Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set

by Bridget E. Baker

  Sam looks Adam up and down and nods. Samuel Roth's a man of few words, but this is terse even for him.

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm,” I say. “Congratulations on what I assume was a promotion, but out of curiosity, why did the job need to be filled? What happened to your predecessor?”

  “He was fired, of course. Under his tenure your father was infected with a deadly virus by a rival and went mad, taking his own life. Peter Richelieu should have taken measures to prevent both occurrences. I assure you, no such harm will come to you on my watch.”

  Sam releases my hand as we approach the van and opens the door for me. “I'll be with Ruby twenty four seven from here on out. Your services will be superfluous.”

  “You can't be with her twenty four seven, sir. Everyone sleeps.”

  Sam raises one eyebrow. “That’s true.”

  “Uh, well.” Adam looks from Sam to me and back again. “In any case, when you have meetings or are otherwise occupied, you can rest easy knowing she's in good hands.”

  Wesley snorts.

  “I'm your boss, right?” Sam asks.

  The muscles in Adam's jaw tighten and his cornflower blue eyes bulge. “Yes sir.” He watches as Sam sits down next to me and puts an arm around my shoulder.

  Wesley catches my eye as he climbs into the van and whispers, “This is so awesome.”

  I roll my eyes. At least neither Adam nor Sam have beat their chests or roared yet. I hope Adam lets it go, because I haven't met anyone who could take Sam out. I'd hate to see Adam take a beating his first day at a new job. Besides, it can't be good for morale.

  Adam climbs into the van and tells the driver to go. I told them we didn't need any guards and that the Marked who have gathered are friends, but it was a futile effort. Three other vans full of armed men drive alongside us anyway. I hope Rafe doesn't see this as an act of aggression.

  When the Marked come into sight, I lean forward and place a hand on Adam's arm. “I'd like to go by foot from here.”

  Adam frowns. “It's safer to have vehicles close.”

  “But it indicates hostility,” I say. “I know the Marked who are gathered. I won't scare them or have them thinking this is a show of force. That will only escalate things.”

  Adam opens his mouth to argue, but Sam cuts him off. “I have six guns on me with enough rounds between them to take out every kid on that bridge. It's fine; you can actually obey the orders from your future queen. If anything comes up, I'll be there to keep her safe.”

  “That kind of arrogance is dangerous,” Adam warns.

  “It's not arrogance. It's fact.” Sam raises his voice. “Stop the van.” The driver stops.

  Oh, good grief.

  Adam orders the other vans to stop as well with his walkie. I don't wait for anyone to open my door, because I need to escape this puddle of testosterone before I drown in it. I grab the handle, swing it open, and hop out. I've barely gone two paces before Sam falls into step next to me and Adam slides alongside me on the right.

  “Don't worry guys,” Wesley says, “I've got the rear covered. Nothing back there will make it through me.”

  I snort. Freaking Wesley.

  As soon as the Marked kids see my hair, curly and windblown into my telltale fluffy blonde mop, they start walking toward us. I can't make out the details of his face from here, but I can tell Rafe's at the front because I recognize his hair. No one else has quite the same spiky, russet colored Mohawk.

  When we draw near enough to see faces, I notice Rafe and the dozen men with him have guns trained on us. So much for my hopes of a nice, friendly meeting.

  “What's going on?” I shout.

  “Back away from Ruby slowly,” Rafe says, “and no one will be shot. We need her, and we won't leave without her.”

  I shake my head. “You don't understand Rafe, it's fine. I'm not being held against my will. Put your gun down.”

  “I will when they do,” Rafe says.

  “No one's holding a gun on you, you blind idiot.” I turn my head toward my people and exhale heavily, because I'm a big, fat liar. Even Sam's pointing a gun at them. “Put. Your. Guns. Down. That's an order.”

  Everyone but Sam listens.

  “How is it that you're giving them orders?” Rafe asks. “And who's the meathead who won't put his gun down?”

  “That gorgeous blockhead is your big brother. Sam, stop aiming your gun at Raphael's head. It isn't polite.”

