The fey nodded. "Yes, but unlike humans, it's not a voted role. The power of the supernatural determines if they’re able to rule."
This had a shrewd look appearing on John Caine's face. "So you’re very powerful, then?"
Jacob wasn’t remotely cagey in his reply. "Yes."
The president nodded. "Yes, that's perfect. We might be walking into something that would be disturbing for most people. I want you to be prepared for what you'll see, and to remind you that everything we’re doing here is in the hope of achieving a peaceful world. Eventually."
I managed not to snort out a derisive laugh, because what a fucking line that was. He could justify any of his actions under the guise of one day achieving peace. How altruistic of him.
Thankfully we didn't have to hear any more of his pearls of wisdom, because we were landing. It was a smooth transition onto the runway, and then we were taxiing across to what looked like a large private airport hangar.
"Where are we?" I asked as we stepped out into the moderate temperature. It felt like a spring day, despite the arid landscape outside of the airport. There was a sheen on the horizon, though, that spoke of a much hotter day coming our way.
"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 supernaturals that like cleaning 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