Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  The Sorcerer’s manicured fingers unfastened the small ivory buttons of his shirt and retrieved his talisman. The onyx at the center seemed to move, the blackness inside twisting like a whirlpool in an oil pit.

  He spoke an incantation. When it finished, a black plume of smoke rose from the gem into the air and floated right above the boy, leaving the onyx back in its normal state.

  What was Ashby’s life essence floated in midair for a fraction of a second, then shot toward the unconscious body and greedily seeped in through the half-opened mouth, nostrils, eyes and ears.

  Veridan smiled. If he’d held any doubt as to whether or not this was the right life force, it was immediately dispelled at the sight of the willingness with which the energy traveled into the boy. With the wrong vessel, it would have never been this easy.

  They waited in silence for a few minutes. The boy remained the same, giving no signs of snapping out of his coma, in spite of the bit of color that seemed to return to his face.

  “Well?” Danata said, putting in one word the weight of her full expectations.

  Veridan stood and buttoned up his shirt. “It might take a few days.”

  “A few days? I can’t wait any longer!”

  “You should have thought about that before you ripped his vinculum.” Veridan walked to the window once more. “But you have always let anger cloud your judgment.” Not that he was complaining. He had benefited from her temper more than she could ever imagine.

  “He defied me. I couldn’t let him do that.”

  “And you didn’t. But stand by your actions. If you don’t, guilt will get the best of you.” He straightened his cuff-links and examined his perfectly manicured fingers, trying to show indifference and hide the fact that he, himself, had felt pity for the boy.

  “You are right,” she begrudgingly said.

  He looked up from his polished nails in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to agree. The woman was certainly losing her edge.

  Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door. Danata looked displeased but gave the order to come in, all the same. She’d been spending too much time in this chamber, so much that her advisers had opted to come here when there were pressing matters that needed the Regent’s attention.

  Vitorio Carso Pestile—the pretentious dolt insisted in using all three of his names—stepped in, wearing a deep scowl that made Veridan run a hand across his own forehead, whispering a rejuvenating spell. Why Danata kept the annoying man as her personal secretary and assistant was a wonder.

  “My Regent.” Vitorio bowed, then looked in Veridan’s direction. “High Sorcerer.”

  Veridan almost glanced around for Portos, but the old Sorcerer was gone, disappeared right alongside Bernard. Veridan’s new title sat poorly with him. He didn’t have Portos’s patience or disposition to deal with Danata’s people and their petty affairs. But refusing to fulfill the role at this critical juncture would have been unwise and counterproductive to his goals, so here he was, the Regent’s High Sorcerer.

  Bloody Portos!

  A month after the old bastard’s defection, intelligence had arrived of his whereabouts. Not that it had come as a surprise, but the ex-High Sorcerer had joined the Morphid Order for Regency Fealty, better known as MORF, a faction that had come to life shortly after Danata announced her sister and niece had died in a mysterious car crash while on an excursion to London.

  At the time, several members of Roanna’s retinue challenged their Regent’s closed-coffin memorial. They suspected foul play, but couldn’t prove anything in the short time it took Danata to install herself as the new Regent and head of the council.

  As Danata demanded everyone’s allegiance and loyalty, a handful of Roanna’s closest advisers vanished without a trace. Shortly after that, the first signs of unrest appeared in the shape of MORF. The movement had always been subtle, enough to be ignored, but Veridan doubted it would remain that way.

  “You asked me to report back as soon as we had word from the Seekers,” Vitorio said.

  “Well, speak. Did they find him?”

  Vitorio lowered his gaze. “They did not.”

  Danata sucked in a breath, the oxygen needed to fuel her fury. “What kind of inept Seekers are these?”

  “They are the best we have,” Vitorio said in low voice. “They suspect magic has been used to make your brother-in-law untraceable.”

  She exchanged a look with Veridan, then took a seat in a high-back chair with a cushion decorated in intricate patterns of silk thread.

