Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  To his great disappointment, the time to cut the connection came all too soon. And again he could only wonder what it would be like to continue and, for once and for all, exhaust every bit of energy he had harnessed. To eat his fill, so to speak.

  Little by little, he floated downward, until his feet touched the floor. The dark coil that protruded from the nebula retreated, leaving him feeling powerful, yet bereft.

  Clenching his jaw, he kept the covetous desire at bay. He could not give into temptation. The power was exquisite, but not limitless. He had to use it wisely.

  Patience, he told himself.

  Veridan took a deep breath, trying to garner the calm he would need before leaving. He had to talk to Danata and explain why the girl was still alive and had disappeared under his nose. Despite Danata’s orders, he hadn’t really set out to kill Samantha in the first place, but he still didn’t relish the prospect of explaining his “failure.”

  What Veridan hadn’t counted on was running into Portos and Perry and engaging in a fight that could have easily cost him his life, had he not supplemented his energy with power from the nebula before transporting to Indiana.

  He cursed Portos once more, as he’d been doing since he was forced to concede defeat. He also spared a few extra choice words for Perry—that self-satisfied brat who had refused to be his apprentice. And lastly, he cursed Fate for not granting him the power he so clearly deserved.

  Always, Portos had been more skilled, blessed with more natural ability at spells. Even that stupid boy seemed to have an innate disposition and inner strength to channel magic.

  Veridan clenched his hands, feeling that familiar anger wash over him.

  “Over-confident fools,” he said under his breath, “Soon, I’ll show you who’s best.”

  He might not have morphed into an immensely powerful Sorcerer, but he hadn’t been completely overlooked by Fate. He was tremendously skillful in crafting new spells and using magic in creative ways that lesser minds would have never imagined, while the likes of Portos had to pore over spell books, memorizing and practicing the right enunciations.

  Veridan was better than that. Just like a composer creates music, he could conjure the right words to make almost anything a reality. He gazed at his nebula and smiled—proof of his superior abilities. The idea had come to him when he witnessed the extent of Danata’s abilities for the first time. They’d been practically children then. She had just morphed and had, in anger, discovered what she was capable of. A poor servant girl was the first victim. The creature had morphed into a Companion and been paired with a boy Danata had once fancied. She had never believed her nature until then.

  Veridan had seen the flash of light, the energy that the ripping released, and immediately had thought of a way to harness that power. Figuring out the right spell had been child’s play for him. He had done it all himself. And wasn’t building his own power, piece by piece, more admirable than simply morphing into it by sheer luck?

  But just as no creditable artist created his masterpiece in one day, it was impossible for Veridan to do something so magnificent without preparation and hard work.

  Soon. Very soon.

  He closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and relished the power coursing through his veins. It filled him with unbound joy and the resolve he needed to stay the course. Reluctantly, he pulled away from the intoxicating sensation of power and left his chamber.

  The Regent needed her report.

  * * *

  “How could you let them best you?” Danata sneered.

  Veridan took a deep breath and stood up to remove his jacket. He draped it over the chair he’d been occupying, taking his time to ensure there were no creases in the fabric. He’d already delivered his report, but clearly this would take longer than that.

  “I saw no reason to stay and fight after it was evident the girl had fled.” He sat back down.

  “You are missing the point, Veridan,” she yelled, her eyes starting to bulge a little. “You. Let. Her. Get. Away.”

  Veridan took a deep breath and repeated what was sure to become his mantra.

  Patience. You need her.

  “I am well aware of that, my Regent.” He had a hard time leaving the sarcasm out, but Danata was too angry to notice anything past her own rage.

  “Then why are you back?” Her tone was full of scorn and showed him how little she really cared about his fate.

  “The battle was draining. I needed time to recover.”

  Veridan watched the woman through narrowed eyes. His hands itched to cast a suffocating spell. He would love to watch her fall to her knees, gasping for air, turning purple from lack of oxygen, veins bulging at her neck, the same way as when anger possessed her. But he couldn’t. His power store depended on her and the souls she ripped. He’d tapped into his nebula twice this week—not to mention Ashby’s retrieval. At the moment, he was in the business of growing his resources, not squandering them.

  “Well, you look recovered now,” she pointed out, her mouth twisting into a derisive smirk. “Go back and take care of that girl and her pet Keeper.”

  “I will do so once I find them.”

  “Find them?! You mean to tell me you don’t know where they are? Can’t you just do some . . . half-baked spell to locate them?” Danata gesticulated, exhibiting her impatience and ignorance in yet another unattractive way.

  “It’s not that simple. A spell to pinpoint someone’s location requires precursors that—” Veridan tried to explain, but Danata cut him off.

  “Clearly, Portos found the wretched creature. Even Perry,” she said with a jab at his pride.

  He contained his fury, but it bubbled to the surface and manifested itself through a slight twitch of his eyelid.

  If I didn’t need you, I would strangle you right here and now, you self-righteous bitch.

  “You find her then!” Veridan said, losing what little patience he’d tried to garner.

