Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  “Yes, it will hurt. Badly.” Sam couldn’t lie to him, even if it would make this easier. “But afterward, he’ll be better. He’ll be himself again.”

  “I . . . I don’t even remember how he used to be. It’s been so long ago since . . .”

  Nadine made a small sound in the back of her throat and put a chubby hand over her mouth.

  Sam’s throat tightened as she fought the urge to cry, not knowing what to say. She glanced at Greg who was watching her in turn, his thick eyebrows scrunched together. He was reading her emotions, worried about more than her physical wellbeing, intent on saving her from more than just her vengeful enemies.

  “Hey, buddy,” he knelt in front of Jacob. “You don’t have to be afraid. In the end, no matter if it hurts a little, it’ll be better. Like ripping off a dirty Band-Aid. Once the ouch passes, your father will be able to take care of you—not the other way around.”

  “It’s okay, son,” Bruce spoke, surprising everyone. “It . . . it sounds like, like something I want to do.” The words came out choppy, revealing the effort this small lucid moment cost him.

  Sam’s skin crawled.

  “Wow,” Dan murmured.

  Bruce was still in there somewhere, lost inside his own body. He had to be a strong man to have survived this for who knows how long. All the people in the shelter were resilient, so much more than she would ever be. When Danata did this to her, Sam immediately turned her back on life and began drifting away. She’d only survived because of Greg. If not for him, she would be dead now.

  “Okay,” Jacob said in a very small voice.

  “Why don’t you go with Nadine?” Mateo suggested. “She’ll get you something good to munch on.”

  Nadine’s shoulders slumped. “But I thought I could stay and . . .”

  “I’ll go with him,” Dan offered. “Come with me, bud. There’s this place around the corner that sells the best banana bread muffins. You’ll love them!”

  Jacob went with Dan. He dragged his feet and looked over his shoulder, eyes wavering with tears. Sam’s heart shrank at the sight of his pitiful face. The boy and his father were inseparable.

  “Let’s go into the meeting room, why don’t we?” Mateo put an arm around Bruce’s back and guided him toward the kitchen’s back door.

  Sam took a deep breath and followed them.

  “You think you can handle it?” Greg walked beside her. He leaned closer in an effort to make eye contact.

  She was tired—no doubt about that—but how could she wait to feel 100% when so many people were suffering and she had the key to make it all better?

  “I think I can.” Maybe there was a limit to how much she could do. If there was, she would find out soon enough. But she had to test and find those boundaries.

  She hadn’t sounded convincing, even to her own ears, but Greg said nothing in response. He simply walked by her side and stood by her after they entered the room. Bruce stood in the middle, forehead pinched. His gaze moved around in circles. His head swiveled from side to side.

  “Jacob?” he said, his tone edgy and at the verge of something more desperate.

  “I think you’d better hurry,” Nadine said from the door. She had her back against it, whether guarding it or staying close to the only exit was anyone’s guess.

  Sensing Bruce could lose his cool very quickly without Jacob in sight, Sam narrowed her eyes, caught sight of his vinculum and stepped up to him. Her arm jerked upward and she took the severed link between her fingers. A savage weight settled on her chest. She gasped, air leaving her lungs like she’d been punched. A chilly darkness and desolation fell over her. The feeling was expected and familiar by now, but that didn’t make it any less frightening and despicable.

  Sam fought for her next breath and the strength to keep upright.

  For Jacob. For Jacob.

  The thought helped. She pictured his sweet face and the wide smile she could bring to his lips by healing his father. It was what she needed. With that image as her focus, Sam opened up to her Morphid nature and let her instincts take control once more.

  In a desolate plain all on her own, she stood. Before, it had all been a jumble of light and desperation, but now it seemed her control had improved, even if only a little. Bruce was there, eyes closed, head thrown back. His face twitched. He bared his teeth in a growl that carried no sound. A bright outline delineated his body.

