Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  The guy stopped and gazed down at her, as if she was a pile of smelly poop. That hurt her feelings. No one had ever looked at her that way. No one!

  She’d been about to tell him to get the hell out of her house, when yet another guy she’d never seen walked through the door. He wore normal clothes, a pair of jeans and a tight gray t-shirt that showed his pectoral muscles in a way that should be illegal. Brooke blinked, thinking that, in other circumstances, she would have been delighted to have such a hot guy at her party, except his eyes immediately zeroed in on the prissy dude, and then his arms went up in the air all X-Men-like.

  “Veridan,” the young guy managed to say before, somehow, he flew out the door like a malnourished kid in a strong wind.

  Some of the idiots who stood nearby laughed. They were probably too drunk to grasp the impossibility of a six-five guy flying out the door. Others started running out the door, screaming. They were also drunk, but maybe they hadn’t touched the intelligence-zapping punch Brooke had spiked. Then the prissy guy, or Veridan like the other guy had called him, started up the staircase two at a time. When he was halfway to the top, a third stranger dressed like a Jedi stopped at the threshold.

  “Veridan, stop!” Jedi Master said.

  Brooke’s head bobbed from side to side like she was watching a tennis match. And that’s when things got really, really weird. Up on the stairs, Veridan’s hands did the X-Men thing again and, honest to God, sent out some invisible force that pushed Jedi Master back out the door.

  By then, it was full on pandemonium, and even Brooke realized it was time to get the hell out of there. But just as she made up her mind, she was blinded by the brightest frigging flash ever. She shut her eyes and staggered backward, feet sliding across the parquet flooring, as if invisible hands were pushing her backward.

  Her momentum built up and, seconds later, her feet came off the floor and dangled several inches in the air. An immobilizing pressure kept her in place, squeezing her body from every direction. Afraid to look, she opened her eyes just a bit and found many of her classmates pressed against her, floating alongside toward the front door. Brooke closed her eyes again and screamed. The next instant, she hit the ground on all fours. Wincing at the pain in her knees and hands, she had scrambled to her feet and had ran out of the house with others fast at her heels.

  Now she was standing on the lawn, watching as white flames burned her house to a crisp and hoping her best friend and boyfriend didn’t burn down with it.

  I’m going insane. I’m going insane.

  Someone else must have put something in the punch, something way more potent than Bacardi 151.

  She raked her fingers into her hair, believing, then disbelieving her eyes. Why? Why was this happening? And who were all these people? Veridan, Jedi Master and the cute guy? And what was that force shooting out of their hands? They were, like, using magic. But that was impossible. The punch. It had to be the punch. She’d had a concentrated dose. Yep, that was it!

  Then there was Bernard and that lady, Anna or something, looking for a chick named Celestine. And the fact that they all sounded like Daniel Radcliffe. The foreign idiots had the wrong house. They’d made a huge—ginormous, really—mistake. Brooke turned, ready to go all nuclear-destructor on somebody.

  “What the hell?!” she exclaimed, aiming her fury at the first person she saw. It was Anna, or whatever her name was. “Who are you, people? Why are you destroying my house?” Her questions came out like jackhammer blows, loud and rapid. Still, the woman paid her no mind. She was too intent on the house, her eyes transfixed, her brow making grooves the size of corn rows.

  “You have the wrong house!” Brooke yelled, finally losing her last bit of restraint. Her hands were stiff at her sides and her chest sticking out with defiance. “There’s no frickin’ Celestine here. You just destroyed my house for no freakin’ reason.”

  The woman blinked and finally peeled her gaze away from the burning windows. “Celestine is my daughter,” she said, tears shining in her eyes.

  Who cares?!

  Brooke was seriously starting to hate this Celestine person. Who the hell was she, anyway? Brooke searched her memory in all directions, trying to remember anyone by that first name, or even middle name. She couldn’t think of anyone.

