The Legacy Series Boxed Set (Legacy, Prophecy, Revelation, and AWOL)

by Ellery Kane

  “Absolutely not,” Quin pronounced with finality. “That guy despises me even more than Edison did. What makes you think he would even agree to talk to me?”

  “It’s not an awful idea, Quin.” My father began his gentle persuasion. “Besides, you don’t have many other options.” He stood, patting Quin on the shoulder. “At least consider it,” he said, before leaving us alone.

  I blurted my words to Quin before he could stop me. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since this morning, when that reporter mentioned Nicholas Van Sant. It must mean something. You’re not the same person you were then. I’m sure Edison has told him.”

  Quin groaned. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  Ten minutes later, we were nearing the Golden Gate Bridge, heading into San Francisco. Quin slowed the car to a crawl, as the fog began its steady descent, blanketing the windshield with an opaque curtain. Almost nine months ago, the city reopened—with the exception of the BART tunnels, which were still slated for repair—and citizens were allowed to return to their homes. Still, I hadn’t crossed the bridge since my escape from Resistance headquarters over a year ago. Driving past the tollbooths, seeing only fog ahead, was strangely unsettling.

  Quin gently rubbed my knee. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

  I nodded, remembering my mother’s face, crumpled with grief and astonishment, upon my return from San Francisco.

  “What did my dad tell you today?” Quin asked.

  “A lot,” I confessed. “He said I have power over you.”

  Quin tickled my side playfully. “Power, huh?”

  “Seriously, Quin. He thinks I can somehow convince you of his guilt or innocence. Like you actually listen to me.” I glanced sidelong at Quin. “Oh, and he doesn’t remember what happened.” My voice was thick with sarcasm.

  Humorless, Quin replied, “I know.”

  “Wait—you believe him?” I was incredulous. “Quin, that’s what he said about your mom too.”

  Quin sighed. “He was different with Shelly. He’s a completely different person now.”

  “Don’t you have the slightest bit of doubt?” I wondered, recalling his late-night whisper of uncertainty. “You don’t exactly have the best track record of trusting people.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Augustus,” I reminded him.

  “Are you comparing my dad to Augustus?”

  Sort of. “You’re missing the point.”

  “I don’t want to argue about this. I believe him.”

  We rode the rest of the way in silence.

  “This is it,” Quin said, gesturing across the street. The Van Sant house was everything I expected: a sprawling Mediterranean-style villa in Pacific Heights, offset by meticulously manicured shrubbery. Quin poked his finger at the doorbell, as if it might bite back. He shuffled his feet nervously, until an unassuming young woman wearing a black uniform greeted us.

  “May I help you?” she asked, looking us over with reserved interest. From behind her, muted rays of sunlight streamed in through an expansive window with a view of the Bay.

  Quin stuttered. “Um … I … We’re here … um …”

  I rescued him. “My name is Alexandra Knightley. This is Quin McAllister. We’re Edison’s friends.”

  “Ah, I see,” she said. “Please come in.”

  Regaining his composure, Quin resumed his introduction, “I would like to speak with—” He stopped mid-sentence, both of us stonewalled by a familiar face. “Mr. Van Sant,” he finished quietly, his voice trailing off, as he stared ahead with surprise.

  “Edison,” I said, momentarily dumbfounded.

  “Hi, Lex,” he replied, giving me an easy smile.

  “You look …” I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Ridiculous.” Quin finished my sentence, smirking at Edison. His usually shaggy blond hair was slicked back, and he wore a dark gray suit that fit him like a glove.

  “Good to see you too, McAllister.” Edison punched Quin’s arm good-naturedly, revealing a flashy gold watch partially covering his Guardian tattoo. “Though I must confess, I always thought you’d have to be breaking and entering to get inside my house.”

  Quin rolled his eyes.

  “All joking aside,” Edison said, “how are you?” Though he addressed Quin, he looked at me with worry.

  Quin shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when I saw the story. Have you been to see your dad?”

  We both nodded. “That’s why we’re here,” Quin explained.

  “I figured.”

