“Holy shit!”
The cyclist fell back on the tiny stairs that led into the house.
“You dead,” Jett growled.
“Not yet,” Lincoln said, pushing him aside. “Get up.”
The cyclist followed Lincoln’s orders, thanking him for sparing his life.
“Well, aren’t you going to invite us in?”
“Come on in!” the cyclist exclaimed. His intense shaking made him fumble with his house key numerous times. Lincoln wrapped his arm around the cyclist’s waist.
“Do you need help?”
The cyclist shook his head so hard it threatened to roll off his shoulders. When the door opened, Lincoln pulled the cyclist close — letting the door hit the wall.
“I’ll give you a deal,” Lincoln whispered in his ear. “Run to your kitchen and make me a sandwich.”
“Do I look like your girlfriend to—”
Lincoln’s other arm stretched to cover the cyclist’s lips.
“Shhhh. If it’s good, you live. If it’s bad . . .” Lincoln squeezed the cyclist’s waist so tight that he lost his breath. He held him for a few seconds before letting him go. The cyclist got the message. He was rummaging through his kitchen — finding utensils, bread, cheese, meat, and any secret family recipe that may be hiding around.
“What are we doing?” Brenden asked Lincoln.
“I have him right where I want him,” Lincoln smirked. “Just follow my lead.”
The Goths followed Lincoln into the house. They piled around the stools beside the kitchen counter — though Lincoln didn't sit. He told his servants to take a seat, but he leaned over the counter — fist to cheek — watching the young man make his sandwich. The cyclist’s suburban palace was gorgeous but too much for someone his age.
“Is this place yours?” Mallory asked, gazing at everything from the freshly mowed lawn in the backyard to the beautiful chandelier sparkling above the living room.
“Damn right,” the cyclist bragged. “The Enterprise treats its members well. I’m the luckiest twenty-year-old in the country.”
“You won’t be if you don’t apologize for wasting our Beans,” Lincoln countered.
“Sorry for earlier,” the cyclist said to Jett. He reached his arm out for a handshake. “Tommy Tills.” Jett slapped his hand away. In another timeline, maybe Tommy would’ve taken the sharp knife in his hand to Jett’s throat for disrespecting him in his own home. However, in this timeline, he was practically a slave to Lincoln’s actions. He wouldn’t be pleased with such a mess.
“Tell us everything about your operations,” Lincoln ordered.
“The Enterprise? What do you want to know? We do it all, man: burglaries, murders — we control anything and everything that goes on in Gatsby. Anything that bucks the order . . .” Tommy interrupted himself to slide his finger along his neck.
“Tommy!” came a sudden voice. The Goths were stunned. A mature woman walked into the kitchen area. She was barefoot and in a bathrobe.
“Mom,” Tommy grimaced. “What are you doing?”
“I came down to see why there are guests in my house. I don’t remember inviting anybody.”
“They’re my friends.”
“They could be your bosses for all I care,” she smiled. “Nobody comes in this house without me knowing about it. Got it?”
“Yeah . . .”
Mallory and the others giggled. The atmosphere completely changed as Tommy’s mother, Kristina, struck up a conversation with The Goths. She pulled out leftover chicken parmesan and made it into sandwiches for everybody not named Lincoln to eat. Tommy insisted he feed Lincoln, which bugged Kristina. Kristina and The Goths touched on any topic BESIDES The Enterprise: music, movies, and guilty pleasures. Tommy was quite embarrassed to have his charismatic mother talking to Sperns who may or may not be looking to kill him. If not for the rumors about Lincoln, he would’ve thrown the plate he was holding in the air and bolted out the garage.
“Here,” Tommy said to Lincoln, setting a club sandwich in front of the Goth. “Don’t choke.”
“If I do, I’ll take her with me.” Lincoln nodded towards Kristina, who was sitting beside him.
“What’s that, hon?” she smiled after noticing Lincoln had spoken to her.
“Banter,” Lincoln smirked at Tommy. The young Enterprise grunt was fuming. Lincoln studied his club sandwich intently, and then took a large bite. Tommy was so focused on Lincoln’s next words that he found himself staring at him.