  “Wait.” Rafe squints, his head tilted and his body tense. “That's Sam? Seriously?”

  He's wearing a uniform. Duh, I should've thought about that. It's been a weird couple of days. “How about this? Wesley, Sam and I will meet you in the middle. Your people and our people will all walk back forty paces on the count of five. Yes?”

  Rafe nods.

  I turn to Adam. “Okay?”

  Adam says, “Yes, but I'm staying too.”

  “No, you're going and I'm done arguing. You take orders from me, not the other way around.”

  Adam scowls, but when I count to five, he walks back with the others. If he stays a half dozen feet closer to us than the others, well, I'll cut him some slack. It's his first day and his boss is meeting with a bunch of armed soldiers infected with the same deadly disease that he thinks killed the last boss. Of course, no one from WPN knows that I'm immune.

  Rafe could lick my face and I wouldn't catch Tercera.

  Luckily, I've inoculated Sam and Wesley with the antibodies my dad gave me years ago, so they're also safe. Even so, since WPN doesn't know that, it's best if we maintain our distance. Rafe walks toward us slowly and I take a few hesitant steps toward him too. Sam holsters his gun.

  I coo a little, because I can’t help needling them. “I am so proud of you boys, both of you sheathing your claws for this little meet and greet. Rafe, meet Samuel Roth, my Chief of Military and Strategic Defense. Sam, this is Raphael Roth, leader of the Marked, and your long lost baby brother.”

  If I expected them to hug, I'd have been disappointed. I know Sam well enough to have guessed that wasn't going to happen, which will make things easier when we head back to the island anyway. I'd rather not have to explain to my new people that while my blood could certainly immunize them from ever catching Tercera, I'm saving it instead to use in a last ditch attempt to somehow cure the imminently dying.

  I'm not sure they'd appreciate my priorities.

  “It’s actually you.” Sam smiles. “I'm glad to see you.”

  That’s it. More than ten years since he saw his brother, and Sam’s exclamation of affection is less than ten words. I exhale heavily.

  Rafe's grin makes his eyes match the rest of his body for once. He actually looks like a tall twelve-year-old should. “I straight up can't believe you're alive, Sam! You look amazing. Man, I wonder if I’d look like that if I hadn’t been on the suppressant for all these years. And Dad?”

  Sam shrugs. “He's as big a jerk as ever.”

  Rafe's grin widens. “I wish I could see him.”

  Sam raises his eyebrows. “No you don't. Seriously, if you do it’s only because you’ve forgotten what he's like.”

  “Maybe. Is he really running the Unmarked?”

  “Yep,” Sam says. “Are you surprised?”

  “Not really, no.” Rafe glances at me. “So what's with ordering people around? I thought they'd taken you hostage when you didn't come back.”

  “They did. Long story short, they tossed me and Wesley in prison.”

  “Yes, and thanks for your great concern over my welfare by the way,” Wesley says. “I was thrown in prison, almost shot by ten snipers, shoved into shackles with a gun to my temple, and basically mistreated every way possible. Yet here I am, and no one’s even mentioned me.” Wesley puts his hand to his heart, and shakes his head. “I’m wounded, honestly.”

  Rafe shrugs. “You're wheezing and complaining as much as ever, which means you're fine.”

  “I basically saved the day,” Wesley says. “In case tha
t wasn’t already obvious.”

  All joking aside, he's kind of right. Wesley's not tough in the way Sam or Rafe or even Adam are tough, although he's fit and a competent shot, but his knowledge of abused women did bring Josephine over to our side. Without him, we might not be standing here.

  I clear my throat. “He’s joking as usual, but Wesley did save us in point of fact. He helped me convince my mom to take action against Solomon.” I lower my voice. “Josephine shot her husband and now, in the twist of the year, it turns out—”

  Wesley bounces up and down like a toddler who needs to pee.

  “Fine,” I say. “You can tell him.”

  Wesley beams. “She’s his heir! They're crowning her queen day after tomorrow. Crazy, right?”

  “That is crazy,” Rafe says. “And also, it’s not happening. We need you in Baton Rouge now. You can't stay here and be queen of the Bible Belt.”