  As if they weren’t her own, she watched her fingers work. They glided up and down the severed strands of light as if they were a harp’s strings. She was not aware of how long it took, but she knew that, this time, she was faster.

  When she was done and Bruce’s dangling vinculum was no more, Sam let her hands fall to the side. Her fingers ached. She tightened her hands into fists, but the pain just seemed to intensify. A small moan sounded in the back of her throat. She looked around expecting to see Greg at her side, but he wasn’t there.

  No one was there.

  She whirled, frantically searching her surroundings. She was in a different place, in the plain where vinculums lived. Her heart burst into a frantic pounding.

  Why was she still here?

  Leave! I want to leave!

  Sam shut her eyes, willed her instincts to guide her out. After a moment, she opened her eyes, but nothing had changed.

  She was trapped.

  Chapter 38 - Greg

  One moment, Greg could sense Sam submerged in an ocean of pain and desperation. The next, he couldn’t sense her at all. For an instant, he was frozen, confused by the sudden disconnect.

  His heart hammered once, then again.

  Bruce fell to his knees, clutching his head, while Sam’s hands fell to her sides as she stood there, her lungs pumping desperately.

  “Sam!” He caught her just as her knees buckled and she began to fall. Her body slumped against his. He gathered her close, then gently laid her on the floor.

  Greg pressed a hand to her forehead, repeated her name in a low murmur. She was cold and drenched in sweat at the same time.

  “Is she okay?” Nadine asked in a trembling voice.

  He looked up and shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t sense—” He stopped short just as Sam’s presence washed over him, returning. Sam shivered. “She’s freezing.”

  Mateo was kneeling by Bruce’s side, trying to help him. “Nadine, make a Thermos of hot tea for Sam. Greg, take her to one of the beds in the sleeping area and wrap her in some blankets.”

  Greg picked Sam up and pushed through the door after Nadine. She went left toward the kitchen. He went right toward the sleeping area. As we walked in, he expected to find the place crowded, the way it had been last night, but there was no one there, just a middle-age woman making the beds.

  He walked to the first cot and gently lay Sam down.

  “Is the girl all right?” The woman took a few tentative steps in their direction. She looked at Greg with big eyes full of distrust.

  “Mateo said I could bring her here. She’s . . . she’s sick, cold.” He walked around to the other side and snatched a gray blanket from the neighboring cot. Sam curled up, shaking as if with a fever. He placed the blanket on top of her and tucked it tightly around her body.

  The woman frowned, probably mad at having the cots disturbed. Greg didn’t care. He knelt next to Sam and kissed her forehead. Behind him, the woman walked away.

  Good, just leave us be.

  “Sam, I’m here.”

  She’s okay. She’s okay.

  He could sense her. She was there, but his panic built and built, his mind going a million miles an hour. What if they got cut off again?

  “Here, take this.” The woman had returned with two more blankets.

  Greg took them from her. “Thank you.” He felt guilty for assuming she had been rude.

  Since becoming a Keeper, it seemed he’d learned to expect the worst from everyone. The lessons along the way had been hard, but he still had a lot more to learn. Not everyone was bad. And, e
ven if telling the difference between the good and bad apples was hard, he shouldn’t give up trying.

  “Call out if you need anything else,” the woman said before leaving.

  He layered the blankets on top of Sam. Her forehead didn’t feel as cold anymore, but she was still shivering.

  “Sam, please look at me.” He would let her rest once he made sure she was all right. “Please.”

  A strong shiver raked through her. Suddenly, she sprang to a sitting position, her eyes popping open. She looked around, confused.

  Greg moved closer. “Sam, you passed out, but I was with you the whole time. You’re fine. You’re fine.” He wanted to believe that but, more importantly, he wanted her to believe it, to feel safe and get her bearings.

  “Greg.” Sam collapsed against his chest.

  He embraced her and rubbed her back in an effort to warm her up. “It’s okay. I’m here with you.”