  “Why are you so dressed up?” I wondered.

  Edison pulled at his tie and made a face. “My dad insists. I’ve been helping him with some of his cases. He thinks it’s good for me.” In a bellowing voice, I imagined was his father’s, he parroted, “It’ll teach me responsibility and the value of being a workaholic—I mean, the value of hard work.” Snickering, he waved us up the staircase toward a closed door. “Follow me.”

  “Has Elana seen this look?” Quin teased.

  Scoffing, Edison glanced back at Quin. “Why do you think I wear it? Girls can’t resist the monkey suit.” Since their first official date over a year ago, Edison and Elana were inseparable.

  Just at the top of the spiral staircase, perched on a marble base, was a bust adorned with a gold placard. It read: Orillius Van Sant. The statue was graffitied with black marker—a mustache and horns marring the serious-looking face. As I considered it with curiosity, Quin chuckled from behind me. “That face looks familiar. Never did wash off, huh?”

  Edison glared at Quin. “That’s why they call it permanent marker, McAllister.”

  Turning to me, Edison explained, “Your boyfriend thought it would be funny to deface my grandfather’s statue. It used to sit right outside our house.”

  “I’m surprised your father hasn’t commissioned a new—” Quin stopped speaking.

  Sauntering toward us in shiny wing-tipped shoes was an older version of Edison. He extended his hand to me and then to Quin.

  “Nicholas Van Sant,” he announced. He had a smooth, deep voice that commanded attention.

  Quin looked down, embarrassed. “Um, I think we’ve, uh, met before.”

  “Of course we have,” Mr. Van Sant replied, casting a well-timed glance toward poor, horned Orillius.

  “What can I do for you, Quin?” Mr. Van Sant’s tone was impossible to decipher. As Edison looked on, clearly entertained, my stomach curdled with nervousness for Quin.

  “Well, I know I’m probably not your favorite person, but I’m hoping you would consider representing my father, George. He’s going to need a good attorney.”

  “Good?” Mr. Van Sant guffawed. “If good is what you’re after, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  Edison and his father shared a conspiratorial glance. “My father’s the best, Quin. The best.” As Edison spoke, his father preened like a peacock.

  “Well, that’s what we need,” I said.

  Quin lowered his eyes. “You probably don’t want to help me. I know I was kind of a jerk.”

  “That’s an understatement,” I heard Edison mutter under his breath.

  Putting a sharp-dressed arm around Quin, Mr. Van Sant shook his head. “Different time, different place, but that’s all behind us now. You were just a kid then, and Eddie made a few mistakes himself.” Edison winced at his father’s jab. “Eddie told me that you saved his life on the bridge. Now that’s the act of a man. So what d’ya say we just wipe the slate?”

  “Okay.” Quin agreed, but he sounded skeptical.

  “Good. I’m glad that’s settled, because we’re on the same team now.” Quin narrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

  “I’m taking your father’s case. We already discussed it this morning,” Mr. Van Sant gestured toward Edison. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. This case is not going to win itself, especially wi
th Dream Killer Dillard prosecuting.” Edison’s father strutted back toward his office.

  Quin called after him. “I don’t think my dad can … you’re probably really expensive, right?”

  Mr. Van Sant didn’t reply, and he didn’t look back, but Edison answered for him. “Priceless,” he deadpanned, flashing a wide grin. Quin looked dejected.

  Edison descended the stairs, Quin and me following behind him. “It’s your lucky day, McAllister. I don’t want to overwhelm you with any big legal terms, but you’re getting the Van Sant friends and family discount, otherwise known as pro bono.”

  “We’ll be in touch,” Edison said, with pretend seriousness. He opened the door and pointed outward, across the street, into the park. “Lex, remember that fountain I told you about?” He giggled, ushering us out before Quin could react.

  I crossed the street and Quin followed, dragging his feet.

  The fountain was derelict, no longer running. Green water pooled in its base, mossy and smelling faintly of sewage. “So this is the infamous fountain where you and Edison first met?” I smiled at Quin, eager to lighten the mood between us.

