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

by Ellery Kane

  As I readied another question for Max, String returned, setting a small bag on the table.

  “Best way to live in the now are these babies,” he told me, as he plunked down next to Max.

  I already guessed the bag’s contents, but I wanted him to say it. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Lex hasn’t really done that kind of thing,” Max cautioned.

  “Even better.” String was excited. “Your first time is always the best. Right, Maxillipede?”

  I wanted to punch String in the mouth. “This is where you got Eupho? This guy is your dealer?”

  Max said nothing.

  “Some boyfriend.” I looked at String with contempt. “Do you even know what he’s been through?”

  “Hey, easy there.” String put his feet up on the coffee table, casual and relaxed. “I just gave him what he wanted.”

  More than anything, in that moment, I wished I’d never left home. “I’m leaving,” I said, looking only at Max. “If this is what you want, then I obviously don’t know you anymore.” Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I headed for the door.

  “Lex—wait.” I stopped at the sound of Max’s voice but didn’t turn around. “You can’t leave by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I can’t stay here.” Two steps more, and I reached for the knob.

  String bounded toward me, stopping the door with his hand. “Max is right. Mick will have his guys looking for you.”

  “Whatever.” But I knew, as slimy as String was, I had no desire to take my chances with gun-wielding Mickey again.

  “I’ll walk you back to the bus stop later on.” Max sounded resigned, as if he had already given up on our friendship.

  Hours later, I tried to sleep, tossing on String’s couch. I pulled the blanket over my head to block out the sound of Max and String giggling from his bedroom. I felt like a lousy friend. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but the sight of Max popping two Euphos in his mouth was practically unbearable. String simply looked at me, expressionless, but his eyes seemed to say, I won.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - SEVEN

  NOT A DREAM

  I COULDN’T BREATHE.

  Frantic for air, my lungs burned—every gasp like inhaling cinders.

  Was I dreaming?

  My eyes opened wide into darkness.

  I screamed, but my voice was an empty bell.

  Please let me be dreaming.

  Something willful and insistent covered my mouth.

  I kicked my legs wildly, struggling aimlessly like a fly in a web. This was not a dream.

  My eyes darted, searching for escape, but I couldn’t see beyond what was right in front of me.

  My whole world was this: A palm—long fingers—a wrist—a black string.

  Wherever I was, it was pitch black—only a shred of light from under the locked door—and cold. Shivering, I pressed my back into the corner of the wall, hugging my knees tight to my chest. I tried to guess at the time, but it was impossible. I wasn’t even sure what day it was or how many hours had passed since my last unshakeable memory: String’s unrelenting hand.

  I was comforted by my sore palms, still bruised from my fall, their aching a clue I hadn’t been here long. I felt groggy, medicated, and my wrists were handcuffed. There was one certainty—I wasn’t alone. I watched as shadows passed, briefly obscuring my tiny beam of light. Despite their presence, my cries for help went unanswered.

  Closing my eyes, I replayed the last few days, beginning with a rain-soaked Quin. How did I end up here? I could only blame myself. The dull hammer of guilt pounded inside of me each time I pictured my dad. Out of habit, I reached for my locket, then remembered it was missing, vanished somewhere between my capture and now. This is what you deserve for punishing him, for being so selfish, I whispered into the darkness. Sitting there with the enormity of my thoughts taking up tangible space around me, I began to consider the possibility that my mistrust of Quin’s father had just as much to do with my father as his.

  Ever since his return, my dad and I tiptoed around the issue of his abandonment. I read all of his letters—some more than once—most detailing his adventures as a journalist. I wondered if part of my dad feared losing that as much as he feared losing me. One night I caught him at my mother’s computer, paging through my school yearbook photos, transfixed.

  “That is pretty awful,” I said, laughing at an image of myself at age thirteen—my hair parted straight down the center, my eyes half-closed.

  Chuckling, my father shook his head. “Must be because you look like me in that one.”