  There was no reason for this to come as a surprise to Danata. Veridan had already told her that tasking the Seekers with searching for Bernard was a waste of time. Portos was with him. A cloaking spell would be a trifling thing even for the decrepit ex-High Sorcerer.

  “There’s something else, my Regent,” Vitorio said, looking as if he’d rather slit his own throat than give Danata the next piece of news.

  “Apparently, there is a . . . rumor circulating the castle. I suppose the . . . events of that dreadful day,” he cast a glance toward Ashby’s bed, “have caused everyone’s imagination to run wild, and the staff has been gossiping.”

  “Out with it, Vitorio. We don’t have all day.” Danata practically vibrated with impatience.

  “Well, they are saying the girl healed your brother-in-law.” The grooves on Vitorio’s forehead grew deeper, as impossible as that seemed.

  Danata glanced toward Veridan again, this time with an intensity that suggested she wished him to intervene. Her face was too red, her mouth probably too full of expletives, to allow her to handle this situation properly. What staff members the rumors had come from, Veridan couldn’t say. He had placed memory spells on Simeon and Omar, the guards who had witnessed Bernard’s miraculous recovery. The men were the only witnesses besides Portos, Samantha, and the Keeper. There was only one possible explanation. Portos was somehow behind this. He, Bernard and the recently-rescued Roanna were already at work, undermining Danata.

  “Healed him?” Veridan asked, his tone innocent and perplexed.

  Vitorio turned his drooping eyes away from the Regent. “Yes. Like I said, I personally believe it is nonsense—a product of their imagination, mere gossip.”

  “Keep your opinions to yourself, Vitorio,” Danata spat. “Explain this rumor.”

  Vitorio inclined his head. “My apologies.” He cleared his throat and began, “As the rumor has it, the girl supposedly repaired Master Bernard’s broken vinculum.” He paused to gauge their reaction. When he received nothing but impatient glares, he continued, “They are saying the girl prayed over his unconscious body, reached her hands to the heavens toward a ribbon of light, and somehow connected that to another ribbon of light that emanated from your brother-in-law.

  “After that, Master Bernard supposedly stood and asked for his wife and the baby. They said that, for a moment, he seemed in command of himself. However, it wasn’t long before he took his leave in search of the late Regent Roanna and his daughter.”

  No. Clearly, this rumor wasn’t the mere product of the staff’s imagination. Even if there were enough bits to fuel the castle’s idle minds—what with the Regent’s son in an unexplained coma, and his uncle and Companion missing—this rumor was too accurate a description of what had actually happened to be any less than an orchestrated attack to begin undermining Danata’s rule.

  After a short, tense silence, Danata let out a sharp cackle. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Vitorio shook himself and laughed, looking relieved. “I know. Ridiculous!”

  The knowledge of vinculums was to Morphids what the concept of souls was to humans. Many thought the links existed, but none had seen one. In their minds, it was simply an old myth passed down from times immemorial, a piece of lore that required a sizable amount of faith to be accepted.

  And even though Morphids believed wholeheartedly in Fate and magic, they weren’t any less skeptical than homo sapiens. If anything, their familiarity with the superna
tural made them even more likely to expect proof before trusting any nonsense about ripped and joined-again vinculums.

  “And how, pray tell, did Bernard’s vinculum break in the first place?” Veridan asked, wishing to know the depth of this rumor.

  Vitorio stared blankly, his mouth working but producing no words.

  So they hadn’t dared involve Danata. Yet.

  “Ah, the shallow workings of people’s imagination.” Veridan vaguely waved a hand toward his head. “They know all too well that Bernard suffers from . . . an imbalance.”

  “Of course. Everyone knows that. I just thought I should let you know, regardless.” Vitorio inclined his head and took a few steps back toward the door.

  “Before you leave,” Danata said, “Tell the staff that if these nonsensical rumors continue, I will take matters into my own hands. I will not tolerate their useless gossip while my brother-in-law is missing. We need to find him. That is all that matters,” the Regent finished.

  “Of course. I will make sure everyone understands, my Regent.” Vitorio gave a small bow and exited the room, leaving behind a heavy silence.

