Page 37 of The Omega Trials: Part Three

“You came to the right girl,” she continues. “My ex is a locksmith. It didn’t take much convincing to get him to bring me a mold. Poor sap is still madly in love with me.” I can practically hear her eyes roll. “So, last night when your masked man paidus a visit, I took a quickie impression when he was in the bathroom.”

“No shit.” I exhale, impressed. “Nice work, lady.”

“Aww, is that you, Ecker baby?” she croons.

I turn on my most charming smile as if she can see me. “The man, the myth, the—”

“Mate,” Sinclair interjects. “Mymate.” I grin and drag her cute, scowling ass onto my lap. The tension in the bond immediately melts.

Majestic laughs, blasé. “Good for you, hun. Anyway, Rich is coming by later to scoop the mold and should have a duplicate copy of the key for you by tonight.”

“You’re the best, Maj. Thank you,” Titus says.

“Yeah.” Sinclair clears her throat and adds sincerely, “Thank you.”

“Course, see you tonight.”

In the cover of the darkness, the four of us sneak the long way around the property to the guest cottage. Going first to the lake, we then cut through the woods to avoid being spotted on the open lawns that lead straight from the Estate to the cottage.

Cottage is a bit of a misnomer. I guess it’s a “cottage” only when compared to the castle-like estate. The Tudor-style house looks like it has at least six bedrooms across its three stories. Like something out of a fairy tale, a mossy cobblestone path leads to the front door, and ivy climbs up the masonry to window boxes filled with pink and purple flowers.

Just like Merigold said it would be, the place is unlocked. They really are cocky bastards, so comfortable in their power that they’ve grown lazy and careless.

We find the pantry off the kitchen, and a trap door on its floor leads us down to the cellar. Surrounded by thick stone and a barrel-vaulted ceiling, the air down here is cold. Without our flashlights, it would be pitch black. Earth and stone trap all light, all sound, and all their secrets.

The side walls are lined with mostly-empty wooden shelves and crates. Against the far wall is an imposing iron door that looks like something you’d find in a medieval dungeon.

Titus holds the key out to Sinclair. “Would you like the honors?”

Silently, she takes the key and fits it into the lock. I’m pretty sure we all simultaneously hold our breath until, with relief, we hear the sound of the lock disengaging.

“Dude, some of this stuff is dated more than three-hundred years ago,” I say in disbelief as I rummage through a chest of papers.

The inside is everything you’d expect from a vault of secrets: towers of boxes filled with documents, file cabinets, and chests full of incriminating material and photos. Despite spanning centuries, it’s fairly well organized, but there’s just so much to go through.

There is dirt oneveryone. From CEOs and government officials to priests and doctors. No wonder the Echelon has the power they have and can operate without consequences.

More recent material is stored on floppy disks and cassette tapes, then CDs, and with the newest information, thumb drives. Bishop is at least able to open the last two on his laptop.

On one of those thumb drives, we find the information gathered during the Intelligence Trial. There are reports ofan Azurite alpha almost getting kicked out of prep school for plagiarizing and a video of a Cobalt alpha making out with someone who isdefinitelynot his omega. And, of course, there’s the false information we and the Berylls fed the Elders, like a popular Cape Aurelia newscaster being one of Ecker’s clients and Paisley getting kicked out of a bar for using a fake ID when she was underage.

“Wait, you guys, this letter mentions Guinevere.” Sinclair gasps. In her hands is a yellowed piece of paper with prominent creases where it was folded in thirds and tattered corners. Her eyes track back and forth as she finishes reading the letter, her expression becoming more and more shocked. “The Echelon proposed the ban on unsuppressed nobles.”

“Why would they do that?” Bishop asks.

“To discourage others from trying to escape and to further punish your exiled ancestors. But they didn’t want to look like the bad guys, so they made it look like it was the government’s idea all along,” Sinclair explains. “It even says here:May I suggest, at the next brotherhood night, one of the members of the council stages a drunken uproar at the alleged injustice. Once the law is in effect, we can appear to use our resources to ensure trusted members aren’t prosecuted, further strengthening their loyalty and gratitude for our noble organization. For what better way to build dependence than create a problem that only we can solve?”

“Jesus, is there anything that isn’t a game to them?” I scoff angrily. “Our parents died because of this stupid law that was only another measure of their manipulation.” I kick an empty file box, my hands clenching and unclenching.

I want to cause arealuproar at thisrealinjustice.

“God, I wish I could just go slit all of their throats right now.” I groan in frustration.

“I know, brother.” Titus squeezes my shoulder. “I have that very thought ten times a day, but we have to stay the course.”

Chapter 21

A World in Flames

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