Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  Brooke looked suspiciously at her finished sandwich, wondering if bread that dark could taste any good. The refrigerator beckoned, but she didn’t want to look for anything else, afraid she would find a live octopus or something worse. Only God knew what Portuguesians? Portuguenians? or whatever ate. If they’d been Brazilian, at least she would have been able to pronounce that, but someone had mentioned they were originally from Lisbon.

  Joao planted a bowl and box of cereal on the island’s wooden surface. “I just met the bloke and I already hate him,” he said, eying Ashby.

  “So you guys are from Portugal, but you sound British. How does that work?” Brooke suspiciously eyed the box of cereal. She didn’t recognize the brand or the flavor.

  “We go to school here.” Calisto took a bite of her sandwich and licked her lips. “Always have.”

  Brooke pinched a small piece of bread off her own sandwich. She wasn’t brave enough to take a big bite. “So, no offense, but is your mom always that bitchy?”

  Calisto frowned at the question, but Joao rolled with it.

  “You have seen nothing yet. I wish Pai was here. Her mood always improves when he’s here,” he said.

  “Pai? Is that your dad?”

  He nodded.

  “Where is he?”

  “Off doing Mother’s bidding at some MORF location or another.”

  Brooke ate the small piece of bread and decided the stuff tasted like over-the-counter antiseptics.

  “Mother is not bitchy,” Calisto argued. “She cares and she’s loyal. Danata Rothblade tried to have her killed when she refused to serve on her council. Mom stayed loyal to Roanna, the rightful Regent, all these years. She always suspected foul play and she was right.”

  “Yeah, yeah, so she was, and all the more insufferable for it.” Joao poured cereal in his bowl. It looked like bird seeds and smelled distinctly of cow feed.

  “Don’t you guys have any normal food?” Brooke asked in a petulant whine.

  Calisto and Joao looked at each other’s food and frowned.

  “What’s wrong with our food?” Calisto asked.

  Joao sighed, walked to a pantry and produce a bag of Cheetos. “This what you mean?”

  “O-M-G!” Brooke snatched the bag from his fingers and, after hugging it, pecked a quick kiss on Joao’s cheek. She’d never been happier to see Chester Cheetah in her entire life. She tore into the bag and crunched Cheeto after Cheeto.

  Joao wiped his cheek. “W-T-F?! Just F-Y-I, I have a girlfriend, and she’s tired of human girls trying to put their moves on me.”

  He was making fun of her because she liked acronyms? So what? Big deal.

  “Oh, please, don’t flatter yourself.” Brooke’s eyes flicked to Perry for a moment. Joao was good looking, sure, but Perry was more her type. She did love green eyes, and although Joao’s were nice, Perry’s were simply gorgeous, surprising her with different shades every time she looked at him—not to mention with different silent messages, not all of them decent.

  If only . . .

  Brooke huffed and thought of abandoning Calisto and Joao to go talk to Ashby about Sam, except something told her that excluding them would be a bad idea.

  If the siblings were in charge of watching over them—and Brooke suspected their mother had set them to the task—it would be best to have them on their side. Not that haughty Ashby seemed to realize that, the way he was carrying on with his counter-productive murmuring and secretiveness. Didn’t he see he was making Calisto and Joao defensive? Making them more likely to run to mummy to spill whatever beans there were to be spilled?

  Sheesh!

  For the next few minutes, Brooke’s gaze went from one pair of Morphids to the other, judging while she crunched on her snack.

  Joao glared at them between bites of bird-seed-looking cereal, the intensity of his scrutiny growing to the point of “intervention time.”

  “So . . .” Brooke said, stretching the word and raising her voice.

  Ashby and Perry straightened, their almost-conjoined heads pulling apart. Calisto and Joao abandoned their food.

  Good. She had their attention.

  “How do we find Sam?” she asked, straight to the point.

  Ashby’s face pinched in distaste the way Brooke’s had the first (and last) time she’d downed a Jell-O shot. His eyes zeroed in on hers like he possessed, or wanted to possess, a Morphid superpower that could kill with a single, evil look.