  This whole situation was insano. There was no way this bunch of weirdos had the right house or the right anything. They looked and acted like they came from another planet. A planet where everyone was tall, good looking, and dressed for Comic-Con.

  True, it was Halloween, but that one guy had been wearing something that would have suited Obi-Wan Kenobi just fine. And this lady looked as if she was ready to go to some fancy equestrian competition of some kind. There was no way they sold such an expensive-looking outfit at Halloween Express. Those tall black boots with the taupe pants tucked inside of them were definitely high-end. Her matching taupe blouse, the same. It looked delicate and terribly expensive, blowing in the light breeze like the finest of silks. Then Prissy Guy had been wearing a Giorgio Armani suit and so was this other guy behind the lady. She blinked and did a double take.

  Ashby?!

  Their gazes locked. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut short when a louder, brighter explosion erupted from the house, blowing a hole through the roof. Brooke cringed, her shoulders rising protectively toward her ears. She crossed her forearms over her head, expecting debris to rain down from above. When she glanced back at the house, a shaft of red light, like a gigantic laser beam, was lifting into the night sky, springing from her roof like Jack’s beanstalk. The few partygoers that were still in the yard ran and hid behind parked cars. Brooke kept a hand over her brow and stared hypnotized, even if it hurt her eyes.

  “Oh, my God. Do you see that?” Brandon yelled from behind a car, looking like he was about to pee in his pants. Brooke never took him for a chicken. She wondered if Greg had found a chance to deliver her letter. She doubted it, and maybe that was a good thing. When her friends inevitably started telling people what had happened here, no one would believe them. Nope. In the end, everyone would blame her, the wild parties she was known for hosting, and the freaking spiked punch.

  Brooke followed Brandon’s gesture and noticed a dark shape rising inside the impossibly bright tube of light. It was the Veridan guy, looking all nonplussed, almost bored as he rose in an elevator-like fashion, his impressive suit not rumpled in the least.

  Two more blasts of light erupted through the roof, one green, one white. Veridan held out both hands, palms up. In one quick motion, he closed them into fists, then opened them as if throwing something down. The incoming white and green rays changed course, deflected in a trajectory where he was not the target.

  The man continued to ride the red shaft of light, moving quicker and quicker by the second. The young guy who had headed toward the back of the house came out running through the front entrance, head tilted to the sky. From his hands shot green streams, but they came short of Veridan. The creep wasn’t even in sight any longer. Brooke stared, mouth agape.

  “He got away,” the young guy growled.

  The woman in the taupe outfit ran to him, followed by Ashby.

  “Hey!” Brooke tried to snatch him by the sleeve, but he slipped away.

  “Perry!” Ashby exclaimed.

  “Where is she?” the woman demanded. “Was she in there? Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know,” the Perry guy said, pushing a sweaty brown lock off his face. His t-shirt was shredded to pieces and showed an anatomy that made the mind wander to . . . well . . . places.

  Saying no more, Ashby and the woman ran into the house, leaving the guy behind. He paced, staring at the ground, cursing under his breath.

  Enraged, Brooke walked up to him. “You! Perry or whatever your name is. Who the hell are you?”

  He ignored her, pull his tattered t-shirt off and threw it on the ground.

  Oh, hell!

  “That bloody bastard,” Perry swore
in an accent that, combined with the washboard abs, sent her brain into the gutter.

  She shook herself and pushed him hard. Caught in mid-stride, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. He looked up, his green eyes blinking without a shred of anger.

  “You destroyed my house!” she yelled. “My parents are going to kill me.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  “’Bout time,” Brooke said, feeling a tiny measure of relief. These people had a lot of explaining to do. There was no way her parents could blame her for this one. Not when magical dudes destroying random houses were actually a thing.

  Perry jumped to his feet and searched the street in the direction of the sirens. “You’re coming with us,” he said, grabbing Brooke by the wrist.

  “What?! No, let go of me, you psycho!” She punched him on the shoulder with her free hand. Her knuckles cracked. She flinched and yelped. What, was he a cyborg or something?