  “They're planning to eradicate you and everyone you know,” I say. “Maybe I should stay long enough to put the kibosh on that. Or have you decided WPN's well armed and enormous army isn't actually a threat?”

  “I worry about the snake that's about to bite me before the one in the tree.”

  “Triage,” I say, “I'm familiar with the concept, but a few days here could eliminate the threat of WPN forever. They'd kill you faster than Tercera, even with the suppressant failing. Besides, there are other reasons it might help you. I can come back next week and bring supplies, including food. Good nutrition will strengthen your people for their fight with the virus, you know.”

  Rafe scowls. “Why should I believe you'll come back at all?”

  Wesley grunts. “Like I told you before, Ruby does the right thing. Always.”

  Sam growls at nearly the same time. “We'll come to Baton Rouge, I swear it.”

  “Pardon my lack of faith that you'll come for me big brother, but it's not like history supports your promises. It's doubly hard to believe you when you've gone native.” Rafe stares pointedly at Sam's uniform.

  “Mom wouldn't take any of Dad's calls, which I don’t blame her for, but then the grid shut down. Dad and I had no reason to believe you survived,” Sam says, “or any idea of where to look even if we wanted to.”

  Rafe shrugs. “Where did you start looking, then?”

  Sam's face falls. “I'm sorry Raphael. I really am. I failed you.”

  I take Sam's hand. “You most certainly did not. You were eleven, twelve at the most when your mother would've died. There was nothing you could’ve done. You'd have died if you tried to find him, as Rafe well knows. By the time you were old enough to hunt for him, the suppressant wouldn't have worked on you.” I spin around on Rafe. “You were willing to risk the lives of all your people to get your brother back. Stop acting like a spoiled brat and show him some of what you really feel.”

  Rafe's face collapses and my heart twists in my chest. These poor brothers. So much love, obscured by so much emotional constipation. I decide to throw them a bone.

  “Rafe, Sam loves you. I care about you and all the Marked kids who have hovered on the fringe making their own community. Relying on the generosity of others might have kept the hormone suppressants coming, but it hasn’t taught you to trust. I know the Unmarked didn’t provide much aid. I know they weren’t reliably supportive, but I’m not your dad, and I’m not the Unmarked leaders. I won't abandon you like everyone else did.”

  “Even if I believe you, I need to be able to convince my people. A week is too long after all the time I’ve already been gone.”

  Wesley groans. “You’ve got to be more flexible, man.”

  I huff. “How about this? I’ve been thinking that we should establish a care center locally, near WPN. If WPN provides materials in the old Marked maternity ward in Texas City, I can drive out each day and work with Job. Then I could donate plasma as needed and keep order here in Galveston too. That way WPN will be on tap to provide food and any other support the Marked need. WPN's organized and has plenty of grain, meat, and medical supplies.” I look at him flatly. “Things the Marked don’t have.”

  Rafe scowls at me. “We have meat and we have grain.” He glances back at my guard. “You kind of like the idea of being queen, huh?”

  I frown. “Actually, no. I hate it.”

  “Uh huh,” Rafe says. “I just bet you do.”

  “I'm thinking of what would be best for the Marked, nothing more.”

  “What's best for us would be you honoring your word. Come back like you said you would before we brought you down here to save your boyfriend and retrieve your daddy's journal. You know, the one that was only lost because you left it.” Rafe peers around me to look at the vans. “Where is that journal, by the way?”

  “I have it,” I say. “Back on the island. I'm reading it now.”

  “Uh huh, well, how's this for some incentive to do what you already promised?” Rafe asks. “Wesley said the coronation's Friday, which is the day after tomorrow. I'll give you one day after that to get things in order, and one extra day to drive out to Baton Rouge. If you haven't arrived by sunset on Sunday, I'll execute Rhonda. The day after that, I'll execute Job. Before you say I won't, remember that he's no good to me without antibodies to work with.”

  I clench my hands into fists. What if something comes up? What if a bridge collapses, or a car breaks down?

  “You're acting like an insane person.”