  When we stopped laughing, his face became serious. “I’m really sorry—”

  I cut him off, doing my best to avoid the discussion. “I know, Dad. I wish Mom had given me those letters a long time ago. You don’t have to say anymore.” It was easier to blame my mother than to ask the painfully obvious question: Why didn’t you try harder? That question was like a single grain of sand in my shoe—easy to ignore but impossible to forget. Even now, when I had far more pressing troubles, it repeated itself like a mantra.

  When the door finally opened (hours?) later, I’d already recited “Wild Geese” at least a hundred times. String loomed over me, back-lighted by the fluorescent glow of an office.

  “Get up.” His voice was flat and hard.

  “Why—” I couldn’t continue. Needles of thirst prickled my throat.

  “No questions.”

  Swallowing painfully, I asked, “Does Max know about this?”

  “What do you think?” String answered, bitterly. But that was the thing—I didn’t know what to think.

  Grabbing my forearm, String pulled me to my feet, and we began walking. My eyes searched desperately for any clue to our location, but the empty cubicles around us were cookie-cutter, nondescript.

  “Where are we?” String didn’t answer.

  “Why are you doing this?” No response.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  Without pause, String replied, “To see Gus.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY - EIGHT

  REUNION

  WE WALKED TOWARD a closed door at the end of a long hallway—two armed men standing outside it. Then I heard his voice. I would know it anywhere. Inside, I steeled myself. Whatever was coming, it was even more dreadful than I feared.

  “Ms. Knightley, I always knew we’d meet again.” Augustus rose from his chair, as String ushered me in. “I must confess, I’d hoped it would be sooner and a bit more brutal perhaps, but nonetheless, I am most indebted to Sebastian for reacquainting us.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “Well, I can’t say I feel the same.” Augustus was just as I remembered him, except for a manicured goatee peppered with gray.

  “No, I didn’t imagine you would.” Augustus stood behind a desk, peering out of a large window. I could see now we were in downtown Oakland. The room was sparsely furnished and unadorned, certainly not an office befitting of a drug czar.

  Without turning his eyes from mine, he addressed String. “Would you give us a moment? Reunions like this are best enjoyed privately.”

  As soon as the door closed, Augustus stalked toward me. Backing me into the wall, he towered over me, his chest within inches of my face.

  “You messed things up for me, Alexandra. You messed them up very badly.” As he leaned in closer, I could smell the dank sweetness of his sweat.

  I tried not to show it, but I was terrified. “I messed things up for you. Really? That’s not how I remember it. I think you did a pretty good job of messing it up on your own.”

  “Memory is a matter of perspective, is it not?” Augustus stepped away from me, and I exhaled with relief.

  “Aren’t you drug czar or something anyway? You should probably be thanking me. Speaking of which, does String work for you? Because that’s sort of ironic—a drug czar employing a drug dealer.”

  “Sit, Alexandra.” Augustus pointed to a chair near the window.

  Seeing no other option, I plodd
ed toward the chair, still handcuffed. I sensed Augustus pacing behind me, could feel his eyes boring through me with intensity. Then he emerged alongside me, suddenly relaxed. He leaned back against his desk.

  “How right you are—I have been appointed drug czar. But I won’t be thanking you … yet.” He said nothing about String. “You see, Ms. Knightley, you—you and Mr. McAllister—took something from me, something invaluable. Now it’s time to repay your debt.”

  “That flash drive never belonged to you. It was my mother’s,” I sneered. “What makes you think I would do anything for you?”

  Augustus threw back his head, laughing, but as quickly as it appeared, his delight morphed into a menacing frown, as effortless as swapping one mask for another. “Your life depends on it,” he answered. “And not just your life.” He slid two photos across his desk—Quin and my father. The images were recent, taken outside of our house.

  “Do I have your attention now?”

  I nodded.

  “Always so curious.” Augustus considered me like a specimen. “Surely, you must be wondering how I got you here.”