  He dragged her along, yelling as they went. “We have to get out of here. Ashby! Portos! The authorities are coming.”

  Jedi Master, Ashby and the others ran out of the house. Soot streaked their faces.

  “We can’t leave. My daughter,” the taupe lady said.

  “Celestine is not here,” Jedi Master said. “We searched the house.”

  “I could have told you that, you idiots,” Brooke put in. “There’s no Celestine here. I keep telling you that you have the wrong house.”

  A fire truck pulled to the sidewalk.

  “Help. Help me!” Brooke screamed, trying to free herself from Perry’s fierce grip.

  Ashby stepped closer. “Perry, let’s get out of here.”

  “We need to take her, Ashby. She can help us find Sam.”

  Huh? Sam?

  “We’re also trying to find her,” Bernard said. “Ashby, we should go together. We need to talk. You must know—”

  Ashby nodded. “I know, Uncle. I know what she did. Let’s get out of here.”

  Brooke’s captors exchanged knowing glances and, for some reason, she felt an ice cube descend down her spine. They all clasped hands in a hurry and stepped into a tight circle, pressing Brooke in the middle.

  “Help, please!” she yelled, trying to break out of the tight mass of bodies that surrounded her.

  “Leave the girl alone,” a fireman ordered, running in their direction. Through a crack between Ashby and Perry’s shoulders Brooke saw a police car pull up behind the fire truck.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. There was no way these freaks could hurt her now. What were they going to do? Squeeze her to death?

  “Drink this.” Perry grabbed her face with one hand and squeezed her cheeks hard.

  Brooke cried out in pain and, as she opened her mouth, Perry poured something in.

  “What the hell was that? Oh, God! Poison!” She sputtered and gagged at the foul stuff.

  Jedi Master said a bunch of weird words in a quick stream. Everything around her went squirrely. Her vision and hearing didn’t seem to function properly. All of her senses, for that matter, felt . . . degraded. Panic set in. She yelled louder. The fireman was nearly there. Just two more steps, and he would reach her.

  Brooke pushed with all her might, extending a hand toward the fireman. In that second, the circle of bodies loosened, letting her through. Brooke broke out, expecting to run into the fireman’s arms, instead, she staggered through empty space.

  She staggered, her nervous system firing like crazy. Her senses seemed to snap back to normal, although her brain must have been bumped because the fireman was gone, disappeared into thin air. Turning in circles, bewildered, Brooke realized her front yard was also gone. It wasn’t even night time anymore. The sun shone in the sky, revealing a picturesque setting, a place that Brooke would have expected to find in a vacation brochure.

  What in freakin’ hell? Where am I? Where the hell am I?

  She turned and looked straight at her kidnappers. “Where have you taken me?!” she demanded. More importantly, how? Only she didn’t ask that because if they couldn’t see what she was seeing, that would mean she’d gone certifiable.

  “Calm down,” Perry said, hands up in a placating manner.

  She took two steps backward and looked for an escape. “Stay away from me. Stay away.” Her voice was shrill, laced with panic.

  “Listen—”

  “No. Keep away, keep away, keep away.” She was shaking her head, completely beside herself.

  “Brooke!” Perry yelled her name in a stern reproach that jolted her and made her heart stop.

  Huh? He knows my name? How?!

  “We need you to calm down. You have to tell us where we can find Sam!”

  Brooke felt her world spiraling down. So this was about Sam. It was no random attack.

  This was way worse.

  Brooke let out a scream that would have earned her a role in any B-rated horror flick and directed it straight at Perry.

  He exhaled and looked at the blue sky as if begging for patience. “You asked for it,” he said, his green eyes showing a combination of regret and rueful satisfaction.

  Next, he waved a hand in front of her face and everything went black. An instant later, her knees gave out. Perry rushed forward and caught her in his arms as sleep slithered quietly into her veins.