  “I . . . I think I overdid it.” Her voice was weak, choppy.

  “You sure did.”

  “Is Bruce . . . ?”

  “I don’t know. I had no time to worry about him.”

  She had started drifting away when Nadine walked in with a large Thermos. “I have some spiced tea. It has a little bit of everything. Something should hit the spot.”

  Sam shook her head against his chest. “Don’t want anything.”

  “You should drink a bit. It’ll help warm you up.” Greg nodded at Nadine. She poured a small amount in the Thermos’ built-in cup and handed it to him.

  He managed to get Sam to drink a few swigs, but she soon pushed it away and lay back on the bed still shivering, though less violently.

  “Will she be all right?” Nadine asked.

  “I think so,” Greg said. “How is Bruce?”

  “I don’t know. I came straight from the kitchen. I’m sure he’s fine, though. He’s in good hands with Mateo. Look, I need to start preparing lunch. You come get me, if you need anything.”

  Greg didn’t take his eyes off Sam as Nadine walked away. Her breathing was still a bit irregular, but her face was relaxed now. If only he could warm her up. Better yet, if he could only figure out what was happening, what went wrong.

  He frowned and sized up the cot. It was narrow, but he didn’t need to be comfortable. He’d proved that last night.

  Resolved to help Sam feel better by any means possible, Greg lay down behind her and got under the covers. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight. Cold seeped through her clothes as if she had turned into a human icicle. That was okay, though. He ran a little hot all the time. Besides, he would give more than just his warmth for her.

  He would give his life.

  Chapter 39 - Brooke

  Now, this was the adventure Brooke had been expecting. She had never been in Greg’s apartment and they were about to break into it. Well, there really wouldn’t be any “breaking” involved. Perry was going to use a spell on the lock, which would work just as well as if they had a key, but still. They were doing something clandestine and that’s what counted.

  They’d just transported to Greg’s crappy apartment complex and were standing behind a two story building.

  Brooke checked her phone. “It’s apartment 204. This way.” She didn’t know the right way, but she liked being in command.

  She stuffed the phone in her back pocket, glad to have it back. She’d felt incomplete without it, as if a big part of her had been missing. Not a feeling she planned to experience again, no matter how hot the outfit.

  Her stride was firm and confident. She was glad to be in her own clothes again. The skinny jeans, boots and, not to mention, top had been a great choice. And judging by the way Perry kept looking at her, he agreed.

  Score!

  “At this rate, this is going to take forever,” Ashby complained again.

  This was the third time he’d made a not-so-positive comment and Brooke felt it was just a matter of time before Calisto gave him a piece of her mind.

  “If you have a better way, be my guest,” Calisto snapped.

  Yep. I knew it.

  Everyone looked at Ashby, expectantly.

  His face twitched with annoyance, but he had the sense to apologize. “I’m sorry. My impatience always gets the best of me.”

  It wasn’t a heartfelt apology, though. Man, the darn boy was haughty. He was probably used to being treated like royalty and always getting his way. At least he was trying.

  Brooke stopped to peek around the corner of the building.

  Joao grunted, clearly annoyed. “Try to remember we don’t owe you anything.”

  Ashby looked at the ground and took a deep, steading breath. “I know. I am truly grateful for your help.”

  “Can’t you people just agree to be friends?” Brooke asked with an eye-roll. “I mean, we’re in this together. Quit acting all holier-than-thou and be decent to each other.”

  Calisto lifted a fist. “Well put, sister.”

  Brooke bumped knuckles with her, then said, “The coast is clear. C’mon.”

  They climbed the steps to Greg’s apartment and, in a matter of minutes, were inside the barren place.

  Ashby looked around. “Nothing has changed.”

  Bare. Not even a chair. It made Brooke sad to see it. She’d had no idea this was how he lived.

  “I’ll get to work.” Calisto moved to the center of the empty living room. “This spot is as good as any.” She sat on the floor and crossed her legs, like she was about to start a yoga class.