  I answered him with silence, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. From the moment I saw him, my mind was racing, trying to connect him to String. I could tell from his smug expression he was proud of himself.

  “Poor Max. Poor, poor Max.” Augustus shook his head with false pity. “He led you right to me.”

  “I don’t believe you. Max would never betray me.” I feigned confidence.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Augustus clicked his tongue at me. “That’s the beauty of it, Alexandra. He didn’t have to. All he had to do was fall in love. And he was so needy, so desperate to fall in love. Sebastian did the rest. Once we introduced Eupho, I knew it was only a matter of time before you or Quin would show up here.” He lamented, “I so hoped it would be the both of you.”

  Inside, I cursed myself. I wandered straight into Augustus’ trap, and Max was duped by String. Another rejection would crush him. Suddenly, I couldn’t stomach Augustus’ arrogance any longer.

  “Just tell me,” I demanded. “What is it you want me to do for you?”

  Augustus walked over to me, sinking his talons into my shoulder. Pointing out the window to the building across the street, he said, “You’re going in there to get something for me.”

  As my eyes followed Augustus’ finger, I stifled a gasp. He was pointing to the Paramount Theater, closed years ago. But what riveted me were the black letters on the marquis—crooked and dangling—left there from the last performance, Macbeth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - NINE

  RUNAWAY

  SAYING NO MORE ABOUT HIS PLOT, Augustus handed me a computer tablet, watching me with a devil’s grin.

  “Open it,” he encouraged. “I’m sure you’d like to know what’s been happening since you ran away from home.” He emphasized the words, pleased with himself. “But who could blame you?” He lowered his eyes in manufactured sympathy. “The strain of it all, just too much for you to take.”

  A feeling of dread dragged my heart under, sinking it to the bottom of my stomach. If Augustus wanted me to see it, it was bad. I opened the tablet anyway, desperate to know how much time had passed.

  October 14—two days after I followed Max. The SFTV news page was flashing red with a breaking story: Oakland Police Release New, Shocking Details In McAllister Arrest.

  During a live press conference this morning, Oakland Chief of Police, Caesar Gonzalez, and District Attorney, Vivian Dillard, confirmed Michelle McAllister, fatally stabbed on October 9, was three months pregnant at the time of her death. Criminal charges against her husband, George McAllister, have been amended to include an additional count of second-degree murder. At a preliminary hearing earlier today, McAllister entered a plea of not guilty. He was accompanied by his attorney, Nicholas Van Sant, who declined to give a statement. Though District Attorney Dillard remained tight-lipped about the specifics of the case, she indicated the evidence against McAllister is mounting.

  I scanned the tablet, while eyeing Augustus with suspicion. I was certain there was something else he wanted me to see. Impatient, he drummed his fingers against the desk. “So unfortunate,” he sighed. “With a father like that, it’s no wonder Quin turned out to be such a disappointment.”

  I ignored him and stared straight ahead, keeping my eyes focused on the giant M on the marquis. Why would Paul Grimley have directed George McAllister to the Paramount? What was inside that theater?

  Smirking, Augustus continued, “I, for one, expected to see you in the headlines. Daughter of the late, great Dr. Victoria Knightley goes missing. Now that’s a story I’d like to read.”

  I had to hand it to him—he had a way with timing, drawing me into his game, without even trying. “What did you do, Augustus?” It was the question he wanted me to ask.

  “Ah, Ms. Knightley, the better question is, what did you do?” He savored the unhurried delivery of his punch line. “Your mother gone, your boyfriend unhappy with you, it’s no wonder you just cracked under the pressure.” Holding up his cell phone, he added, “Let’s just say your family has received your message.”

  Somehow Augustus knew about my fight with Quin. My cell phone! The memory card! I glared at Augustus, imagining myself landing blow after blow to his well-groomed face.