  Chapter 12 - Greg

  “Quick!” Greg pulled their bug-out bags out of the closet, both with sleeping bags laced at the bottom. They were backpacks filled with everything they would need for an emergency escape just like this one. Sam took the smaller backpack and walked out of his bedroom. He followed, carrying the larger one and giving the room one last inspection to make sure there was nothing else he’d like to take with them.

  Sam waited in his bare living room, looking worried. She had changed out of her costume and now wore jeans and a long-sleeve shirt.

  “Do you think everyone’s okay?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He honestly had no idea.

  They had made a narrow escape and only made it to the next door neighbor’s back yard when all hell broke loose. After making their way down from Brooke’s bedroom window, they’d run like crazy, weaving through backyards and avoiding angry dogs. Throughout their trek, Greg’s hand stayed tight around Sam’s wrist, especially as her sexy devil outfit elicited catcalls from a few jackasses they encountered along the way. They ran until they made it to his apartment, which, thankfully, was only two miles away from Brooke’s house. With the commotion taking place in the front yard, he hadn’t dared go for Sam’s car.

  To date, this had been the lamest warning his Keeper instincts had ever given him. Normally, he had more notice and time to get Sam out of harm’s way. But tonight, his mind had been otherwise occupied, which was unforgivable. His carelessness could have cost Sam her life.

  Stupid fool! He chided himself again. He’d been doing it for the last twenty minutes.

  “Do you have everything?” he asked.

  Sam nodded absently. Her mind was elsewhere. He could tell.

  “I need to call Brooke,” she said, fumbling for her cell phone.

  “You can call her once we get on the road.” He headed out the door.

  They had been waiting for this to happen, had packed their bags a while back. Now the time had come, but their preparations hadn’t made them feel any better about leaving.

  When they reached the car, Sam climbed in the passenger seat and punched a number in her cell. She slammed the door shut as Greg threw the bags into the trunk. Walking to the driver side door, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening his mind and letting his instincts take over. Danger still lingered nearby, but he was now a few steps ahead of it. He wouldn’t mind staying and taking care of the bastards who had come for Sam, but his top priority was her safety. To hurt her, they had to find her first.

  Greg climbed inside the car and started it. “Any luck?”

  “No. I got her voicemail.” Her tone was full of dread. “Greg, do you think
we could go back . . . just to see if she’s okay?”

  “No!” Greg said emphatically. Every time he thought of Brooke’s house his instincts went ballistic, warnings of danger flashing like police lights.

  “But—”

  “No, Sam. We have to leave. Now!”

  Sam nodded, looking resigned. They’d agreed that if this happened, she would heed his instincts if he sensed danger. His radar had saved her life three times already. Not following that advice would be suicide.

  Greg pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Right or left?” he asked, trying to smile for Sam. He hated to see her upset.

  Whenever they’d discussed where to go if this happened, they’d never agreed. He wanted to head to the mountains in Colorado. Sam, to a big city where they could blend in.

  “You decide,” she mumbled as she nibbled on her thumbnail, a nervous habit Greg had come to know well.

  “I’m sure Brooke is fine,” he said, trying to ease her concern.

  “But what about the screaming we heard?”

  “Maybe just party excitement.” He knew it was a lame theory, but what else could he say?

  She gave him a look that seemed to say I’m not stupid.

  “Okay, so maybe it wasn’t party related, but they wouldn’t have hurt anyone. I’m sure they left when they realized we weren’t there.” Greg was counting on that. He hated the thought of anyone getting hurt because of them.

  He looked right and left, then in his rearview mirror. “Okay, we’re going west, then.” He started to turn left, but stopped when Sam seized his wrist.

  “Wait!” She had a look of deep concentration in her eyes.

  “What?”

  “Go east,” she said as if in a trance.

  “O-kay. Are those . . . your instincts talking?”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah,” she murmured. The trance seemed to break. She blinked and looked around. “Yes,” she repeated, sounding more certain.