Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  Ashby waited for that familiar pull to show him which way to go, but there was nothing. He had no more inkling as to where he might find Sam. Pressing a hand to an adjacent wall, he steadied himself, feeling adrift, a lost bloodhound without its sense of smell to guide him home.

  “Are you all right?” Perry asked, eyebrows pinched together in concern. For once, he wasn’t being an obnoxious ass. Ashby was grateful for it. He didn’t have the energy to deal with that.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Strengthening potion working?”

  “It’s helping.”

  After talking to his mother, he’d immediately summoned Perry to his room. The young Sorcerer had come quickly, bursting through the door without knocking.

  “You’re awake,” he’d exclaimed, panting for breath. “God, I thought you’d never . . .”

  He surprised Ashby by walking up to him and trapping him in a fierce embrace. “I’m so glad to see you,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  Ashby patted his back awkwardly, thinking the display unnecessary. To him it seemed like they’d been together just yesterday, sneaking out of the castle to find Sam and avoid detection from Danata. His friend’s rare show of affection, however, indicated quite the opposite and reminded him that much had transpired during the time he’d been unconscious.

  “Fates! You need a few good meals. A strengthening potion, perhaps?”

  “What happened, Perry?” Ashby had asked, pulling away. “Tell me, what happened? I woke up and everything was . . . gone. My mother has lied to me. I’m sure of it. Tell me, where is Sam? Why did she leave me?”

  Perry shook his head and stepped away, averting his eyes. “I couldn’t tell you, even if I wanted to. I wasn’t there, remember? You sent me away to remove the memory spells I’d cast on Sam’s family and friends. When I got back, Greg and Sam were running away. They told me . . . they told me . . .” He shook his head and rubbed his forehead.

  “They told you what?”

  “I can’t remember. It’s all vague and blurry in my mind, like—”

  “Like a memory spell,” Ashby finished for him.

  It was a good thing protection spells had been placed on Ashby at birth, else Danata would have probably ordered Veridan to obliterate Sam from his mind, as well.

  “Yeah. Veridan must have wiped it all away. That bastard.” Perry’s eyes burned with fury. “He must have used something powerful to be able to get through the wards Portos placed on me. All I know is what they told me. That you were in a coma, that Sam refused to help you and left with Greg, that Portos helped them leave and now he’s gone, too. I don’t know.”

  “Did you try to—?”

  “I know what you’re going to ask. No, I didn’t try to get in contact with Sam. The Regent forbade it, said she’d consider it treason. I’ve been close to disobeying several times. And I probably would have. Eventually.”

  “What about Portos and Uncle Bernard? How is their absence being explained?”

  “It isn’t. There are rumors. Some people say Greg killed them, others that Sam healed your uncle and he left in search of his wife and baby daughter. They say his vinculum was broken and Sam fixed it.” Perry let out a derisive laugh. “Who believes that rubbish?”

  “I do,” Ashby said.

  For the next hour, Ashby had related to Perry what the Regent had done to him. He explained she was a Ripper, a vile monster who hadn’t thought twice before severing his connection to Sam. He told him about the aimlessness and emptiness inside of him, the proof of the existence of vinculums, no matter if the concept was only a fairy tale to most Morphids, something to believe in, the way humans believe in souls and the holy spirit.

  None of that mattered, because it was true. All of it. And if that was possible, then anything was. Especially the likelihood that his mother was lying and Sam was out there, waiting for him to set everything right. Then, he told him about Roanna and Bernard, and how Danata had stolen the Regency from her sister. Hardest of all was explaining Sam’s caste, and how she had apparently healed Bernard, but not him.

  When he was done, convincing Perry to commit treason had been easy.

  “Of course I’ll help,” Perry had said. “I’m tired of sitting here doing nothing while our world twists and turns all around me. If it’s true that your aunt is alive and Sam set her and your uncle right, hell is coming this way. We’d better be ready and on the right side of the flames when it arrives.”

  So they had sneaked out of the castle with the help of one of the maids, a young, redheaded girl named Xasdia, who Perry had slept with a few months back.