  “No,” Rafe says. “I'm acting like your presence is a life and death issue to us. Because it is. Every day you delay means a day we can't work toward a solution. That means more of us die.”

  “Fine. I don't want to leave WPN until I'm sure things are stable and they won't kill you all, but if you don't mind that possibility, so be it. I told my people that my cousin needs my plasma due to a bleeding disorder. I set up a plasma draw for later today so you can take some of my antibodies back with you. At least stick around for that, so Job can continue the clinical trials while he's waiting for his own execution.”

  “Fine.” Rafe waves at Wesley and Sam, spins on one heel, and starts toward the mainland.

  “You know, I told my WPN guards not to worry about me during this meeting. I told them you're a friend and not a threat. I guess that was a lie.”

  Rafe pivots. “Sam's my brother and Wesley's my friend, but you're not my friend. You’re a necessity, nothing more.”

  I pretend I don't care. “Fine, whatever, but before you leave, at least tell me if you ever heard from my aunt.”

  “She must've gone back to the Unmarked. She disappeared a few days ago, or so my people tell me. There at night, gone the next morning. When she joined us her husband didn't want her to stay. He kept insisting she could live in quarantine indefinitely. We’re assuming she got sick of bad food and bailed.”

  That doesn't sound like my aunt. She would've wanted to stay where the infection was and truly study the live virus like she couldn't before. Even if it meant she had to eat burned oatmeal every morning.

  This time when Rafe turns to leave, I don't stop him.

  2

  After dealing with Rafe and his ultimatums, I figured the rest of the day would be a breeze. It's harder than I anticipated to convince Josephine to find me an aphoresis machine to donate plasma for Job’s fake bleeding disorder. She plies me with all kinds of questions.

  “Why can’t someone else donate?” “How long has this been going on?” “Why are you a match, if you’re not really related.”

  “Because I’m O-neg!” I finally yell. “I match everyone.”

  Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned to her that the last time I gave plasma, I passed out when I upped the amount the machine was set to pull. This time I sit patiently while it pulls half the average amount due to my stupidly small size. Being tiny sucks.

  An hour later, thirsty and a little woozy from donating plasma, I sway during yet another fitting for my coronation gown. This time when a clumsy apprentice pokes me with a pin, I don't grit my teeth and bear it.
I whimper. Not that anyone notices or cares. And despite Sam's reassurances that I'd never be alone, I'm on my own in here.

  After the third poke I throw my hands up in the air. “I'm done with this. Get it off me.” I pull at the fabric surrounding me in great swaths. “Now.”

  “I'm sorry this is taking so long, Your Royal Highness,” Melinda says, “but we still have a few more modifications to make. Sewing a gown of this quality in only two days. . . well.” My mother's private seamstress clucks. “Some might say it can't be done, but we'll prove them wrong.”

  I groan. “You'll have to make do with what you've got.” I glance at the clock. “I have a meeting in twenty minutes with the Port Heads, and I can't be late. I doubt you want me wearing this to see them.”

  Melinda's eyes bug satisfyingly. “No indeed. We'll wrap it up.”

  I've been dreading having to welcome my biological father’s cronies, but I'm almost excited for it now. Being poked and prodded with pins while holding absolutely still for the pleasure gives me a new outlook. All my friends in kindergarten who pretended to be princesses should've spent a day being fitted for a ball gown. They'd have changed their minds. From what I can tell, being a princess involves a lot less ordering people around and a lot more being shoved into doing things you'd rather avoid. Every time I blink someone's asking me to do something, and I have no choice about what.

  Once Melinda and her cadre of helpers clear out, I change into a button down white shirt and a pair of khaki dress slacks. I'm drinking a glass of water when my mother knocks and walks in, Adam right beside her. Good thing I was dressed.

  “The Port Heads are waiting for you in the Garden Room,” Josephine says. “I've called for a tea service. I hope you don't mind.”

  “Not at all. I love tea.” I think about my little greenhouse at home. With Job and Rhonda in Baton Rouge and Aunt Anne who knows where, I wonder whether anything's still alive. The downside to a greenhouse is that without someone tending to it, it won't get any water. My poor mint plants have certainly died by now.