The Elite Kings Club

tucked away behind History. After dropping my bag to the table that sits in front of the plush LazyBoy, I start on my trek of finding something to humor me for the remainder of lunch. After doing big circles around, I find myself down the Historical Folklore aisle.
Tilting my head, my eyes run over all the worn brown spines until I’m drawn to one with a circle symbol on. I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s familiar. I just can’t pinpoint anything I have ever seen before. Slipping my finger on the top, I slide the heavy, long book out and carry it back to my seat. Crossing my legs underneath me, I run my fingertips over the cover of the book. The embroidered circle emblem with a double infinity inside of it. So simple, yet so familiar.
Opening the cover, the title page reads, Secrets are weapons, and silence is the trigger. – V. S. H.
I read over that phrase a couple more times. So vague. With a roll of my eyes, I flip the page, skipping the table of contents.
1
The Calling.
The somber side of me knew what was to come. When I felt my baby’s first kick, I knew. Knowledge wasn’t one we liked to hold onto very well in our world, not when The Chosen go by facts alone, not knowledge. Impulse actions, not knowledge. Consequences be damned. My child was to be one of The Chosen. He would be one of the originals. This corrupt pact that Humphrey had begun was only the beginning for generations to come. The firstborn sons of each chosen family. Dirty, spilled blood would then be passed down on to their hands.
The Calling. This was the calling.
“Madison, is it?” The librarian looks down at me, and I snap the book closed as if I had done something wrong.
“Yes, sorry.”
She points down to her watch. “Lunch is over. It’s time to head to class.”
“Oh!” I gather up my bag. “Can I borrow this?”
She looks at me, the sides of her eyes crinkling. “Sorry, honey, that’s a part of the section we don’t allow to check out. You can come in and read it anytime you like, though.” I hand it to her, and she walks over and slides it back into its slot.
Damn. I really wanted to read the rest of that book and I don’t even know why. It’s not a genre I usually read, far away from dystopian or vampire romances, but I really want to read whatever the hell is in that book. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I nod. “Thanks.” And then I walk out of the library. As soon as the doors swing closed, I inhale my problems I had left at the door.
Great.

“SO SHE SAID SHE WOULD be here?” Tatum quizzes, rummaging through my closet with a bottle of Moet in her other hand. It’s 5:00 p.m. and she’s already started drinking. I fear she might be going to bed early tonight.
“Yes!” I hit my phone, dialing Tillie again. This time, she picks up.
“Sorry! I got caught up and I had to do....” She pauses, brushing me off. “Shit. I’m almost there.”
Hanging up my phone, I toss it onto the bed and buzz Sam to let her in as soon as she gets here, just in case we don’t hear her knock. Nate hasn’t come home, again, but he did text to say that they’ll be here soon to set up whatever it is they need to set up. My dad is going to kill us. I made it my duty, this time, to go around the house and put away any expensive items. Our house is still rather empty, even though Dad hired a few people to come out and unload boxes to make it more homey for me, which I’m used to. He’s never been a home parent; Sam practically raised me. Even when my mom was alive, they were both almost always away on business, and now that I look back on it, my mom probably followed him around like a lost puppy in hopes to keep him on a leash.
It’s true, my dad has never been one for commitment, and I’m surprised he hasn’t already found another mistress, but that side of him has never impacted me or how he parented me. Yes, he’s an absent parent, but I’m not bratty enough to give him a hard time about it. I’m well aware of his hard work and how I wouldn’t have the life I have if he didn’t. But if I’m honest, I always wondered what it would be like for my dad to be a middle-class working man. One who fishes on the weekends, is always home by 5:00 p.m., and watches the game on TV while tossing back a cold beer.
I stand to my feet, brushing off my pants, and walk into the closet to help Tatum find something to wear before she has a breakdown.
“Why don’t you just wear the dress you bought at the mall?”
“Because,” she whines, “I’m almost certain I’ve gained three pounds since then.”
“Tatum?”
“Yes?” She groans into her hands, looking all distressed. I almost laugh. Almost.
“That was two days ago. Not possible.”
“Maybe not for you.” She eyes me up and down.
“Hey!” I whack her with the back of my hand. “I’ll have you know that if I didn’t watch what I eat, I would be the size of a house. Dude—” I grab onto my hips. “—they jiggle a bit.”
She pouts, and then we both burst out laughing. “Well...,” she says, handing me the bottle of champagne, “let’s just do the alcohol diet.”
I take the bottle from her, slipping out of my skinny jeans and hoodie. “And what’s that diet?” I ask, standing in my bra and lace panties, bringing the rim to my mouth and tossing it back until the bubbles are enticing my taste buds.
She waves her hands, freaking out over a black sequin dress.