  “I think it’s this way,” Perry said, stepping out from under the staircase to which he had transported them, next to an apartment building.

  Ashby stumbled, following his friend.

  High-pitched voices ahead gave them pause. They waited as a group of kids rounded the corner. A little girl sparkled under the light of a street lamp. She wore a fluffy gown and wings. A boy dressed in a ghastly green outfit growled at them, while another wearing a black cape smiled and extended a bucket in their direction. Ashby stared, mystified by the eeriness of the moment.

  “Trick or treat,” the kids chanted in unison.

  “Oh, yeah,” Perry said. “It’s Halloween. Hold on a minute, kids.” He turned his back on them and surreptitiously reached for his pendant. After a silent incantation, he faced the children again and bared his teeth, growling like a werewolf. His eyes were now entirely black and his mouth filled with long, bloodied fangs.

  The kids stood frozen for a split second, then let out a collective scream and ran the way they’d come, calling for their mums.

  Perry laughed as if he’d played the most brilliant joke ever. Ashby watched him with detachment, not even bothering to reprimand him for his childish behavior. There seemed to be little of Ashby’s past self left behind. No merriment or zeal of any kind. Only a vicious fury and lust for revenge, inspired and stoked by his mother and Veridan.

  Still chuckling, Perry signaled him forward. “Come on. Sam’s flat is in this building.”

  Ashby looked up. The building had three stories and very many doors and windows. He vaguely remembered being here once and could only be grateful for Perry’s presence and help.

  As they approached the building, something stirred in Ashby’s stomach. Nerves, if only enough to cause a tiny fluttering. It was good to feel something. Maybe, as time went by, he would feel more like himself.

  Suddenly, it occurred to him that Danata could have hurt Sam. Or that Greg, in an effort to keep her to himself, could have taken her away, never to be found. His nerves turned to fear. He took a deep breath and tried to push the negative emotions away.

  She will be there. Unharmed.

  Looking in every direction as if expecting trouble, they walked to the last door on the first floor.

  “Won’t you make that go away?” Ashby gestured toward Perry’s face.

  He shrugged. “Why? It’s Halloween.”

  Before, Ashby would have ordered him to set his face right. Now, wasting what little strength he had over such a trifling thing seemed ridiculous. He shrugged.

  “All right, let’s hope she’s here.” Perry knocked on the door.

  After a few seconds, a woman wearing a baggy, blue garment opened the door and looked them up and down. She was holding a plastic cauldron full of candy in one hand.

  “Aren’t you guys a little too old for trick or treating,” she asked, looking amused.

  “Never too old,” Perry said, reaching a hand toward the candy pot.

  The woman smiled in a friendly manner and allowed Perry to pick whatever he wanted.

  “Butterfingers are my favorite.” He took a couple of them and thanked her with his most charming smile.

  “Do you want some?” The woman pushed the candy in Ashby’s direction.

  “No, thank you. We are actually looking for Sam. Is she here?” Ashby held his breath, as the woman looked
him up and down once more.

  “Haven’t I met you before?” she asked, frowning.

  Ashby cocked his head to one side, trying to remember if they’d ever been introduced.

  “Yes,” Perry answered for him. “Well, not properly. We were here once, visiting Sam. I think it was back in the picnic area.” He unwrapped one of the chocolates and popped it in his mouth.

  “Oh, I remember.” The woman nodded. “The suit guy.” She looked at Ashby’s jacket, pausing at the coat of arms on his breast pocket.

  “That’s him,” Perry mumbled, chewing and ripping open his second piece of candy.

  The woman set the cauldron on the floor. “She and Greg left for Brooke’s party already. They won’t be back for a while.”

  “Bloody hell, I forgot that was today.” Perry snapped his fingers. “Well, tell her Ashby and Perry came by. We’ll . . . call her.”

  “No problem. I’ll tell her. Happy Halloween, guys.”

  “Happy Halloween to you, too,” Perry said as they backed away, and she closed the door.

  “She’s okay, then,” Ashby said, knowing he should be happy, but feeling little more than relief. “Do you know where Brooke lives?”