How is he so . . . perfect? Lincoln read from Tommy’s mind.
“Delicious,” Lincoln chewed. He tapped Tommy’s mother. “Have a taste.” The way Lincoln performed his taste test pissed Tommy off even more. He held the sandwich to Kristina’s mouth, his other glove just below her chin to catch any crumbs. The way they locked eyes and smiled at each other caught Mallory’s attention, too.
Get married already.
“What?” Lincoln asked Mallory.
“Huh?” Mallory cringed.
“What did you just say?”
“Nothing.”
“Mallory . . .”
“She didn’t say anything,” said Brenden. The others confirmed this as well.
“I’ve got to get ready for a party,” Kristina announced. “Make yourselves at home — and if you’re ever in the area, don’t be strangers.” She winked at Lincoln. A sinister smirk crossed his face.
“Have you heard the rumors?” he began. “Supernatural creatures have been seducing beautiful women in their sleep. It’s happening all over Gatsby. You’d better watch out.”
“If they’re as handsome as you, I don’t see why that’s a problem.”
Lincoln licked his lips as Kristina seductively trotted upstairs.
“You finished?” Tommy asked Lincoln. The Goth grinned.
“Your mother is a freak of nature.”
“Was The Enterprise behind the school shooting?” Mallory interrupted. This was the first Enterprise question that stunned Tommy.
“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I’ll look into it.”
“I thought The Enterprise had their hands in all of Gatsby’s cookie jars,” Brenden added.
“School shootings are different. They’re just . . . too gnarly. I have no clue if any of us contributed to that, but the bosses DEFINITELY knew it was coming. They hear about everything before it happens.” A memory flash reminded Mallory of the pain in Jim and Jayce’s eyes.
“Why didn’t they stop it!?” the princess erupted.
“Who knows? But let me tell you a story. There was this boy who was killed at Lampburn—”
“Lampburn?”
“The high school. Lampburn High. Anyway, his mother was waiting for him at the hospital, but he never showed up. He disappeared somewhere between the school and the hospital. She was pissed. WAY pissed. The thing is, the bosses made sure she received a ton of money in exchange for her staying silent. She never talks about what happened to her son, but she’s anything but silent. She cries at the coin fountain at Gatsby Mall all day. It’s sad.”
“So . . . The Enterprise is stealing the bodies of innocent children!?”
“I didn’t say that,” said Tommy. “And neither did you. Take the actions you want, but don’t say I said anything. I’ll put in a good word about you guys and get you as many Beans as I can.”
“The whole bucket would be nice, really,” said Mallory. “Along with my cloak and grimoire, too, thank you very much.”
“Let’s take it one step at a time. First, I’ll try to get a couple weeks’ worth of Beans. That should be like . . . more than a hundred. Be warned: the bosses will be watching you. If you’re good, my word will mean more to them.”
Nearly all of the Goths were livid — but one of them was pleased.
“Deal,” said Lincoln. “Is Lampburn the high school just down the street?”
“Nah. That’s an elementary school they’re rebuilding — should be done over the summer. It was meant to re
place Lampburn after the shooting, but the community just said, “screw it,” and decided to keep sending their kids back to a ghost school.” Mallory had an urge to twist Tommy’s neck until it burned. She didn’t know why but assumed it was the braggadocious attitude he carried toward Gatsby’s tragedies. It wasn’t truly a “ghost school” for its lack of students. It had plenty of students.
“We’ll meet at the elementary school.”
“Nah,” said Tommy. “We can meet here. My mom should be out all night.”
“We’ll meet at the school,” Lincoln insisted. “This place is most definitely bugged.”
“The Enterprise has it swept every month, man. It’s standard.”
“The school,” Lincoln continued. “And you must come alone. If you come with others, or if you don’t show up at all, I’ll know where to find you.”
“Whatever,” said Tommy.
“Be happy,” Lincoln smiled. “You’ve escaped certain death — at least for now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lincoln smirked.
“People like you always falter. You’ll see.”
