Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  Self-conscious about her realization, Brooke looked away and focused on the fast-approaching black cloud. As it got closer, it began to take shape. It no longer looked like a massive, dark splotch in the sky. Instead, individual forms materialized and, one by one, landed all around them: the metal railing, gables, pitched roofs and at their feet.

  “Wow,” Perry said in a drawn out breath. “That’s a lot of bloody owls.”

  Over a hundred. No, maybe two hundred owls had responded to Joao’s summons. There were small ones, medium ones and pretty freaking big ones, like the one blinking up at Brooke and kneading the flat roof surface with huge, scary, unreal, murderous claws. She stood without batting an eyelash until the mammoth bird got its bearings and turned to face the Wingmaster.

  “That’s right. Shoo, shoo. Move on.”

  Perry chuckled next to her.

  “What?!”

  He cleared his throat and smirked. “Nothing.”

  Like rabbits, the birds that stood on the flat roof began to hop closer to Joao. They were hooting and blinking their large, rounds eyes in that strange, freaky way owls blink.

  Brooke’s hair stood on end at the sight of that many clawed creatures at the beck and call of a cocky teenager. Good thing he was on her side.

  “That one’s cute.” Perry indicated a pointy-eared, gray owl the size of kitten.

  “Aw.” Now, this was more to her liking. The bird almost looked like a plush toy. “Can I keep it?”

  Perry gave her a wide smile that made Brooke’s chest feel as hot as if she’d downed a cup of boiling cappuccino. She blinked. Now, wait a minute! No way this hot/cold treatment was going to fly with here. She had no patience for flip-flopping. He needed to pick one way to be, then stick to it.

  A high-pitched whistle brought Brooke’s attention back to Joao. The birds had gone still as statues and stared at him as if in a trance. Joao hummed, then whistled again. It sounded as some sort of bird language the owls seemed to have no trouble following.

  With Brooke’s phone held high, Joao stared at Sam and Greg’s picture for several minutes. The owls looked on, their eyes fixed and round as marbles. A tiny square shone in their pupils and Brooke could have sworn it was the reflection of her cell phone, as if the creatures were seeing the picture through Joao’s eyes.

  “Wicked,” Perry murmured.

  Wicked was right. A chill went through Brooke. Light, at first, then violent as all the owls flapped their wings at the same time and took flight. They flew straight toward Joao as if they intended to eat him alive. Their wings flapped wildly brushing his clothes as they whirled around him in perfect synchronicity. They spiraled and spiraled forming a tornado with Joao at its center.

  “Show off,” Calisto grumbled, barely audible over the hundreds of wings beating the air.

  Then, in a sudden whoosh, the owls flew straight up into the night as Joao threw his arms upward, his fingers splayed apart and trembling. A scattering of feathers settled onto the roof as they disappeared.

  Joao shook himself, turned to face them and fell to one knee, sweat running from his hairline. His eyes were all black pupil, his voice a hoarse rasp.

  “Our search party just got a whole lot bigger.”

  Chapter 44 - Greg

  “Ah, up just in time!” Mateo exclaimed.

  Greg turned from the kitchen sink, a smile stretching his lips even before he saw Sam shuffling out of Mateo’s bedroom, where she’d been directed to rest as if she were in her own home.

  He walked toward her and welcomed her in his arms. “Sam,” he murmured into her hair. She hid her face into his chest to stifle a yawn. “Better?”

  “Much.” She pulled away and smiled up at him. Her trust-filled eyes sparkled in that adorable way of hers. She was definitely back to her normal self—at least as far as he could tell.

  “I’ve made some paella to celebrate,” Mateo said. “It’s my specialty. Everyone helped.”

  “I peeled the shrimp,” Jacob said from the dinner table, sitting very close to his father, as if to never let him out of sight. “It was gross . . . and cool!”

  Everyone laughed.

  Sam stepped forward and carefully took in the sight.

  Elizabeth, Bruce and Jacob were having drinks at the table while Mateo stood over the stove. There was a jovial togetherness between them, one they owed completely to Sam.

  “Man, I wished I could’ve helped,” she said.

  Greg looked at her from the corner of his eye, smiling, feeling so proud of her. She was so incredibly strong. He’d felt how much it had taken out of her to help Elizabeth and Bruce. It hadn’t been easy on her mind or body. But her strength went beyond the physical. She had lost her home, family and friends and she’d barely complained.

  I would do anything for you, Samantha Gibson.

  His heart felt huge with emotion, with love for her. He looked away, afraid she would notice, afraid his intensity would worry her and spoil the mood.

  She had walked over to Jacob and was wiping away his milk mustache with a napkin. Mateo offered her a glass of wine. Her eyes doubled in size. Greg chuckled at her reaction. Mateo had already offered him a glass, insisting that in Spain, teens were allowed a taste of wine with their dinner.

