"Vietnam," I repeated.

"Oh. Vietnam."

"They've been brainwashing you into getting into Vietnam ... for their own purposes."

"Thousands of brave American boys dying in a war that looks un-winnable." Lyndon Johnson sighed. "Oh, I'm culpable enough...in a big way, I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, back in *64," he answered, "I thought I wanted that landslide win so bad.. I didn't think straight. I thought, Hell. Let's show that Goldwater a Democratic President ain't soft on Communism."

"But maybe afterward you would have de-escalated without...all this..." I snapped my fingers. "Yes! That must have been what happened."

"This damned... well, I don't know what to call it," said the President. "This damned vampire and werewolf business."

"Yes.

There was silence for a moment.

He shook his head sorrowfully.

"You know, Rebecca. I've been a fool. A damned fool. When I was a boy, I picked cotton in the Hill Country of Texas. I watched my Daddy - a fine man - fail and fail and fail. When I was in college, Rebecca, I worked a chain gang one summer under the hot Texas sun for tuition money. Rebecca, I suffered. I suffered hard. But you know what? I didn't suffer a fraction of what I saw other folks suffer.

"And I thought, If there's one good thing that I can do with this skill I have...This skill I have to work with people, to talk people into things.... Well, then it should be to help people not suffer so much. And you know, later when I taught school...I saw Mexican kids suffer....And always, always I saw black folks suffer."

His brow furrowed.

"But you know what, Rebecca." He took a deep mournful breath, a lonely sound. "All along I see now that everything is just a power struggle. And what I wanted most of all wasn't to help folks - but to help myself. Help myself to power. Glory in it. Get high on it."

"Now I know.

"And it's beyond even my worse Texas sized dreams... Texas sized nightmares, I should say."

He shook his head and his loose hair swirled.

"Worse. I've just been a tool of the Forces of Evil.

"I wonder if I can ever be a tool of Forces of Good."

He raised his eyebrows and turned to me. He looked at me almost imploringly.

"And if so, how?

I took a deep breath.

I thought.

"You're so human!" I said.

"Well, I do pull down my pants to take a .... oh, pardon me, Rebecca. I'm a damned boor and you're clearly a real lady."

I smiled.

And then it came to me.

The answer.

It came so fast I didn't see how stupid it was. It just sort of rushed out of my mouth like a train on a whoosh of hot air.

I said, "Say, isn't it an election year?"

"That's right."

"Why not just not run."

He looked up.

His dark eyes blazed.

And for a moment, I thought maybe he was a supernatural being.

"Not run for another four years of a job I fought for, bled for - for three damned decades?"

"Yes! I mean, after all.." I cocked my head and raised a finger, pointing it at him. "You might lose anyway."

True fear crossed his face.

He nodded sadly.

"That's for sure."

"And if you don't run...I mean you can help get things straight. Not just with Vietnam. But these forces of evil. Maybe they aren't really evil, anyway. They're ...They're just a part of life.... A part of everything."

President Lyndon Johnson sat up straight.

"Well, cover me in a ten gallon hat of cow manure. That's a damned good idea!"

He nodded.

But then his eyes grew doubtful.

"But how the hell do we get out of this...you know, unaltered. For me to do all this?"

I nodded.

"I think I've got an idea on that score too. Let me tell you about Principal Canthorpe. He's a martinet. He likes to be in charge. And you know what? He says he's a patriot. He's got American flag all over this school And a huge one on the wall of his office. He plays the Star Spangled Banner and America the Beautiful at the drop of the hat from dawn to -"

Lyndon Johnson nodded. "The Twilight's Last Gleaming."

"That's right."

"So? He's a patriot. A werewolf patriot. I guess he's covered under mah Civil Rights Act too!"

I laughed.

I told him then about the speech that I'd received upon being admitted to Principal Canthorpe's office for the egregious sin of my gloomy dress.

"In England, Lyndon, I had a very good American History teacher." I said. "He claimed that the U.S. Senate had never quite seen the likes of you. He said that you had figured out how to get power there long before you got any seniority power. And when you became Majority Leader, you used that to get more power. And when you thought it was the right time, you used that power to pass the first Civil Rights Act from Congress in almost a century. The Bill that started things rolling toward what you did as President. And he said you did it by negotiation and compromise."