  “Oh, c’mon, you don’t think Calisto and Joao know what you two are talking about over there?” Brooke crunched a couple of Cheetos and waited for their answer.

  Ashby looked at Perry as if asking, “can you believe this?” Perry shrugged, reclined back in his chair and laced long fingers over his oh-so-tight stomach. He had the look of someone waiting to be amused.

  “All right, people,” she set the bag of Cheetos on the island, even though it pained her. “The adults are not going to help Sam. I’m sure everyone got that.”

  She looked around and took the chance to lick cheese powder off her fingers.

  Brooke continued, “They also plan to make us sit here staring at each other eating, arguing, looking gorgeous or whatever it is you people do. In short, they expect us to stay out of their hair, so we don’t get in the way of their fabulous badassery. ‘Cause that’s exactly what we would do . . . if we were a bunch of kindergartners, that is.”

  Brooke peered sideways at Calisto and Joao, trying to judge how her little speech was going. To her surprise, they were listening with relaxed expressions, not the murderous ones she’d been expecting.

  That threw her off for a bit. “Um, so I . . . I propose we make ourselves useful. We find her, save her from her evil aunt, and bring her safely to her parents. I mean, we’re capable of that much, right? They can go take back the Regency while we go do this other thing, instead of wasting our time in this ill-equipped kitchen.”

  Brooke waited for their reaction. Something. Anything. They gave her zilch.

  “Well, say something!” she exclaimed, frustrated. “Thumbs up? Thumbs down? What the hell?”

  “So what’s the plan?” Calisto took another bite of her moldy cheese sandwich, looking as nonchalant as only someone who always disobeys her parents could.

  “So you’re on board?” Brooke asked incredulously.

  Calisto pushed her plate aside. “Sure, why not?”

  “And you too?” Brooked looked at Joao.

  His cheeks were full of cereal, but he nodded in a way that left no doubts on which side of mischief he stood.

  “Aw,” Brooke said, “two reprobates after my own heart. Who would have thought? All right, so what do we do?”

  She got closer to the island and put on her most conspiratorial air. With a quick jerk of her head, she encouraged Perry and Ashby to join in. The two idiots were still sitting at the dining table, Ashby looking as wooden as the chair attached to his ass, and Perry smirking as if he was watching an episode of Scooby Doo.

  Calisto and Joao offered no ideas, so they deferred to Ashby.

  “She’s your Companion, Ashby. Have anything in mind?” Calisto asked.

  Very slowly, Ashby stood and came to stand by the island. He didn’t look happy about the situation, but Brooke didn’t care. Her priority was Sam’s safety, not his desire for secrecy, superiority or whatever.

  He thought for a moment before saying, “Well, obviously you haven’t run to Mirante to tell on us, but that doesn’t mean you won’t.”

  “We won’t,” Joao said.

  Perry abandoned the table and came to stand next to Brooke. The hairs on the back of her arms stood on end just from his mere closeness. She took a casual step away from him and reclined on the island, trying to act as natural as granola.

  She cleared her throat. “Since that’s out in the open now . . . I ask you again, any ideas?”

  Perry spoke first. “Magic won’t work. No precursors to follow.”

  Brooke gave him a “WTF?” expression.
Her face said it all. She was sure.

  “If they had used magic to escape,” Perry explained, “there would be a trail I could follow. But Greg can’t use his skills like that, so they probably drove, caught a plane, a bus.”

  “I’d say they drove.” Brooke felt pretty certain about that. “So magically finding them is out? That seems pretty lame. Can’t you, like, look into a crystal ball or something? Cast a spell that could put a star on a map? I dunno.”

  Perry looked offended, as if Brooke had just insulted his magical prowess. “It doesn’t work that way. I’m an excellent Sorcerer, but I need something to go by. It would help if Sam carried a tracking amulet, a communing frame or triggering hex. Any of those and this would be a whole different story, but I can’t work miracles.”

  “Too bad,” Brooke said in condescending tone.

  Perry narrowed his eyes, and it seemed to Brooke he was letting her know how fully capable of working those kinds of miracles he was. Heat rose from her neck toward her cheeks. She fussed with her hair to hide it. This boy was a firecracker and she hated how much she loved it.