  “Okay.” She blushed as she took the glass and had a sip. Her nose wrinkled ever so slightly. Greg chuckled again. She hadn’t liked it, but no one noticed except for him, and only because he knew her better than anyone and could read her moods like he could sense the wind or rain on his face.

  “All right, get a plate and help yourselves,” Mateo said after a final taste from the ladle. “There’s plenty for everyone, so don’t be shy.”

  No one was, especially Elizabeth and Bruce, who ate as if food were a new invention. Mateo smiled from ear to ear, watching his guests and practically ignoring his own dinner. He sipped from his wine glass and made toasts for Elizabeth and Bruce’s brighter future.

  Halfway through the meal, during one of Greg’s distracted moments, Sam switched her wine glass with his. Surprised to find his drink full again, he gave Sam a shame-on-you glance. She looked straight ahead, acting innocent, but couldn’t hide the smile that crept to her beautiful mouth.

  Greg tore his eyes away from her lips and took a swig of wine. It burned going down, but it did the trick.

  When dinner was over, Elizabeth and Bruce insisted on cleaning up.

  “I used to hate it, but I’ve been so out of it for so long that even doing the dishes is fun,” Elizabeth said.

  Bruce joined her by the sink. “I know what you mean. It’s good to be alive again.”

  While his father was occupied, Jacob sat next to Greg on the sofa where he and Sam had relocated.

  The kid looked up at Greg with round, blue eyes. “You are really tall.”

  Greg couldn’t help but smile.

  “What are you?”

  “A Keeper.”

  Jacob scratched his head and stirred a cowlick out of hiding. “Never heard of a Keeper.”

  “I hadn’t either till I morphed.”

  Sam stood. “I’ll go make myself useful and let you two manly men talk,” she said with a wink.

  Jacob puffed up, his little chest filling to the brim with pride. Greg and Sam exchanged a fond smile.

  “So what does a Keeper do?” Jacob made himself comfortable against the cushioned sofa.

  “Well, my job is to protect Sam from anyone who tries to hurt her.”

  “Really?!” He crisscrossed his legs and adjusted his position to better face Greg. “Is she in danger?!”

  Greg shook his head. “Not at the moment.” There was no point in scaring the kid. As it was, he’d probably had enough scary moments for a lifetime.

  Jacob frowned. “Oh. Well, that doesn’t sound very exciting then. Not that I want Sam to be in danger or anything,” he added quickly.

  “It’s gotten very exciting a couple of times.”

  “What happened?!”

  Greg told
him in general terms about Veridan’s first attempt on Sam’s life. With each turn of the story, the boy’s eyes grew rounder and rounder and, by the end, he was practically bouncing on the seat.

  “So you have magic like a Sorcerer?” Jacob asked, sounding mystified. “Wow!”

  A while later, looking for a moment to themselves, Greg and Sam found their way to the fire escape.

  “You’re his idol now, I think,” Sam teased.

  Greg shook his head. “I remember thinking that way when I was his age.”

  “He’s a sweet kid, isn’t he?”

  “I can see why you like him so much.”

  “I know. He’s adorable.” She was quiet for a moment, then said, “So New York, huh?” She leaned over the railing and looked at the alley below.

  He joined her side. “Not the best view.” Another building stood only ten feet away, with its own fire escape almost touching theirs. Several dumpsters lined the narrow passage at the bottom of each building.

  “It’s probably pretty good for New York.”

  “I so wanted to head for the mountains.” Greg sighed and turned to face Sam. He watched her profile for a long moment.

  Finally, she swiveled his way.

  “Hey,” he whispered as he caressed her cheek with a thumb. The contact made him burn inside.

  He leaned forward and kissed her. She raked her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer. The fire in his chest redoubled and roared in his ears. They had unfinished business and his body hadn’t forgotten about it, not even for a second.

  She pressed the length of her body against his. An involuntary groan escaped him. He pushed her against the railing and pressed his lips to her neck.

  “What are you trying to do to me?” he demanded.

  “I just want to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

  “But I’ve been right here.”

  “I haven’t.”

  Greg played with a lock of hair at her shoulder as he pondered her comment. “Where did you go when you healed Bruce? There was a moment when I couldn’t sense you.”

  “I don’t know, but I didn’t like it. It felt so weird, like I could get lost forever.” Her tone was low and eerie—fearful enough to send Greg’s skin crawling.

  “I know this probably goes against your instincts, but maybe you shouldn’t heal anyone else until we understand your skill better.”

  “And how am I going to do that? It’s not like I have a manual that explains everything,” Sam said with a frustrated note of anger in her voice.