  “Sure. I had to put a memory spell on her, too. Remember?”

  “Let’s go then.”

  “Your wish is my command,” Perry said with his usual sarcasm. It hadn’t taken him long to regain his cocky, self-assured demeanor. Ashby smiled involuntarily, an automatic gesture from a person that didn’t seem to exist anymore. Would he ever regain his self-assurance, his trust in Fate and his own kind? Had he been wrong to think himself superior to humans? Would he had been better off if the choice for a partner had been his and not Fate’s? Maybe he would soon find out.

  Without preamble, Perry muttered his incantation. One second they stood in front of Sam’s quiet flat, the next Ashby’s teeth rattled from the bass of strident music. Shouts and whoops erupted from the house in front of them, exemplifying the chaos that must be going on inside. They stood on the sidewalk and watched for a moment.

  “That’s what I call a party,” Perry finally said. “What if I go find her and you wait here?”

  “No, I’m coming.”

  “Okay.” Perry shrugged and started toward the house.

  Ashby followed, watching Perry’s back and blinking to clear his mind. The music was loud and distracting. He stopped for a moment and shook his head. When he looked back up, Perry had already reached the front door and was stepping inside.

  After he disappeared into the dimly lit house, someone else came out. The person wore a ski mask and a white t-shirt splattered with a gruesome blood pattern. Ashby gave a step forward, feeling as if he’d entered a different dimension.

  “What are you?” the masked person asked as he passed next to Ashby. “The president of The United States or something?”

  He was about to answer with a biting comment when there was a loud crack that sounded like the house was splitting in two. As if shot out of a cannon, Perry flew out the door and landed flat on the concrete walkway at Ashby’s feet.

  “Perry, are you okay?” He squatted next to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. “What happened?”

  “Uh, I . . . there . . .”

  Before he could put together a coherent sentence, partygoers started pouring through the door like a stampede of wild cattle, screaming and shedding costume accessories that blocked their eyes or made it hard to run.

  Perry propped himself up on one elbow, looking dazed but otherwise unharmed.

  “What’s happening?!” Ashby demanded.

  “Veridan,” Perry said, scrambling to his feet and stumbling back toward the house.

  Ashby held him back.

  “Let me go. I’m going to bloody kill that bastard.”

  “No. Stand back. That is an order,” a familiar voice said from behind.

  Ashby and Perry turned, startled.

  Portos stood behind them, flanked by a woman and none other than Uncle Bernard.

  The old Sorcerer strode to Ashby and held him at arm’s length. “Ashby!” he said, pronouncing his name in a combination of relief and surprise. “You’re alive!” He pressed a hand to the side of his face and patted his cheek as if he were a child. Shaking his head, he let him go and turned. “All of you, stay here,” he commanded and, with more agility than it befitted a man his age, he rushed up the walkway and sliced through the stampeding crowd.

  He halted at the doorway. “Veridan, stop!” He’d barely gotten the words out when a sphere of light burst through the door and forced him out again. Undeterred, he leaned into the force field, his own mass of energy pushing back. More bodies poured out the door in a tight cluster of desperate teenagers. The sound of music abruptly ended and was overtaken by shouts and a scuffle of feet.

  Uncle Bernard protectively placed his body in front of the woman who accompanied him, while she too fought to rush into the house. His eyes were intent and steady, displaying nothing like the wandering gaze Ashby was used to.

  “Get out of my way. Celestine is in there,” she said.

  Ashby exchanged a quick glance with Perry.

  Roanna?

  She was certainly a Morphid, judging by her height and beauty, but who was Celestine? Ashby’s thoughts entangled and twisted at the speed of a tornado.

  The flow of teenagers finally stopped and most now stood on the front yard, looking back at the house in bewilderment. Smarter ones vacated the premises, driving off in their cars at reckless speeds.

  Portos was still fighting to get in. Crackling energy flowed from his hands, pushing aside the force that was keeping him from entering. With one final push, he broke through and disappeared into the house. He hadn’t been gone two seconds when the front windows exploded, spraying the lawn with glass and sending the ogling crowd into a new frenzy.