"And a hell of a lot of work!" exclaimed the President.

"So we've got a Senator here from the vampire side," I said. "And we've got a ringleader from the werewolf side. Seems to me, you might be right in your element. Seems to me, Brer Wolf has put the rabbit in the briar patch!"

I took a deep breath and forged onward.

"You know, Lyndon. My teacher called you the Master of the Senate. Of course, you were Master of the Senate almost a decade ago and you may not be up to that kind of thing...especially with scary patriotic werewolves."

Lyndon Johnson looked incredibly indignant.

"Scary? Rebecca, you never saw the Senate Southern Caucus." His eyes were afire. "'Course I'm up to it!"

He turned his head toward the door.

"Canthorpe!" he bellowed. "Canthorpe! Get your tail back in here!"

Silence.

His powerful voice echoed through the weird corridors.

"Canthorpe! D'ye here me, you varmint! I know what you want! And I know a damn sight better way for you to get it!"

Silence again draped that strange place for many heartbeats.

And then there cam a snorting, scrabbling ruckus.

Into the room prowled Canthorpe, bent over with pure wolfish predation.

"I harbor no hog-calling in my domain, Johnson!" he snarled.

"That's just fine, Canthorpe. I respect that, but I had to get your attention. Don't know how well you hear, do I? Now Canthorpe... Do you know Dick Nixon?"

The werewolf's ears pricked up.

A kind of hairy smile picked up the back edges of his broad lips, showing blood red gums.

"Yes. I know Dick."

"'Course you do! All is clear. Well now, Canthorpe... Pardon me...Dr. Canthorpe. You just ask him if Lyndon Johnson ain't his friend? We've worked together. Hell, we've both been stuck in the damned Vice Presidency. We're like bosom buddies. Well, if I can work with that damned wolvine sneaky son-of-a-bitch - Now why the hell can't I work a straight ahead moral fella like you?"

Canthorpe cocked his head. "What are you getting at?"

"That clan! The damned commies! Do you think I like *em? Hell no! I fight *em too. Bastards. Joe Stalin's spawn. Mao Tse-tung's breed! And I know that better now that I've been dealing with the Russkies! The Russkies! I bet you don't like that clan of werewolves either!"

Canthorpe growled low in his throat, lost in feral enmity.

"Exactly. And I tell you what. I can do a hell of a lot better at dealing with those packs of bastards....Without mah brain muddled by all this crap!"

The Principal's tone changed.

"You....You would....work with us?'

"Hell yes! What, you don't think I been working with Senator Clarke and his ilk for 35 years! I sure as well see that there are a hell of a lot more vampires in the Democratic Party than just Clarke." A sly smile spread over his lips. "Hell, I think I've sucked a little blood now and then myself."

President Johnson lifted an eyebrow higher than Mr. Spock's. "And there's more..."

"Go on."

"What if I resign. I mean, resign from the race...the 1968 election. Let Hubert Humphrey run for President. Give Dick Nixon a shot again. I hear he and that Pat Buchanan have got some folk howling at the moon already."

Canthorpe lifted his head high.

"Why yes. Yes! Richard Milhous Nixon! Of course!"

"Well then," said Johnson. "Get Clarke back in here. We'll have a talk!"

The wolfish eyes narrowed.

"And all this toward letting you go..... Unaltered?"

"Damned straight."

"Knowing what you know now?"

"Hell, Canthorpe! I know flying saucers crashed in Roswell, New Mexico! I know that aliens from other planets - or maybe other dimension, if that guy John Peel is right - aliens are kidnapping people! I ain't getting' on the phone to MEET THE PRESS about that! I know you're a damned a werewolf. But I'm thinking' I'm a meaner beast than you, Canthorpe. Let's live and let live... ally and kick ourselves some hairy Commie ass! And you know what, Canthorpe? Like it or not, I am President of the United States of America. I am your President!" His eyes twinkled. "And you know what? You may not have voted for me, ever... But it's my duty before the great flag of our great country and freedom and all those things stand for...to be your President."

Canthorpe nodded.

"Maybe, Mr. President," he said. "You have some very good points and some equally good proposals!"

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE DEDICATION CEREMONY went very well.