13. Jaxson
13
Jaxson
I didn’t realize how loud Lauressa was until she wasn’t there. Not particularly loud in the physical sense, but loud in the metaphorical sense. Leaving her jacket across a couch. Sitting at the dining room table with a cup of coffee and her hair in a messy bun while she worked. The sound of the television playing in the background. The blanket that she never folded back into place on the bed. Dishes left in the sink. Hair left in the shower from where she washed it. No matter where she went, Lauressa had a tendency to mark that she had been there the same way that Nala leaves fur behind.
But now there’s none of that. My house is pristine. Orderly. Not a thing out of place. Not a dish in the sink. None of her snacks hidden in the nightstand in my room.
There’s no time to wallow in missing her. No time to unnecessarily worry about what my father is whispering in her ear and what my rivals and enemies are telling her to disparage me. I have to trust and have faith in her discernment, much like I’ve told her to trust in and have faith in me. I have to hope that she heeds the words I whispered to her, locked in a closet when I was able to steal her away from the watchful eyes of my father’s staff.
Trust no one.
There’s not a soul in Chicago that wouldn’t sell their child to Satan for the favor of my father. And many of them would be even happier to screw me over in order to gain the favor my father has bestowed on me over the years. Particularly my brothers.
While all three of us are in the running for being named heir to the Sovereignty, Mason is knocking on sixty and would be in his sixties or older by the time my father dies. Historically, no one has been named Oracle over sixty years of age. Landon, on the other hand, has his own reasons for why he likely won’t be named.
So while my father has never officially named me, it’s always been assumed that when he finally gets around to naming which son he’s giving the seat of Oracle, it would be me. But just because it makes the most sense doesn’t mean that my chances can’t be sabotaged. My father hasn’t named his heir yet, and though it seems like both my brothers have little interest in the position, I can’t be too careful. Lauressa can’t be too careful. Therefore, no matter how friendly they pretend to be, she can’t let her guard down.
“Jaxson.”
I snap out of my thoughts. So much for not wallowing and worrying.
I look to J.
“Why exactly are we in South Carolina again?” he asks.
“I have some business to attend to,” I answer.
“What business? ”
“Sovereignty business.”
“Oh. Your little weird sci-fi religious stuff.”
“Don’t say that out loud around anyone else besides Lauressa and me,” I remind.
“I won’t,” J assures. “But why did you need me to come along?”
“You’ve never left the state before. I thought it would be an enriching experience for you.”
J gives me a wry look and says, “Try that on a motherfucker born yesterday, Jaxson. You don’t go out of your way to do things out of the kindness of your heart.”
“Language."
“The only reason you wanted anything to do with me to begin with is because you wanted to get close to Res. If you wanted me to have an enriching experience, you could have taken me to… Japan. Or New York City or something. So what’s the reason for you dragging me to South Carolina of all places? What do you want me to help you with?”
“Experts say it’s not healthy for a child to be in the house all day playing video games and that you need to socialize with people your age for healthy emotional development.”
J snorts. “As if you’re the poster child for that. Now back to my question.”
I don’t answer, having humored J for long enough. Sensing that he’s not going to get an answer, he goes back to his phone.
The next twenty minutes are spent in silence until the car comes to a stop, and J looks out the window before saying in awe, “Where are we? ”
“Charleston, South Carolina, Sovereignty Altar,” I say as we’re let out of the car.
“Altar? Like a church?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” he mutters under his breath.
I grab J’s arm as he nearly trips over his own feet while we make our way up the path to the entrance of the altar because he’s too preoccupied with craning his neck up to take in the sight. I suppose with its spires, columns, white and beige coloring, and gothic-inspired architecture, it is awe-inspiring to someone who has never been to an altar before. But I’ve grown up going to buildings built like these my whole life. There was never anything majestic about something that was simply a fact of life.
The security posted at the front door looks at me, nods, and the man next to him opens the door to allow me and my too-large entourage in. But I have appearances to keep, so the large entourage under the guise of security had to come with me.
“Priest Jaxson,” Head Priest Yates says upon seeing me. “You don’t know how ecstatic we’ve been to welcome you since you notified us you were coming last week.”
His enthusiasm is so saccharine that it makes my teeth hurt.
“Head Priest Yates,” I say to the tall, trim bald man knocking on fifty but looking ten years younger.
