eyes with one hand while he spoke so he didn’t have to look at us. There was pain in his voice as he explained, “There is not really any excrement per se, nor any contraction of the bowel. There is just … this…” The fingers of one hand flailed about like lost moths, as if in search for the proper words, and then clenched upon finding them. He nearly wept: “…unseemly discharge.”
Granuaile promptly threw her head back to laugh and fell backward in her chair. She rolled over and slapped the floor with her palm, carried away not so much by the content but by Leif’s evident disgust at speaking the truth aloud.
Owen and I had a good chuckle out of it too, and I was glad Granuaile had remembered to ask him. He would never have answered except at that very moment.
Leif produced a pen and wrote in the addendums to the contract, while we tried to get control of ourselves. We all signed and he countersigned and then we schooled our expressions to look dignified, though for our parts it may have come across as three parts pain and two parts weariness.
“Thank you all,” he said, folding the contract. His gaze turned to me and he smirked. “We should not part without a few words from the Bard. Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause, and smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Who said it?”
“King Edward IV in Henry VI, Part III.” I spoke the next words slowly, making a special effort to enunciate clearly in spite of my injuries. “I will raise you a quote from Cymbeline: Laud we the gods; and let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils from our blest altars. Publish we this peace to all our subjects.”
“Well spoken,” Leif said, his smirk widening to a broad smile. Waggling the contract, he said, “I will send you copies of this wherever you wish. For now I have much to do. A publishing of the peace, as you said.” He rose slowly from his chair, so as not to alarm Owen or Granuaile, and bowed. “Do keep in touch. Farewell.”