Brenden and Jett were furious. If The Goths hadn’t followed Lincoln’s plans, there was a great chance Tommy would be their captive or Spern meat right now.
“What did that accomplish?” Brenden asked Lincoln.
“You kill hunt,” added Jett.
“Stop being idiots,” Lincoln responded. “We’re getting two weeks’ worth of Beans and an inside link into The Enterprise’s operations — all at the cost of nothing.”
“He won’t show,” Brenden predicted. Jett was in clear agreement because he shook his head in disgust.
“He’d better show up,” Lincoln smirked. “I’d rather he didn’t, honestly. I’d love to make him and his scrumptious mother my midnight snack.”
“I think she’s pure,” Fang spoke up.
“Correct,” said Lincoln. “Unlike Tommy, she’s a pure human. His father must’ve been mixed with Spern of some sort.”
“Can’t they just . . . run away?” asked Brenden.
“I’ll have my brothers watch over them, just in case.”
There was an awkward pause. Those Old World vultures were nothing to play with.
“What if The Enterprise says, “No,” to his request?” Brenden continued. “He’s just a foot soldier. A pawn. Remember?”
“We have other victims to feast upon. Should Tommy become our asset — even despite a failure to fully provide — then the Fletchers are viable candidates.”
“The Fletchers?”
“No!” Mallory interrupted. “We’re not hurting them.”
“It may not be our choice.”
“It’s always our choice. There are a billion other humans out there!”
“Mallory . . .” Lincoln warned.
“No,” she continued, “You can threaten me, ridicule me, and hold me back all you want — I will find a way to protect the Fletchers.”
“Abby doesn’t even like you,” Lincoln laughed.
“She’ll come around,” Mallory predicted. “Just keep your bloody hands off my family.”
Before Acorn could warn her, Lincoln grabbed Mallory by her forearm. He thrust her into a bush and stood over her. The others tried to block the scene from potential outsiders by making a wall around them. Embarrassing.
“Your family?” Lincoln asked Mallory. She turned over on her back — which was the least she could do in her struggle for stability in the well-kept lawn-shrubs. “Humans? Family? Don’t be ridiculous. Humans are a waste of space. All they do is rob, rape, and ravage each other.”
“So does every species,” Mallory countered.
“Halfling,” Lincoln said, stepping to Brenden, “are there any clear advantages to being a human?”
“It gives you heart,” said Brenden. “The Spern side of me lacks restraint. I feel it now more than ever.”
“Heart? Don’t make laugh. And I’m sure your trophies, Hitler and Mussolini, showed a lot of restraint, too.”
“I don’t know who they are,” Brenden admitted, “but you can’t just pick out a few bad apples and use that as an excuse to cut down the whole tree.”
“Yes, you can,” Lincoln laughed. He got closer to Brenden and massaged his shoulder. “Don’t worry, boy. You’re only half-scum.”
Mallory used the opportunity to get up. Brenden shrugged Lincoln’s arm off him, causing Lincoln to laugh like a madman. Mallory could cut the racial tension with a knife. Brenden had always felt weak and been picked on, for being a “halfling” — a human one, at that. For Lincoln to bring it up at a time like this was cruel.
Suicide is the solution, Mallory thought. I cannot shake him. He will follow me forever. He humiliates me. He humiliates my friends. He threatens to harm the innocent. He thinks this is true love, but it is just a neverending bundle of hatred and lies. It will never end. I must leave before this gets worse.
As they continued walking, the thoughts continued flowing through Mallory.
I am lonely. I am ugly. I am worthless. I am not worthy of true love. Unconditional love. I am not worthy of my own Dhampir. I am—
As if her pain was too much to bear, Lincoln pulled Mallory to the side of a house and pinned her to the wall.
“Mallory Vice,” he said, staring straight into her eyes. “I love you with every tissue of my being.” He gently ran his fingers down her cheek. “I know you feel like the ugliest princess to ever exist. Though it is certainly true, it is not because you lack physical attractiveness. Even in this state, I would crack you open and suck you dry.” She felt his hands linger down her waist. “It is because you lack nobility . . . grace — you must humble yourself and learn your place. You belong on a throne, not silly adventures.”