  After pacing the length of the large bed, Danata spoke, “I thought you took care of the witnesses.”

  “I did. Do not doubt it for a second.” Veridan hated being challenged. He was thorough. Always. He knew better than to leave anything to chance, especially when so much was at stake.

  “This rumor can have only one source.” He paused for effect. “Portos. I have no doubt he is with Bernard and your resurrected sister.”

  “I should have killed them both when I had the chance,” Danata said, her violet eyes burning with anger and frustration. “I’ll never be that weak again.”

  Veridan bit back a scoff. She was being weak at this very moment. If she didn’t wise up, this weakness, this spoiled son of hers, might prove her undoing.

  “If my dear sister thinks she can take the Regency from me, she is sorely mistaken. Modena House will pay for their incompetence. Bernard should have never been allowed to get to her.”

  For over fifteen years, Danata had kept her sister prisoner, so she’d had more than enough time to make sure Roanna never came back to challenge her. Instead, she opted for confining her to Modina House, the first place Bernard had gone to as soon as the link with his wife was restored; and with it, his innate ability to find her.

  “Don’t waste your time,” Veridan said. “I told you many times a human asylum was not the best place to keep your sister. As a matter of fact, I warned you about keeping her at all. Everyone thought her dead in the car accident, why leave her alive and give them the chance to prove you a liar?”

  “Cora Warelow should have foreseen this.”

  “Who says she didn’t?”

  “You think she’s a traitor?”

  “I think you shouldn’t trust anyone.”

  “Do you think anyone suspects I’m a Ripper?”

  “No. Your inept secretary didn’t know what to say when I asked him how the vinculum broke. They don’t know it is you who has this unique power.”

  If only they’d had a chance to prevent this debacle, but it had all happened too fast. Veridan had been at death’s doorstep, nearly killed by his fight with the Keeper. Danata, for her part, had been out her mind with grief over the son she thought she’d killed.

  By the time they were well enough to hear the guards’ report of Bernard’s recovery, it’d been too late. The fool had found his wife and had taken her into hiding.

  As a result, the rightful Regent was now on the loose, in full command of her faculties, and mother to a girl who was Danata’s direct opposite . . .

  A Weaver.

  If Veridan didn’t know better, he might even be scared of what Fate had in store for them. Except he didn’t believe in that nonsense. He was a Singular, the sole master and captain of his actions.

  As if she’d read his thoughts, Danata said, “Fate seems to be against me, my dear High Sorcerer. She could undo everything I have so carefully torn apart. I cannot allow that to happen. If Roanna comes forth . . .” She didn’t finish that thought and skipped to a more productive one. “As soon as Ashby recovers, I want you to find Roanna and Bernard and kill them.”

  “I understand.” He might not be scared of Fate, but there was enough reason to worry, especially over the effect the girl’s weaving powers could have on his nebula. He hadn’t perceived any change in it yet, but it was safest to plan for the worst. Idleness at a time like this was unacceptable.

  Veridan was lost in thought when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement by the bed. Slowly, the gaunt figure sat up.

  “You’re . . . you’re a Ripper?” Ashby asked, dried lips trembling with each word, dark eyes ablaze with accusation and incredulity.

  Chapter 5 - Ashby

  One minute, the world felt small and tattered, its edges fraying and falling away into darkness, forcing Ashby to shrink in order to keep his footing and avoid dropping into the abyss. The next, he could breathe, expand and see beyond the unraveling border.

  Desperately, he clawed his way out, rising toward sound and light. And then . . .

  He’d heard them, heard her, his mother: a creature more treacherous than he could have imagined. She had said she was a . . . Ripper!

  Even in his dazed state, Ashby tried to deny it. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t! She was supposed to carry the mark of Regent. Nothing else. The Ripper caste was supposed to be a myth. Ashby only remembered it from his childhood lessons because, at the time, the concept of such a caste had appalled him. Like a monster from a fairy tale.

  “You’re . . . you’re a Ripper?” Ashby asked again, his voice cracking at the end.