  “Where are you going?” Bernard demanded when Perry rushed toward one side of the house.

  “Back door. I can’t sit here doing nothing.”

  “Hey, hey, who the hell are you?” a tall girl with long, black hair yelled after Perry.

  Ashby searched her face, a ping of recognition in the back of his mind. It took him a minute to place her. It was Brooke, but her hair wasn’t blond as he remembered. It was now jet black.

  “What is going on here? I need my cell phone,” she screamed, sounding hysterical. “This stupid suit had no place for my cell. Someone call the cops.”

  Brooke’s outfit shone as if wet. She wore pointy, black ears on top of her head, an upside-down triangle painted on her nose and whiskers on her cheeks. The entire universe had gone mad. Halloween or not.

  “Brooke, that’s an awesome trick,” a boy said in a slurred speech. “This is the best party ever.” He whooped and laughed, looking quite beside himself.

  “Shut up, you idiot. This isn’t part of the party. Someone. Call. The. Cops,” she repeated.

  Ashby’s thoughts moved as if through thick mud, and it took him several beats to realize that Brooke could tell him where to find Sam. He stepped toward her, but the woman Uncle Bernard had been shielding got there first.

  “Roanna! Stay by me,” Uncle Bernard said, but she ignored him.

  Oh, dear Fate! It is Roanna. She’s truly alive.

  “Is Celestine in there?” she asked Brooke.

  Brooke blinked at her with long, fake lashes. “Who?!”

  The woman, Roanna, shook her head and corrected her question. “Is anyone still inside?”

  “Oh, my gosh,” Brooke said, her eyes widening and shifting toward the house.

  Ashby followed her gaze.

  Brooke cupped both hands around her mouth and yelled, “Sam! Greg! Get out of the house. It’s . . . it’s . . .” She looked at her house, trying to find the words to describe what was happening to it. She came up empty.

  In a flash, white flames ignited the curtains, consuming them in a matter of seconds.

  “Sam get out of the house! It�
��s on . . . on fire,” Brooke finally said, her face disfigured in panic and fear.

  “I’ve had enough,” Uncle Bernard said, stepping away from his wife.

  “Bernard!” Roanna reached out, but he was already out of her reach.

  He glanced over his shoulder as he went. “Celestine is in there. I can’t sit here doing nothing.”

  Roanna withdrew her extended hand and placed it on her chest, pain etching every line on her face. Ashby watched her, startled by how much she reminded him of Sam. The same shade of brown hair and amber eyes. The same chiseled, yet feminine features.

  And here it was, the giant truth that, for once and for all, explained his mother’s hatred toward Sam. It came to him like a flash of lightning that burned the knowledge into his brain.

  Sam was Roanna’s daughter.

  Sam was Celestine.

  Chapter 11 - Brooke

  Brooke watched the gray-haired man named Bernard run into her burning house. He was either very brave, or very stupid because there was no way she would go back in there. Not even to save her iPad and three Coach purses.

  Then, at the thought of all her possessions going up in smoke, Brooke’s despair redoubled.

  “Oh, God! Oh, God! My parents are going to kill me.”

  She tried to follow what was going on and couldn’t help but wonder if she’d had too much to drink. Nothing seemed real.

  It had all been going great until that metro guy waltzed into the house without as much as an introduction. Brooke had seen him right away because he stood out like cheerleader in a Dungeons and Dragons convention. She’d never seen the guy in her life and, for some reason, he gave her the creeps right away. He was tall and, for an old guy, not bad looking at all. Even if he seemed prissy or something. She didn’t know squat about men’s fashion, but his suit looked like it must have cost several thousand dollars.

  “May I help you?” Brooke had asked him as he resolutely made his way toward the staircase. That he was in her house was creepy enough, but the fact that he was trying to climb the steps toward the bedrooms on the second floor raised the hairs in the back of her neck. Even if he’d been a friend of her parents—which she knew he wasn’t—his behavior was downright stalkerish.