  His cheeks reddened. “Let’s go. Please.” He pulled at my hand, but I resisted.

  With a sigh, Quin settled on the edge of the fountain, hanging his head. “It wasn’t one of my finer moments. You’re probably picturing it right now—me, homeless, pathetic, living in a park.”

  “Not exactly,” I replied, barely able to contain my amusement. I sat down next to him. “I was thinking mostly of the bathing in your underwear part.”

  Quin looked up at me, his eyes bright and mischievous again. “Were you?” He put his hand on my head, pulled me to him, and kissed me hard. His intensity still a surprise, I was momentarily breathless.

  Edison called out from an opened second-story window. “Get a room!”

  Still laughing at Edison, I gently pushed Quin away from me.

  “I’m sorry about earlier,” I said.

  “Me too.”

  “No matter what happens with your father, I don’t want it to come between us.”

  “Me either,” he agreed.

  I took my mother’s note from my pocket and handed it to Quin.

  “I found this in your dad’s file,” I explained, as Quin scanned the note.

  “Prophecy?” he wondered aloud.

  “Do you know what it means?”

  Quin said nothing.

  “Well, do you?”

  “No.”

  For the first time, in a long time, I knew Quin was lying.

  CHAPTER TEN

  REVELATIONS

  IT WAS NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE, but all the way home, I pretended to be normal, letting Quin’s lie settle into my bones. I tried not to be angry with him for protecting his father—that was the only explanation for the lie—by banishing his no to a dim corner of my mind. But his deliberate dishonesty slowly corroded my resistance, leaving a bitter kernel of rage to nestle inside of me.

  Quin seemed oblivious. Maybe he was just better at pretending. His hand was resting comfortably on my leg, his fingers interlaced with mine, our shoulders barely an arm’s length apart. He was talking about nothing, while all that was withheld and unspoken multiplied, carving out an invisible chasm in the space between us.

  I tried to distract myself. “Do you know anything about Shelly’s family?”

  Quin shrugged. “I don’t think she had anyone really. She told me her dad died in prison. I think her mom lives somewhere near Vegas, but they’re not close. Shelly never mentioned any siblings.”

  As Quin spoke, I felt a prickling of shame, realizing how little I knew about Shelly. I never really made an effort. I always assumed her marriage to Quin’s father would be short-lived.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Quin admitted. “I just saw her. She seemed so happy.”

  When I didn’t respond, he took his hand from mine and placed it back on the steering wheel. “You know, she wasn’t as naïve as you think.”

  I looked at Quin with surprise. I never told him what I really thought of Shelly, that she seemed drawn to his father like a moth to a flame, ready and willing to burn.

  “I know you thought she was an innocent girl under my father’s spell.”

  I shook my head. At least some of Quin’s words were untrue—Shelly was definitely not innocent. “I guess I just don’t understand how she could …” Trust him, I censored myself.

  “Go ahead,” Quin urged. “Finish the sentence.” I couldn’t. I turned my head to look out the window, realizing we were on the verge of another argument.

  More than ever, I longed for my mother. I just needed to hear her voice, to tell her everything. Then it would make sense. And, even if it didn’t, I would feel better just having told her. I closed my eyes, picturing her ironic smile. Unexpected, but overpowering—that was how grief came now—a sob welled in my throat.

  “Elana’s here,” Quin said, as we pulled into my driveway. Her red bike was propped against the side of the porch.

  “Mmhmm.” I tried to compose myself, swiping at a tear. If Quin saw me, he didn’t let it show. Inside, Elana and my father were sitting on the sofa, Artos wedged between them. They were transfixed by the television.

  “Sit down,” my father instructed. “Hurry.” He pointed at the screen.

  A familiar pair of reptilian eyes blinked back at me—Augustus. After SFTV branded him a hero of the Resistance, he became a local celebrity and assumed a position as honorary city councilman. SFTV’s reporter Barbara Blake broke the latest news.