  “How about you, Ashby?” She switched her attention. “You said you found her before. Could you—?”

  “No.” Ashby’s response cut her question short. The word came out in a single, categorical breath that left Brooke no doubt this topic was best left alone.

  “Alrighty. Then how about Joao? Do you have any special powers?”

  “‘Course I do. I’m a Wingmaster.”

  Brooke tried to imagine what that meant. “So how many wings can you eat in ten minutes? Mild? Or spicy?”

  “Very funny!” Joao punctuated his exclamation with a good dose of sarcasm. “If you must know, a Wingmaster has control over avian creatures.”

  What does that mean?

  Calisto jumped in with an explanation. “He can communicate with birds, make them do things for him. Pretty useless, unless you’re planning to open a chicken farm. Sam didn’t have a pet parakeet that could tell my brother where she went, did she?”

  Joao’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Gee, thanks, Sis. I don’t guess I need any enemies when I have you.”

  It was clear this was a running joke between them. Joao disliked it, but it didn’t seem like something he really let get under his skin.

  “She’s only saying all of that because, in this situation,” Joao made it clear he could be very useful under other circumstances—namely those involving a parakeet, “her skill is probably the only one that can help.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Brooke perked up, same as Ashby and Perry. “How so?”

  Calisto inclined her head to one side. “Umm, well, I can probably help, but it will take some time. I’m a Winder.”

  “Cool!” Perry said.

  Brooke pressed her palm against her forehead. “Guys, you have to stop throwing stuff out there without an explanation. I’m lost.” She knew she was whining, but it was very annoying finding herself so plain-vanilla among these people. The least they could do was be considerate and have the courtesy to explain themselves.

  “I can sort of look back in time.” Calisto explained. “It’s not time travel or anything like that. I cannot really rewind the clock. It’s more like I pick up the energy left behind by past events. The more recent, the easier they are to see.”

  “So we could see where they went?” Brooke felt she was about to start drooling with envy. The things she could find out with a talent like this.

  “No, not we. I can only do it for myself, no one else. And, just in case you’re wondering, I can’t change anything that happened, because I’m not really there.”

  “Well, how lame is that?” Brooke said with a good dose of sarcasm.

  Joao laughed. “An enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  Calisto ignored the comment. She seemed to be the calm and collected type of girl, probably got that from her mum.

  “You need a reference point, right?” Ashby asked. “I remember reading that somewhere.”

  “That’s right,” Calisto jabbed. “I’m sure Brooke can provide that.”

  “That’s news to me. Will it hurt?” Brooke made scared doe eyes. She was pleased when everyone—except Ashby—laughed.

  “Not a bit,” Calisto said. “You don’t even have to be very bright.”

  “So that’s how it’s gonna be?” The joke had some bite, but there was no real meanness in it. Brooke decided this bunch was all right. Ashby needed a little pep, but he was dealing with a lot, so she gave him a break. Couldn’t blame him. Not really. The poor guy. For him, this whole situation was doomed. Sam loved Greg. Nothing was coming between those two—no matter what Fate had to say.

  Brooke smiled. This was going somewhere. “What next?”

  “We have to go your place,” Calisto said. “That’s the last place where you saw Sam, right?”

  “Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  “For my skills to work, I need to be there, where it all happened.”

  “How do we get back?” Brooke asked, afraid of the answer.

  “Transport potions,” Perry said with a grin.

  Just as she’d feared. Brooke almost gagged.

  Chapter 34 - Greg

  Greg pressed the button labeled M. Espina. A sudden determination had gotten into Sam back at the shelter, and she’d announced her desperate need to see Elizabeth right away.

  After interrogating Nadine and Dan, they found out that—worried for Elizabeth’s safety and to keep an eye on her—Mateo had taken her with him.

  “He normally gets in around 9:00 or 10:00 A.M., sweetie. Why don’t you wait for him?” Nadine had suggested.

  “Um, I’d really like to see Elizabeth, see how she’s doing. Do you think Mateo would mind if we visited her?” Sam made puppy eyes.

