High Demand (Poison Apple Duet #1)

1. Jaxson

1

Jaxson

L ooking at my father, sitting at the head of the table at seventy years old, looking younger and more vibrant than men thirty years his junior, I could almost believe he really was the last messenger of God.

He’s not a messenger of God, of course.

Just incredibly lucky and incredibly privileged. And the only reason he’s either of those is that he’s extremely charismatic with an uncanny ability to make people believe whatever delusion comes out of his mouth. In turn, that allows him make those same people do anything and everything what he wants. Whether that’s giving him their money, giving him their services for free if they don’t have money, or otherwise waiting on him hand and foot.

In other words, a glorified scam artist. I’m not stupid enough to say that out loud, though.

“Oracle,” Madison suddenly says.

I maintain an expression of indifference, even though I really want to roll my eyes at my sister for referring to my father by his revered title. For goodness’s sake, she’s from his first set of children. From his actual legal wife before he managed to seize power of the Sovereignty through a fair amount of lying, ass-kissing, and delusion.

“Yes, daughter,” my father says in that all-wise and esteemed tone that has convinced people he’s some kind of prophet of God.

“Jessie took Deaccan to the doctor for his checkup, and they’re concerned that he hasn’t gained any weight.”

“Is she feeding him?” my father’s wife, Nina, asks.

It’s a wonder the stupidity at this table isn’t contagious. Of course she’s feeding him. Any mother worth their salt feeds their child. My mother at least did that.

“Constantly, it seems,” Madison says. “But apparently he’s not getting enough. The doctor wants her to supplement with formula.”

Shocked gasps come from various people around the table, and I take a deep breath as I pray for patience.

I glance at the clock. 7:20. We’re only twenty minutes into dinner. Way too early for me to be this irritated by this stupid charade. Also way too early for me to excuse myself without suspicion.

“You don’t know what’s in that formula,” Nina insists.

“That’s what I told Jessie. But you know these young people. So impatient. The doctor makes an observation and they’re ready to take whatever they say on face value,” my sister says.

I tune out the rest of the conversation. Otherwise, I’m not going to be able to keep my composure. The answer is simple. Make sure the baby is fed. Do what the damn doctor said. Feed them the formula .

My half-sister and Jessie, my half-sister’s daughter, could have come up with that solution on their own. But because she’s been groomed and indoctrinated to one, consult her actual physical father, and two, consult her spiritual leader, no matter how outdated, ill-informed, and downright ignorant his guidance is, Madison doesn’t know she can just trust her own intuition and brains despite her several degrees.

Of course, if everyone in the Sovereignty trusted their own intuition, my father wouldn’t be The Oracle and have amassed as much power as he’s managed.

They devolve into an ill-informed debate about formula and begin to suggest old wives’ tales and pseudo-science to help Jessie’s milk come in. I make a note to go visit Jessie myself before they kill her and my nephew with their stupid advice.

“Perhaps, Oracle, Madison could bring Jessie and the baby and you could bless her to help,” Magdalene, my father’s high chief priestess, suggests.

I mentally roll my eyes at the clear jockeying she’s doing. Just like everyone else who calls themselves a helper of my father. Jockeying to be the next one to hold the title of Oracle. As if Magdalene is even a contender.

Still, supreme narcissist and attention whore that my father is, he says with a brilliant smile, “Of course.”

“When are you free?” Madison asks.

My father looks to my older brother, Mason. His travelling companion. Which is to say that he’s a glorified personal assistant .

“You have some free time right before your flight to Los Angeles tomorrow evening,” he says. “Around four.”

Much to my friend Abner’s dismay who is preparing his altar for my father’s arrival in Los Angeles. I don’t blame him. Dealing with my father, his prep team, and their antics is exhausting. I can’t even invite my own father to my house without his prep team coming to deep clean the place and take over to make sure I’m not planning to kill him. Not that I ever will invite my father anywhere.

“Four it is,” my father says to my sister.

She lets out a sigh of relief as though a great burden has been lifted from her.

“You’re going to Los Angeles tomorrow?” another of my brothers, Landon, from the third of my father’s spiritual conduits, asks.