  He pressed his lips together, expecting his impertinence to drive Danata into a higher level of rage. He’d never spoken to her this way. Then again, he wasn’t accustomed to dealing with her on a daily basis. It was proving more than he could take. Veridan held her gaze, and they stared at each other for a few moments, unblinking.

  She had felt safe around Portos. That idiot wouldn’t hurt a fly, if he did not deem it proper. But Veridan was nothing like that old, bumbling fool. She must realize who she was dealing with.

  Danata scowled, her entire face looking pinched, but, in the end, she didn’t say anything.

  A smile stretched across Veridan’s lips. He savored his small triumph. Danata never controlled her temper for anyone, but she was a quick study.

  She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “What are our choices?” she asked in a strangled tone. Veridan chuckled inwardly. It had to be hard swallowing such an enormous amount of pride.

  Veridan tried not to look too pleased. “Well, like I said, to find them we need precursors. If they had traveled by means of an incantation, I could use the traces of magic left behind to find them—that is one type of precursor.” He raised his forefinger. “If they had a charmed tracker in their possession that would be another alternative since I could follow its magic.” He held another finger up. “In the beginning, Perry used Ashby’s vinculum to find the girl, but . . .” he shrugged theatrically, “. . . that’s not an option anymore.” He raised his ring finger with a flourish.

  Danata squirmed in her high-back chair. This situation was her fault, and she knew it. Her anger had reigned supreme the day the girl escaped. Not that Veridan had minded at the time. Her tantrums were always to his advantage and—on that particular day, as in many others before—he’d counted on her Ripper instinct to sever the girl from both her Integrals. What he hadn’t anticipated was Ashby’s collapse and Danata’s breakdown before she took care of the bloody Keeper.

  A fine time for Danata to develop motherly tendencies!

  “This time around
,” he continued in an exacting manner, “everyone knew where to find them because they were still in their home town, and we had details about Samantha’s family, school and friends. That’s the only reason Portos, Perry and I knew where to go.

  “Without precursors, magical means aren’t an option. Still, that doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to track her down. Earthly ones. Cell phone and credit card records can be extremely useful. You have people who can do this for you.”

  “But that could take days. I want results NOW. Finding her is your priority. I will take care of Bernard and Roanna. We can’t allow them to find the girl and bring her under their wing.”

  Veridan nodded. “It suits me just fine. I have a score to settle with the Keeper, as you reminded me. Your orders align perfectly with my priorities.”

  “Good.”

  They exchanged a curt smile.

  “So what plans have you for Roanna and the rest?” Veridan asked. He needed to stay abreast of all state affairs. “Have your received any intelligence?”

  The Regent formed a steeple with her fingers. “Well, obviously she wasn’t at Modena House anymore. That was rather unfortunate.” She pressed her lips with such force that they went white. “And your report confirms that Portos has joined them. But no matter, I have set Florence Finely and her Warriors on the task of capturing them.”

  Veridan pondered this course of action. It was the logical thing to do under the circumstances. Although the possibility of Danata clinging to the Regency seemed less likely by the minute—no matter how many Warriors she’d let loose on her sister.

  It seemed a fight against MORF was inevitable. The only question was how long he had before it took place. Once more, it would come down to patience.

  But before then, maybe there was a bit more he could gain before the unavoidable end. It was time to let Danata in on the plan that had been slowly brewing in his mind.

  Chapter 14 - Brooke

  Gentle words and a nudge on her forearm roused Brooke from her deep sleep.

  “How do you feel? I have some hot tea for you,” the sweet voice said, luring her back from the nothingness that had dragged her down the moment that irritating, good looking guy had . . .

  Brooke sat up with a jerk, as she remembered her last moments of wakefulness. Her eyes darted around, hoping to find that she’d woken up in her bedroom after a terrible nightmare.

  No such luck.

  She was in a bedroom, all right, but it looked nothing like hers. It was old and stuffy and . . . well . . . old. Every bit of furniture looked like it’d belonged to someone’s grandma’s grandma. The walls were made of stone and the paintings hanging on them depicted no one and nothing that could have been in existence in the last couple centuries. Every image had a gilded frame, one more ornate than the other. There was a depiction of an rickety mill with a large water wheel, many of floral arrangements and old dudes with long sideburns and collars up to their noses, and an extremely realistic one of a medieval ship against an ominous dark sky.

  Nope. Not her bedroom. But maybe still a nightmare.

  Panic, as raw and gripping as what she’d felt before, surged inside her chest. She filled her lungs in one gulp and was about to start screaming when the sweet voice interrupted her.

  “Shh, the tea is nice and hot.”

  Brooke’s eyes snapped to the person at her side. The taupe lady, although she was sage now.

  “I promise it will make you feel much better, Brooke. That is your name, right?” she said with a smile.

  “Yeah, Brooke Perez.”

  The woman pressed a small cup to Brooke’s lips and soon had her drinking a warm, soothing liquid that seemed to glide down her throat like honey.

  Brooke surprised herself by practically inhaling the thing and wondering if she could have more. Then, just like the woman had said, she actually started feeling better, much better.

  “My name is Roanna Rothblade. We mean you no harm. I promise. We just want to ask you a few questions about your friend Samantha Gibson. Then you can go back home.”