  “Oh, he wouldn’t mind one bit. His apartment is cozier than a public cafe some days.” Nadine smiled and jotted down the address for them.

  With that in hand, they had left the shelter and walked—practically ran, really—eleven blocks to get to his place. It was one of those narrow buildings with steep steps in the front, the kind they always show in movies. There were ten buttons on the entrance panel, all labeled with an initial and last name.

  Mateo’s voice came through the speaker. He didn’t sound too excited to have someone ringing his bell this early. But hey, Greg and Sam hadn’t slept very much either, and they’d done it on the floor on top of that. So Mateo could stuff himself if he didn’t like it.

  Greg squeezed Sam’s hand to reassure her.

  “Who is it?”

  “Greg and Sam,” he answered.

  There was a short pause, then an animated “come in, come in,” followed by a buzz. Greg and Sam exchanged a look and a shrug. Greg hadn’t expected to be invited in with such excitement, not considering how their relationship with Mateo had started off on the wrong foot.

  They found their way to the second floor where Mateo was waiting for them, standing by his open door.

  “Hey, good morning,” he said in a pleasant tone. “Come on in.” He was wearing a pair of frayed jeans, a black shirt he was in the process of buttoning up, and no shoes.

  They walked right into the living room. Sam stopped at the edge of a rectangular rug and looked around. The area was open, what people call a loft. Everything was stuffed into one room: living room, dining room, kitchen, TV area. Only the bedroom was separate. Sam’s visual search ended at the sofa where a pillow and blanket indicated someone had spent the night there. A pair of men’s boots sat at the end of the sofa.

  Sam turned to face Mateo, her eyes brimming with anxiety. “Where is Elizabeth? Is she okay?”

  Mateo blinked, surprised by the question. “She’s upset, but I suppose that’s natural.”

  “Upset,” Sam repeated.

  She seemed so afraid, so uncertain of what she had done, it made Greg even more angry at Danata. This was all that evil witch’s fault. If it wasn’t for her, they would be
back in Indiana, attending high school. Living a human life, admittedly, but a normal one. Greg knew this wasn’t necessarily true. If Sam was meant to do this, if her ability was to restore broken vinculums, no amount of denial or opposition could stop it from happening. Still, he could daydream, couldn’t he?

  “Is Elizabeth healed? Is she . . . of sound mind?” Or is she still crazy? Greg left out the last part. This was the real question. The answer that would return the peace of mind that last night’s events had stolen from Sam.

  “You don’t . . . know?” Mateo didn’t finish the question.

  “No, I don’t,” Sam said. “This is only the second time I’ve used my skills and, I assure you, it wasn’t anything like the first time. I’m don’t know if what I did last night . . . worked. It seemed so wrong. So wrong.”

  Mateo nodded. “I see. Well, you shouldn’t worry. It might have seemed wrong, but it was certainly necessary. Elizabeth is herself, I believe.” He laughed. “I never knew her before, but I think—”

  “I am,” a voice said from the side.

  They all turned to find Elizabeth standing there. Her hair was wet. She wore an oversized sweatshirt and pants.

  Greg’s mouth fell open. She hardly looked like the same person. Ten years had fallen off her face. Her forehead seemed to have less creases. Her brown eyes were clear and wide open. She made eye contact and even managed a small self-conscious smile.

  “Not complete,” Elizabeth added. “But myself, nonetheless.”

  Sam sucked in a breath, then clung to Greg, her arms coming around his waist, her face hiding against his chest. He hugged her back, and felt a wave of relief wash over her. After a short moment, she pulled away. There were no tears in her eyes, just a general sense of comfort.

  She turned her back on Greg and faced Elizabeth. “I’m sorry about your Integral.”

  Elizabeth lowered her gaze and looked at the floor. “I’ve known he was gone for a while now.” Her words came slowly as if her brain were trying to recall the sounds and syllables. “Some part of me felt the emptiness that his . . . that he left behind.” She exhaled, looking close to physical pain. “It’s still there, but it doesn’t weigh so heavily on me anymore. The pain is bearable.”