  Danata whirled at the sound of his accusing question. “Ashby!” She rushed to his side and clutched him in a tight embrace. He didn’t, couldn’t resist her and simply sat there, arms limp at his sides, eyes drifting to Veridan.

  “How do you feel?” Danata asked, finally pulling away. Her face looked twisted with worry and something else, something Ashby had never seen in her features. What? He couldn’t tell.

  “I . . .” he started in a gravelly voice, then his thoughts scurried away as a dizzy spell came over him. He blinked, trying to remember what he’d been about to say, what his mother had asked, why he was here. “I don’t know.” Ashby recoiled toward the headboard, away from his mother. “What happened? Where . . . ?” He searched his mind. There was an important question he needed to ask, but—

  Then it hit him. “Where is Sam?!” he exclaimed. At the mention of the name, her beautiful face flashed before him and his chest clenched in pain. “Where is she?!” he demanded, his breathing so agitated that his ribcage felt ready to burst open.

  “You have been through a lot, son. Please relax. I will explain.”

  Ashby’s panic morphed to terror before Danata finished her sentence. “Sam!” he said in short gasps. “I . . . I can’t . . . I can’t—”

  “Shhh, don’t worry. When you’ve recovered, I will explain everything.”

  Explain? Explain what? What happened?

  What? What? What?!

  His thoughts raced and tripped and picked themselves up again, and . . . and . . .

  “You did something!” he said, eyes wide, the memory of his last conscious moments coming back to him. The word Ripper flashing in his mind like a sign spelling, “NO RETURN” in huge, neon letters. “You did something to us!”

  “Calm down, Ashby. Please.” She put a hand out in a pacifying gesture.

  Veridan cocked an eyebrow and looked at Danata as if he’d never seen her before, and perhaps he hadn’t—not this reasonable, motherly woman. That woman did not exist. Ashby had never met her either.

  “Don’t touch me. Keep away from me.” He angrily slapped at her hand and shrank back, horror mounting, mounting, mounting inside of him. “Sam! Sam, where are you?” His hoarse voice rang inside the room with the timbre of anguish-ridden pain.


  He scrambled out of bed on the other side. The red satin sheet tangled around his legs, and he fell to his knees. He tried to stand, but fell again.

  “Stop, you will hurt yourself,” Danata commanded.

  Ashby clenched his teeth and aimed all his strength to his trembling legs. They shook violently, but he managed to stand. Staggering, he headed for the door, his only garment a pair of loose underpants.

  “Sam! Sam!” He cried his Companion’s name, howling against the aimlessness, the brokenness he felt inside.

  He stumbled into Veridan, who regarded him as if he was a bug scrambling in the dirt. Ashby pushed away, spinning, disoriented.

  “Calm down,” Danata yelled.

  Ashby caught sight of his mother’s red face, the face that must be so familiar to anyone who knew her. Anger, the uncontrollable kind, the destroy-everyone-around-you kind. The crimson scowl was the first sign of the onslaught to follow. Ashby didn’t care, not when the fraying blackness he thought he’d left behind was creeping right back into place.

  Terror fueled him forward when his legs could not. He aimed for the door once more.

  “Do something, Veridan,” Danata ordered as Ashby reached the door knob.

  “Family counseling is not my area of expertise,” the Sorcerer put in.

  “Do something, now!”

  Veridan heaved a sigh of resignation. “Very well.”

  There was a crackle, then a ball of red light enveloped Ashby’s hand. The lock fell into place with a definite click.

  “SAM!” Ashby clawed at the door. He turned, pressed his back against the cold wood to stop from collapsing. “Let me out!”

  Danata yelled at Veridan, “I meant for you to subdue him.”

  “I thought you wanted him awake,” Veridan said, his words infused with sarcasm.

  “Awake, yes. But this . . .” She extended a hand demonstratively.

  “Fine.” Veridan approached Ashby, a hand on his amulet.

  “No, leave me alone,” Ashby yelled.

  Why? Why had this happened to him?