  He stood and walked toward me. “You’re a runaway now, Ms. Knightley.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  FIRST TIME

  I WAS EXILED BACK TO THE CLOSET, left to contemplate my fate. Retreating to the corner, I buried my head against my knees and cried until I was exhausted. The hot salt of my tears soaked my jeans. Mom? I breathed her name, my ache for her as tangible as the scrapes on my hands. I wondered if I would ever stop needing her. Gone, she was as real to me as ever.

  Leaning back, I closed my eyes and thought of Quin—one of my favorite memories—the first day he worked on the Bay Bridge repair site with his father. Afterward, we met at our houseboat. Quin was sitting on the bed, giddy, when I pushed the door open. His eyes—always magnetic—were luminous, dancing with excitement.

  “I can’t believe how fun that was,” Quin confessed, as I sat down next to him.

  “Which part?” I teased, taking one of his hands into mine. Under each finger, I felt the beginning of calluses. “The manual labor or the risk of plummeting to your death?”

  Quin laughed. “Actually, neither.”

  I gave him a quizzical look.

  “It was pretty cool to work with my dad. He’s nothing like I expected him to be. He actually told me that he was proud of me.”

  Despite all my skepticism, I smiled. Quin’s exuberance was contagious. “Well, he should be proud.” I winked at him.

  Pulling me onto his lap, Quin held my face between his hands. “You’re so … beautiful,” he said, completely serious. I snickered, wrapping my arms around his neck.

  “Really, Lex. Stunning.” I couldn’t stop laughing.

  “I mean it.” My giggling was uncontrollable—until Quin completely silenced me with his kiss.

  Holding that memory snugly against my heart, I realized I wasn’t sad anymore. I was determined. I had to get through this—whatever it took—for Quin. That building contained the missing link in his father’s story. There was something in there that someone wanted him to see. And I was going inside.

  Hours later, one of the armed men came for me. Hard to believe, but I would have preferred String. After he uncuffed me, he squeezed my arm so tight, it began to purple. Maintaining his death grip, he forced me down the hallway.

  Augustus was waiting for us at his desk. Behind him, the sky was darkening. I watched as the wind whipped leaves from the wet ground—it must’ve rained already—tossing them in the air like confetti.

  “Please have a seat, Ms. Knightley.” Augustus gestured to the chair.

  I ignored his superficial pleasantries. “So what’s in that building you want so badly?”

&nb
sp; “It’s called Onyx.”

  I maintained my best poker face. Inside my head, I heard Edison’s voice, “It will turn your heart as black as a stone.” Despite the dogged efforts of Dr. Bell, the Guardian Force training video, a brutal showcase of Onyx’s devastation, remained concealed from the public just as my mother predicted.

  “Have you heard of it?”

  “Maybe. Why does it matter?”

  “Because I need someone who knows how to find it, someone who won’t get caught.”

  I knew only a little about Onyx, but I had to get into that building. Now I was convinced of that more than ever.

  “I know how to find it,” I assured Augustus. “It was one of the drugs my mother studied in her lab.” Hoping he was convinced, I asked, “Why do you want it?”

  “That is none of your concern.” Augustus stood and took one long stride around his desk until he was standing over me.

  “Actually, it is my concern. I’m the one going in there.”

  Augustus raised his hands in pretend surrender. “Okay, okay. It’s the mayor. She wants to know more about it. She’s heard rumors it’s being sold on the street.”

  I knew Augustus was lying. I shook my head. “Fine. If that’s your story.” Trying to weasel the truth out of a psychopath was a losing battle. “How do I get in?”

  “The theater is guarded at night—two armed men patrolling the perimeter. They’re not that tough, as far as I can tell. I’ll give you a gun, but you’ll have to figure it out from there. Once you get past them, head inside. Behind the stage, there’s a door. That’s where the magic happens. You’ll need the access code.” He passed me a slip of paper, where he had scrawled four numbers.

  “It sounds risky.” Definite understatement.

  Augustus grinned. “Ms. Knightley, you seem to have a way of landing on your feet. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” He held up the pictures he showed me earlier. “If you get caught, you don’t know me, got it? And just in case you think about running … don’t.”