My greeting lacks his enthusiasm, but I have a reputation for being reserved so most people have learned not to take it personally. Any cons are outweighed by the fact that I also have a reputation for doing acts of kindness for others. There’s a long list of people in the Sovereignty who can say that I paid their rent, their schooling, bills in general, bought them furniture and appliances, or bought homes even. All in service of garnering consent for becoming Oracle and making myself the logical choice in my father’s eyes. People like Magdalene and Lauressa may be actual bleeding hearts, but I have a similar reputation for caring—no matter how untrue—even if I don’t particularly like socializing.
I make a mental note to figure out what I can do for Yates before I leave the city to cement a good impression of him.
“Come this way,” he says, starting to lead me to his office.
“Is there somewhere my foster son can be escorted?” I state, putting a hand on J’s shoulder.
“Your…” Yates trails off and looks at J. “I didn’t know you had a son.”
“It’s a recent development,” I say vaguely.
I’m not particularly trying to hide J from anyone. J was one of the few things I’ve been upfront with my father about. If only because if he thought I was trying to hide him, he’d do some digging into what I was trying to hide, which was the last thing that J needs. I am under no illusions about how bigoted the Sovereignty is. Even after I take over, it’s going to take a decade or so to root out such senseless prejudices that only restrict our relevance, conversion rate, and capacity for power. But until then, the less people pay too much attention to J, the better.
“And what’s your name, young man?” Yates asks.
Like J always does when someone refers to him as a young man or anything adjacent, he lights up as he answers, “J. ”
“Nice to meet you,” Yates says enthusiastically, holding out his hand with a grin.
J happily takes it.
Yates laughs. “Nice strong handshake.”
He looks at one of his security, a literal sixteen—maybe seventeen—year-old doing his best to look important with his shades and comms in ear as he stands at his post. He probably has ambitions of joining the S-Team or becoming a Vindicator one day.
“Daniel. Why don’t you take him to the main hall with everyone else?” he suggests.
Daniel nods and gestures with his hand for J to follow him. J practically skips behind him as he follows. I shake my head, hoping that J hasn’t forgotten all the instructions I gave him to follow while being here.
Noticing my head shake, Priest Yates only laughs and says in a commiserating tone, “They only get worse as they get older. My oldest is fourteen, and she’s harder to deal with now than she was as a baby that kept my wife and me awake all night.”
I follow Yates to his office, where we make some small talk. I ask him questions about how, while conversions and even memberships are dropping at altars all over the world, he’s managed to not just keep his membership steady but also increase his offerings to the Chicago headquarters, meeting and exceeding all monthly dues goals. We then get to talking about the reason that I’m ostensibly here.
I listen to him without particularly paying attention. There’s nothing particular that I can learn from him about starting an altar in the Bible Belt that I hadn’t already gleaned from living here for a few months, nor that I hadn’t learned from Lauressa’s offhand comments on the idea. It’s simple: meet the people where they are. Show them what we have in common. And what the Sovereignty and the Bible Belt practitioners have in common is Jesus. Once they’re on board with that, the rest is basic manipulation that I mastered years ago.
But Yates doesn’t know that. If I’m going to find out why the hell my father is directing funds here, I’m going to have to pretend I have no idea about the psychology of the people who live here. I'm going to have to act like the clueless Northerner, as Lauressa likes to call me, who has absolutely zero idea how the South works, ready to soak up Yates's expertise like a sponge.
Finally, I remind him that I’m going to be here for at least a few weeks to learn from him, to which Yates reminds me that the rest of the Sovereigns are waiting to hear from me. I’d almost forgotten.
There’s a reason why I don’t typically like to visit altars in other cities, even when I’m in them for business. The altars always make a huge event of it all because, as far as they’re concerned, I’m an important diplomat of the Sovereignty. It’s accompanied by the expectation for me to speak and spend time with other Sovereigns. It’s the unfortunate reality of being my father’s suspected future heir, and it will be an even more unfortunate reality once I’m the Oracle—if I become the Oracle. I’ve long since accepted that I’ll have to subject myself to the socialization of it all, but acceptance doesn’t mean I don’t hate it .
Instead of showing disdain at the prospect, I give Yates a small smile and a nod as I follow him out of the office. As much as I hate it and as much as I have a reputation for being reserved, I do have a part to play.
I enter the main hall. For all the Sovereignty tries so much to distinguish and distance itself from mainstream Christianity, the main hall looks much like the main halls and sanctuaries of other churches, with its pale stained glass windows and the huge altar of Jesus on the cross during his crucifixion. A reminder that he was persecuted so we could continue to have the guiding light of the Oracles. Or so every Sovereign child has been indoctrinated with at a young age. However, it’s nowhere near as dark as most churches. The walls are painted a creamy white, and rather than pews, there are creamy white chairs in rows facing the altar at the front, where priests stand multiple days a week to address and manage their Sovereigns.