  Reality came rushing back.

  Again.

  So the white fire, and the magic, and the hole in her roof, and the kidnapping, all had something to do with Sam.

  “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

  “Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

  She thought past the destruction to the last time she’d seen her friend. “Oh, my God! Sam was in the house! Greg, too. The fire!” she exclaimed, hands shaking.

  “It’s okay. Samantha is fine. She and Greg escaped.”

  “They did? Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Relief washed over her. Quickly, it turned to suspicion. What do you people want with my friend? Brooke narrowed her eyes at Roanna. Did they want to hurt Sam? They had destroyed an entire house without a second thought trying to find her. Clearly, they were capable of anything else.

  Brooke didn’t know how wise her next move would be, but she wasn’t about to hand them Sam on a silver platter. They were high if they thought she was that dumb.

  “Well, I’m not answering any questions. Not until you do, anyway.” She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed like a three-year-old.

  “I will be happy to oblige,” Roanna said with a mild smile.

  Brooke’s shoulders drooped, her passion leaking out of her like water from a punctured inflatable pool. She’d been ready for a fight, instead she got . . . a nice, compliant lady? What the hell? Could she be trusted? Every spy movie Brooke had ever watched told her nope.

  Well, she wouldn’t.

  She squared her shoulders, willing to ask a few question, but convinced she wouldn’t trust any of the answers.

  “O-kay. For starters, who are you?”

  “Roanna Rothblade.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re just going to be a smarty pants.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Oh, don’t play that with me.” Brooke found herself getting flustered. She threw the immaculate sheets that covered her legs to one side and jumped off the wide bed. The floor was surprisingly warm on her bare feet.

  She was wearing an interesting white garment that was extremely comfortable and cozy. Brooke tried not to think who’d undressed her. Not that her Catwoman costume had been comfortable at all. She didn’t miss it one bit.

  Her hands went in overdrive, the way they usually did when she got flustered.

  “Look, lady,” she pointed at the woman who looked as intimidated as a lioness threatened by a chipmunk. “You better spill the beans. I don’t know what’s happening here, but this is cra-zy. What did you people do to my house? Why did you kidnap me? What is this freakin’ place?”

  Hysteria was building up again. Big time. She tried to regain control with a couple of deep breaths. Last time she got like this, she ended up unconscious after the cute weirdo did something to her, some hand-waving thing that defied logical explanation.

  “How about we forget about the questions and you just let me explain.” Roanna moved from the bedside and walked to a chair upholstered in blue velvet. Her sage dress flowed behind her as she twirled and sat.

  Brooke waited, a big ball of anticipation caught in her throat.

  “You must know a great deal about Celestine . . . pardon me, about Samantha. Perry tells me you are her best friend.”

  “So, according to you, Celestine and Sam are the same person?” Brooke asked, unable to help herself.

  Roanna nodded, looking frustrated. But Brooke didn’t care. She had questions and wasn’t about to sit through some long-ass explanation.

  “And Perry, who is he?” Besides being sugar coma of the eye.

  “He is one of Ashby’s, let’s say, advisers.”

  Brooke blinked. Was that supposed to make sense? What was Ashby? A United Nations ambassador?

  Roanna continued in her calm, collected tone, one that would put a crazed gorilla at ease—just not Brooke. “You must know that Samantha was adopted.”


  “Uh, yes.” A strange giddy feeling settled in the pit of Brooke’s stomach.

  “Well, I am her real mother.”

  Before Roanna finished the words, Brooke had guessed what they would be. Not only that, she’d also concluded they were true. There was no denying it. She had thought the woman looked familiar before. Her words had just served as the last link that allowed her to make the connection. Her knees shook.

  She sat on the bed, head spinning. “Oh, my God.”

  “Brooke, we need to find her. She’s in terrible danger. You have seen it for yourself. Veridan, that man in your house, was there to kill her.”

  “B-but why?”

  “A terrible woman took Samantha away from me and my husband.”

  “Barbara?” Sam’s adoptive mother was a horrible person, but she was a lawyer, a law abiding citizen. She wouldn’t try to kill anyone.

  “Who is Barbara?”

  “Sam’s adoptive mom.”

  “Oh, no. Not her. Someone else. Someone who thought my husband and I would never be able to find her. Our daughter is a very special girl, in more ways than one. This woman is afraid of what Samantha can do and what she represents.”

  Roanna clasped her hands together and inched to the edge of her chair. “If you have the slightest idea where my daughter is, you have to tell me. I promise we will keep her safe. Besides,” her eyes wavered, “we miss her so. All this time we thought our family would never be together again. And now, to learn that we can . . .” she broke off, unable to finish.

  “Sam is gonna freak,” Brooke said. “Sometimes all she can talk about is finding her biological family.”

  Roanna’s eyes lit up. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. So her real name is Celestine?” Brooke mused.

  Roanna, Sam’s mother, nodded and pressed a hand to her mouth.

  “Gosh, this is weird. Okay, let’s see . . . This may be a dumb question, but did you look in James’s—I mean, her adoptive father’s—apartment?”