  “Today the city of Oakland has confirmed the appointment of Augustus Porter as the acting drug czar, a position established to curtail the abuse, manufacturing, and sale of banned emotion-altering drugs, including Emovere and Euphoractamine. In the wake of the government’s increased restrictions, these substances have become a sought-after item in Oakland’s black market and have been linked to increased gang activity and a surge of violent crime, a serious concern given the understaffed police force. Porter has years of experience in the financial industry; however, he is best known to Bay Area residents for his heroism as a leader of the Resistance in their crusade against former General Jamison Ryker, who was stripped of his rank and is now serving consecutive life sentences for his crimes. In an exclusive interview with SFTV last week, Porter identified the elimination of emotion-altering drugs from our streets as a cause near and dear to his heart. Mayor Rina Riley issued a statement this morning expressing her confidence that Porter is the right man for the job. These sentiments were echoed in a written statement by Xander Steele, Zenigenic’s CEO, who has been eager to distance his family’s company from all banned substances since his appointment in June.”

  “Unbelievable.” My father summarized our collective shock. “Elana, you were right.”

  “You knew about this?” I asked her.

  She nodded. “Edison’s dad found out this morning. He tried to stop it. He called all of his connections, but apparently Mayor Riley has been completely snowed by Augustus, the same way we all were.” I nodded. Augustus had won again. “I was on my way over here anyway to check on …” Cautious, Elana’s eyes wandered to Quin. “Are you okay?” she asked him.

  Quin stood and walked toward the door. Artos sat up, alert, following Quin with his eyes. He seemed to sense an eruption. “I wish everyone would stop asking me that. Am I okay? What do you think, Elana?” She started to answer, but Quin interrupted. “Shelly’s dead. My dad’s in jail, probably being framed for her murder. My girlfriend thinks he’s guilty. But yeah, I’m okay.”

  Before anyone could stop him, Quin walked out, leaving the door open behind him. Artos trotted over, standing in the doorway, looking forlorn.

  “Oh gosh.” Elana put her head down between her hands. “I’m so sorry. That was a bonehead thing to say.”

  I patted her shoulder, trying to reassure her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me that he’s upset with.”

  Deep l
ines of disapproval etched across my father’s forehead. “I haven’t seen Quin act that way before. I don’t like the way he spoke to us.”

  Elana and I exchanged a glance and giggled.

  “Mr. Knightley, before you got here … Quin … well …” Elana looked to me to finish her thought.

  “He was pretty much like this all the time, Dad.”

  As my father contemplated this new, old version of Quin, I heard uncontrollable laughter from the porch. It was Max. He bounded through the door, his still-bruised face lit with an artificial delight.

  “Hey, everybody! How’s it going?” His voice shocked me. It was loud, boisterous, like Max, but disconnected, as if he was speaking to someone he didn’t know. He did a twirl about the room, grinning from ear to ear, and then splayed onto the couch next to my father. A mismatch to his permanent smile, his eyes were vacant.

  “Max?” My father considered him carefully.

  “The one and only,” Max retorted, erupting in laughter.

  Elana’s gaze met mine with understanding. In that moment, I knew. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. Max was using Eupho.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CERTAINTY AND DOUBT

  I COULDN’T SLEEP. I was worried about Max. After he started jumping up and down on the couch like a maniacal bunny rabbit, my father asked him to leave. Max’s expression never changed. He simply pranced out the door, chuckling to himself.

  And Augustus—now the drug czar? It was laughable. Not to mention Quin’s outburst. He still hadn’t returned. Before I got into bed, I wrote three words in my journal.

  October 10, 2042

  Worst day ever.

  Maybe it wasn’t entirely true—I suppose I’ve had worse—but it was certainly in the top three. At the foot of my bed, Artos cocked his head to the side, listening. Tap, tap. I pulled the blankets up under my chin, hoping it was my imagination. Tap, tap, tap. Artos jumped off the bed and approached the window, wagging his tail.

  “Lex.” I heard a voice from outside—Quin.

  He was standing by the window, his hands in his pockets. He gazed up at me with those plaintive brown eyes and a look of chagrin, an unavoidable combination.