“Despite the best efforts of Dr. Cult,” Mason says with a roll of his eyes.

“Dr. Cult?” Magdalene asks.

“An anonymous, so-called cult expert,” Mason answers.

“What do they have to do with anything?”

“He’s a coward who hides behind a mic and the internet and runs a podcast about cults. He puts a lot of time and effort into trying to defame the Sovereignty and the Oracle’s good name by calling us scam artists. I’ll reiterate, all this while hiding behind the anonymity of the internet. If he were really serious, he’d show his face and come directly to us with his accusations.”

I perk up at that. I like to keep an ear out for anyone that’s bold enough to proclaim to be an enemy of the Sovereignty .

Landon laughs and says to me, “Of course that gets your attention.”

“Of course it did. Because this potentially means something for me to do,” I say.

Maybe if this anonymous podcaster is bad enough or I can goad him into annoying me, I’ll even get to force him to atone.

“What do you think, Oracle?” my father’s wife asks.

“He’s of no importance. Every knock is a boost.”

That is to say, every knock and ounce of controversy further delays the Sovereignty’s decline into irrelevancy and gives my narcissist father the attention he’s so desperate for.

I exchange a discreet look with Landon before barely nodding my head. Because every knock is only a boost until it’s not. Thus, I make a note to look into Dr. Cult later before tuning out the rest of the conversation. That gets easier when my father begins to go on one of his insane and uninformed ramblings about current events and why “young people” are so miserable and how they wouldn’t be if they just embraced the Oracle’s philosophy. If this were any other dinner, I would have excused myself long ago. But despite how stupid all this is, you don’t get up from the table before the Oracle dismisses you.

Luckily, my father is just recovering from sickness and has a flight to catch tomorrow along with blessing Jessie. So after only an hour or so, he begins to wind down.

Thank the Supreme Force.

I glance at the clock. Nine on the dot. I might have the energy to do something mentally stimulating tonight .

“Oracle. Wait. I know it’s late. But one more thing,” Magdalene says.

I want to slit Magdalene’s throat on a regular basis for less as it is. It takes every ounce of self-control not to at this moment.

I lose any hope of salvaging this night as she gears my father up for yet another of his delusional rants.

Jessie looks a mess the next day when I visit her. Hours after she’s gotten back home from letting my father bless her breasts so her milk will come in. Her eyes are red from exhaustion. Her brown hair is oily and looks like it needs to be washed and is thrown in a messy, unsecured bun that’s one sharp corner away from being completely undone. Her t-shirt is stained.

It’s no wonder why she looks a mess. Her son is screeching in displeasure in the background.

“The house is a mess, Jaxson. Now really isn’t a good time to—”

“You know I don’t care about any of that nonsense, niece,” I say as I push past her.

She scoffs like she always does when I call her that. As if we don’t share the exact same birthday and didn’t grow up together more like siblings than uncle and niece.

“Where is my great nephew?” I ask, though I don’t need her to show me. I just follow the sound of his screeching to her living room.

His face is red from exertion. Fist punching and feet kicking the air in anger.

“I take it the blessing didn’t go well. ”

“The Oracle said it won’t happen overnight. That I have to be patient and faithful. But, Jaxson. He won’t stop crying. And I haven’t slept in days. Or—”

“Where’s Byron?” I ask.

Jessie isn’t too frazzled to give me a pointed look and say, “Brian. I’ve been married to him five years. You know his name.”

When she figures out I’m not going to acknowledge her statement, she sighs and says miserably, “Headed to Los Angeles with the Oracle as part of his security detail.”

In other words, being the inadequate husband he’s always been.

Instead, I say, “Well, I certainly don’t have the same powers of blessing as my father does, but I can still help.”

“How?” Jessie asks hysterically. “He’s hungry but I can’t feed him because I don’t have any milk. I don’t have any milk, so he won’t even latch to my breast properly now. And Mama said stress is keeping my milk from coming in, but I’m stressed because my milk hasn’t come in and my son is hungry. And—”

Jessie bursts into tears.

I pull her into my arms.

“There, there,” I say. “Everything will be fine.”