There are roughly two hundred people awaiting my arrival. I do have to give it to Yates. He knows how to get his Sovereigns out on short notice. Even in Chicago, we struggle to keep members so engaged that they show up for a special guest or meeting with only a day or two's notice.
I go to the front, in front of the crucifix altar and behind a clear podium. As much as I hate doing so, addressing the Sovereign body is like second nature. I’ve been addressing Sovereigns and speaking in front of people since I was a teenager, as expected from a potential heir. I hit the main points, starting with the non-existent greetings from my father, who couldn’t care less about sending well wishes to them. I talk about the Sovereignty’s mission. I compliment them on the good work they’re doing under the leadership of Head Priest Yates, the Local Priestess, the Local Priest, their Treasurer, and all their assistants.
Then I open the floor to a few questions that range from a misunderstanding of some vague rule that headquarters sent down without thinking of the broader ramifications to some deeply spiritual questions related to the Supreme Force or Sovereignty history. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and sigh at the latter questions while making up answers on the fly or fake conversations with my father, making sure to add that I consulted with the Supreme Force. On one hand, I’m glad there are so many people who are so gullible. If there weren’t, and they weren’t in the Sovereignty, they wouldn’t be able to give me the power and influence I seek from it. On the other hand, it’s hard for me not to look down my nose at them for being so incredibly stupid.
Two hours later, the Sovereigns are filing out of the room, and more than anything, I want to go to the penthouse hotel I rented for the month and sit in solitude. Unfortunately, but also necessarily, I’m going to dinner with Priest Yates and his family.
As I’m preparing to walk out of his office, J at my side again and security surrounding us, a teenage girl with brown-beige skin and kinky dark hair in a sleek ponytail bounds up to us. Head Priest Yates’ daughter. She takes no heed of me or my security as she bounds up to Priest Yates with a money bag in her hand.
“Hey, Dad. Is the treasurer still here? I counted all the money from the collections and finished balancing all the books, and I need to give him this money to deposit, but—” She cuts herself off upon noticing me. “Priest Jaxson! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I—”
“It’s fine,” I assure her.
It’s all the assurance she needs before she turns back to her dad to continue their conversation.
“This is my oldest child, Serenity,” Priest Yates says in a longsuffering tone.
“Hi,” Serenity directs to me and then looks at J. “I didn’t know you had a son, Priest Jaxson.”
“Foster son,” I correct. “It’s a recent development.”
I glance at J, who’s been staring at Serenity in a stunned stupor since she walked into the room, and give him a gentle nudge.
He jumps, a blush coloring his cheeks. “Oh. I—I’m J.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says somewhat disinterestedly before turning to her father.
“We’ll deal with it later. Here,” Priest Yates says, handing her the keys. “Go wait in the car. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Serenity takes the keys and is about to leave when she does a double take at J—more specifically, J’s jacket that features one of his favorite video game characters on the lapel.
“You play Heaven’s Hell?” she asks.
“Serenity,” Head Priest Yates says sternly.
No doubt he wants to keep quiet that his daughter plays such a violent game that is so diametrically against the rules of what media a Sovereign should consume. Apparently, his daughter has no such reservations as she says, “I’m not having sex. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t drink, and I don’t do drugs.”
“Serenity,” Priest Yates says again, but she ignores him as she waits for an answer.
“I… yeah,” J answers after a quick glance at me to make sure he’s allowed to answer that.
Serenity grins. “You’re coming to dinner, right? It’s going to be a couple of hours still. I can show you my gaming setup, and we can play.”
Then she turns to her father and asks, “Can J ride with us? Mom took everyone else home already.”
“If it’s okay with Priest Jaxson,” Yates says.
Serenity looks at me expectantly.
“I have no objections,” I say.
Serenity is the reason I brought J, after all. Serenity, who helps balance the Charleston, South Carolina, Atlar’s books when their aloof treasurer can’t be bothered. Who knows all the ins and outs of the finances. Who has probably noticed the large sum of money coming in and whose father has explained it away. Priest Yates's fourteen-year-old daughter, who’s a gamer and into the very same games that J, my thirteen-year-old foster son, is into. J being enamored with her at first sight only favors my manipulations.
“Cool,” Serenity says, turning to J and nodding for him to follow her out of the office.
The two bound out of the office, my manipulations unfolding before my eyes without any of my encouragement.