I just want to be free.
“You are the most important item in my life. I was an ugly nobody before I made it my mission to attain your heart. Thankfully, I attained perfection along the way. I will stop at nothing until I help you do the same.”
I just want to be free.
“Afterwards, we can live. We can relax. We will draft armies to handle these silly quests.”
Free . . .
“The Empress. The Emperor. I will cook you breakfast. I will bathe you.” Lincoln grabbed Mallory’s wrists. “I will make you howl like a dirty Werewolf when you’re ready to become a woman.”
I just want to be free!
“Mallory Vice, you are mine. Forever.”
8
The Elation
When The Goths returned to the Fletcher residence they were met by some familiar faces. One was a wide, red-haired woman and the other was a black cat with a spiky collar.
“There they are!” the red-haired woman beamed. She scuttled over to Mallory and embraced the teen with a warm hug. “My dear princess!”
“Hi, Rebecca,” Mallory sulked. She bent over and played with the black cat, who rubbed itself on Mallory’s leather jeans.
“What’s wrong?”
“Long story.”
“Go on. We have all the time in the world.”
Mallory glanced at Lincoln. He smirked.
“No, thank you.”
As the others chatted with Jim, Todd, and Abby, Mallory hustled inside. Rebecca and Turner followed. Lincoln nearly did as well, but the crimson beauty stopped him in his tracks.
“Sorry, ladies only.”
“Then tell me why that feline fool is tagging along,” Lincoln disputed. Rebecca glared at him.
“Back off, Lincoln. I don’t know what’s happened, but you’ve done enough.”
“Not this again . . .”
“Aww, how funny? That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“You and Mary are a pain in the ass.”
“Well, congratulations. You scared Mary off, but I won’t be so easy.”
“I would break you if I wasn’t faithful.”
“And if I was the fool you think I am, I’d let you. Good day
!”
Behind the argument, Brenden and Jett giggled like children. They loved seeing someone slither under Lincoln’s skin and get away with it.
Inside, sitting on the couch in the Fletcher’s basement, Mallory spilled her guts to Rebecca and Turner. They listened as she told them everything. Turner was bundled in Mallory’s lap, and Rebecca gripped one of Mallory’s gloves with one hand and covered her mouth with the other.
“He’s controlling, obsessive — psychotic!”
“Everybody warned us,” Rebecca remembered. “Your father just wanted the crown.”
“He sold his daughter for a throne. What kind of father, as a matter of fact — PERSON, does that!?”
“You know his intentions better than anyone, dear. Lincoln would’ve been the perfect pawn for your father too — should they have gotten along.”
“That’s not the point. He sold his daughter. How do you sell someone anyways — especially someone you love?”
“No matter how many times we go over this, I’ll stick to my belief: Your father loves you. He just craves domination a teeny bit more. But, look on the bright side. You could’ve been sold to a toothless beggar if your father saw no value in you.”
“Bats! I wish it were at least a pretty human boy — not . . . him.”
“Dear, you must understand something: On the surface, Lincoln is the greatest child Avalon ever had. He’s dashingly handsome, astoundingly rich, cunningly experienced, holds enormous sway over multiple armies, nearly all working class males see him as a hero, and — if those bratty show-offs were telling the truth — he’s rumored to be a ‘master of the bedroom.’”
“I know! He reminds me all the time with his creepy advances!”
“We’re in a terrible position, dear — but if we play our cards right, we can turn him into a tool. Our tool.”
“But how do we escape? I don’t want a tool that bashes me in my face every time I use it.”
“Sadly, escape may not be an option. They say he’s currently the strongest vampire to ever walk. Not just in Avalon — but the entire Realm. How do you think he can stand this sunlight without breaking a sweat? It’s not that he’s mixed either — because he’s a pure vamp. To put this in perspective, we were with Violet before we returned to our tent. The girl nearly burned to death. We had to shade her with so many cloaks people thought she was a walking coat rack.”
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