“How?”

“Well,” I say as I push her away and pick up the black cooler I brought in with me, “I might have the answer to that.”

“What’s that?” Jessie sniffs.

I nod for her to grab Deaccan and follow me to the kitchen .

By the time she’s grabbed Deaccan and followed me, I’ve already opened the cooler, taken out a premade bottle, and stuck it in the microwave.

“Formula!” Jessie says in alarm. “Jaxson! No! I can’t!”

“You can,” I say.

“Jaxson! If I feed him the formula, the blessing won’t work and my milk won’t come in. Mama even threw away all the formula to show our faith in the Oracle.”

“You can have faith in the Oracle that your milk will come in and feed your baby in the meantime,” I say as I take the bottle out the microwave and check the temperature.

“You sound like Candace when you say that,” Jessie says with a small smile.

“I know I do. Because this is exactly what she would have done if she were here,” I say.

There’s that awkward pause that always comes up whenever we mention Candace. It’s an unspoken rule that we’re not supposed to acknowledge she ever existed.

Finally, I hold out my hands for Deaccan. Jessie sighs and doesn’t fight as I take the screaming baby from her arms and stick the bottle in his mouth.

Instantly, his tears cease as he greedily sucks.

“You’re not going with the Oracle to LA?” Jessie asks as I feed her son.

“You know as well as the Oracle himself that I hate things like that. I’m more suited for holding down the fort. Besides, I have something I need to look into. ”

Jessie gives me a knowing look.

You don’t grow up in the Sovereignty from birth without knowing that there are some things that have to be done in the shadows. That someone has to be willing to embrace the darkness. That someone has to be willing to lie, threaten, manipulate, and kill to maintain power. That someone has to be willing to make examples of others, make people disappear, and watch the bodies burn. That someone has to be the angel of death and visit death upon others to make them atone.

I am that person.

I don’t know that I’ll need to go that far with Dr. Cult. But I’m willing to if this person is more of a threat than my father has determined they are. Jessie knows this. Like everyone in the Sovereignty, she’s been indoctrinated to accept it. No matter how much it conflicts with the harmless image of the Sovereignty that my father and all Oracles before him have tried to maintain.

Also like everyone, Jessie knows not to ask. Or at least, she’s so brainwashed like everyone else who unthinkingly believes all this that it doesn’t even occur to her to ask.

We’re silent as Deaccan sucks down the rest of the bottle until it’s completely empty, at which point, I put him on my shoulder and begin to burp him.

“You shouldn’t be doing that. That’s my job.”

“A woman’s job, you mean?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean… that’s what the doctrines say. You doing that… it demeans you. ”

“The doctrines say that taking care of children is the highest honor. If it’s such a high honor, how can it demean me?”

Jessie smiles. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

She doesn’t mention that it’s also something Candace would have said. So I don’t either.

“Favorite uncle?” I ask instead.

“Favorite anything.”

I shrug and pass a now burped and sleeping baby back to her.

“If your milk still hasn’t come in by his next checkup, but he’s still managed to gain weight, I won’t tell if you don’t,” I whisper conspiratorially.

“If that’s your way of asking me to put in a good word for you to the Oracle to name you his successor, sure,” she says, shoving me in the arm with her shoulder before leading me back into the living room.

If she were anyone else, that would be exactly what I want her to do. It’s easier to manipulate people into doing what you want when you make them think it was their idea. But it’s Jessie. Her word doesn’t hold much weight with the Oracle.

So I laugh and say, “You know that’s not what I’m asking for.”

“Which is exactly why it should be you. You help people without asking for anything in return. That’s the kind of Oracle the Sovereign needs. And you understand what lay people in the Sovereign are going through. You’re not out of touch with the world. Not like…” she trails off.

Whatever she’s going to say about my father, her grandfather, I agree with. But not openly disagreeing with the Oracle, even with the people you trust, is also a rule of the Sovereignty. A rule that if broken gets you killed.

So I simply shrug and say, “That’s why the Oracle has helpers like me. Now, why don’t you go put him down and shower. I’ll watch him for an hour or two for you.”