  It had gone the same way in Brooke’s bedroom. Calisto had sat at the edge of the bed, still as a statue. As she went into a sort of trance, Joao explained what she was doing.

  “She has to find the right moment,” he said. “She always says it’s like a radio. Once she’s in the right frequency, she has to find the right station. She starts in the now, then goes backwards. If she finds she’s gone too far, she moves forwards again. Then she keeps doing that until she finds the right spot.”

  After her trance, Calisto had come to with one useful piece of information: “We have to get back to my place,” which was what Greg had said when his Keeper instincts warned him Sam was in danger.

  Now, Calisto closed her eyes. Her face went slack in an instant, and she sat so still she barely seemed to breathe. Brooke sighed, wondering how long it would take this time and whether or not Calisto would find any useful information this time.

  “All he has is Pop-Tarts,” Perry complained from the small kitchen. The apartment had an open layout with no dividing walls between the living room and eat-in kitchen, so Brooke could see him holding one of the cabinet doors open as he peered inside.

  “I could use one of those.” Brooke crossed into the kitchen and reached over Perry’s shoulder to grab a box of strawberry-filled pastries. “I prefer cherry, but this will do.”

  Perry watched her open the box and pull out a Pop-Tart from the silver packet.

  “Is this how you keep your . . .” his eyes traveled the length of her body, “figure?” He pronounced the last word in a tone that made Brooke blush.

  Damn! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed because of a boy. Second grade? She loved how Perry made her feel. With Brandon it had been a struggle to even be noticed, but Perry’s wandering gaze left her no doubt her presence was appreciated. The problem was, if she wasn’t careful, she might become addicted to his attention.

  “Pop-Tarts and pepperoni pizza,” she said, taking a bite.

  “Lucky you.” He took a step closer. His eyes smoldered as he looked down at her. “Anything else? Inquiring minds want to know.”

  “Oh, yeah? What for?”

  “It’s date-relevant information.”

  Holy crap! He wants to ask me on a date.

  She was blushing again, and it had to be bad because it felt like her cheeks had ignited. Brooke turned on her heels to hide her reaction.

  “All Italian food in general.” She closed her eyes and inhaled
.

  Perry took another step in her direction. He put a hand on her waist and leaned forward. His breath tickled her ear and sent a wicked shiver all the way to her tailbone.

  Sweet baby Jesus.

  This was no boy. This was a man, a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to show it.

  And he wants me. He wants me!

  “I love Italian food, too,” he said in a deep voice that made Brooke think of many delicious things, none of which had anything to do with food.

  “Perry!” Ashby called, his tone full of disapproval.

  Brooke jumped. Perry barely moved.

  “Yes?” he said, his breath still hot against her neck.

  “May I have a word?” Ashby said.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now!”

  Slowly, Perry removed his hand from her waist. “He is such a bore. We’ll continue this later,” he whispered, before walking away and leaving her in dire need of physical support. She grabbed the counter to steady her knees, practically swooning.

  When she recovered, she walked back into the living room. Perry and Ashby were nowhere in sight, but she could hear them arguing from what she assumed was Greg’s bedroom.

  Joao had sat on the floor and was watching his sister. “She looks so peaceful.” He brushed a lock of brown hair off his forehead.

  “She does.” Brooke sat by his side and offered him the second Pop-Tart still in the packet.

  “Oh, thanks. American junk food. We don’t keep things like this at home.”

  “I noticed.” Brooke crossed her legs at the ankles.

  “Mum’s a stickler about everything. Lessons, exercise, hygiene, food, you name it.”

  They watched Calisto for a moment. Her face was smooth, with no hint of any emotion on her features.

  “Where did you guys come from?” Brooke asked. “Morphids, I mean. Have you always been around?”

  “For a while, yeah. Recorded history dates back to 400 BC or so. We don’t belong here, not really. Our ancestors came from another dimension.”