  He pulled back to get a better look at her face and make sure he hadn’t imagined her displeasure. Nope, it was there.

  “Hey, I just want to keep you safe,” he said.

  “I know. I know. But these instincts. You know better than anyone.”

  “I can help.”

  “I guess you could knock me out or something.”

  Greg frowned at the not-funny joke. He could never hurt her. “I’d opt for or something, which could very well translate into carrying you away to . . . a private place.”

  She smiled at the glint he knew had sparked in his eyes. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Sam pressed a hand to his cheek and drew him nearer.

  He closed his eyes and was scarcely millimeters from savoring her lips when there was a sound behind him that caused Sam to shriek and push away from the railing.

  Greg nearly lost his balance, but managed to get his bearings and place his body between Sam and whatever it was. His Keeper mind fumbled around looking for danger and, though he found none, and magic didn’t begin coursing through his body, he was ready to defend her with his bare hands.

  When the it turned out to be a cute, little owl, however, all he could do was blink.

  Sam peeked around his shoulder, her fingers tight around his forearm. “Is that . . . is that an owl?”

  “Uh-hum.” The bird was cute as could be, but the way it was looking at them, blinking his big, round eyes with such vivid interest, made Greg want to snatch its little neck and ask him what the hell it was after.

  “Aw,” Sam cooed. “Isn’t it precious?” She came away from the wall and skirted around Greg.

  He grabbed hold of her shoulder. “I wouldn’t get too close. You never know what diseases it might carry or . . . who sent it.”

  If Veridan had bewitched the animal to spy on them, would that trigger an alarm in his instincts? Greg felt nothing and had no definite answer to that question, but . . . better safe than sorry.

  “Who sent it?” Sam took a step back. “You think that’s possible?”

  “Anything’s possible. We’re Morphids, remember?”

  “How could I forget?”

  They stared at the bird and the bird stared back. It hopped along the railing, twisting its head this way and that, as if examining them through a lens. After a long moment, it opened its tiny, curved beak and let out a gentle hoot.

  “Oh, my God, I could eat him,” Sam enthused.

  “Let’s. We could make owl soup.”

  She slapped his thigh. “Don’t be so mean.”

  “Get!” Greg said.

  The owl gave him a dirty look.

  “Get!” He waved a hand, but the bird didn’t budge.

  “Let him be,” Sam protested.

  “That’s a gutsy bird.”

  With as much attitude as Brooke, the owl turned around, its small claws clinking against the metal railing. Its tail flipped upward, then it gave Greg a backward glance, its neck practically coming around full circle.

  “That thing is evil,” he said. “The Exorcist has nothing on you, little bastard.” He pointed a threatening finger at the bird.

  “Oh, please.” In spite of her disapproval, Sam chuckled.

  “Hey!” he exclaimed as the owl took a poop and flew off into the night, flapping its little wings one, two, three times until it caught a draft and soared away.

  Sam laughed and laughed as she hadn’t in a long time. She held her stomach with one hand and wiped tears from her eyes with the other. Her abandon turned Greg’s frown upside down, and soon, he was laughing, too. If only their lives could always feel this light and happy.

  He would give anything for that chance.

  Chapter 45 - Brooke

  Brooke wrapped a gloriously soft bathrobe around her body and took a whiff of its lapel. Her eyelids fluttered as its understated floral scent filled her head.

  “Heaven, just heaven,” she said, making her way toward the king size bed that ruled the center of her room.

  She threw her body across the bed, arms splayed at her sides. There were so many pluses about this little adventure that she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather be doing. No annoying calls from her parents wondering where she was (thank God for magical deletion of their memory stick!), fancy hotels, sushi in New York, a hot guy interested in her—this last one was a bit questionable, but still, there was a distinct possibility.

  A light knock on the door jolted her out of some complicated daydream involving Perry and a less grouchy Ashby. She sat up, heart already hammering at the thought of who might be at the door.

  Like a good girl, she looked through the peephole before opening. Her pulse skittered faster when her suspicions where confirmed.

  Her fist went up in the air in triumph. “I knew it!” She pressed a hand to her mouth. Perry snickered on the other side of the door. She shook her head at her amateur move.

  Idiot!

  Well, he’d come. She’d thought about going to his room, but talked herself out of it when she imagined Ashby sending her packing. Now that Perry was here, she felt somewhat vindicated.

  Pulling her hair out of her pony tail, Brooke mussed it around before opening.

  “Hey, Brooke,” Perry drolled. He was leaning on the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glinting.

  All her excitement and nerves congregated in her throat, and she barely managed a “hey” back.

  “May I come in?”
<
br />   Suddenly, having this predatory-looking male in her room didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  “Um, maybe just for a few minutes.” There were some questions she wanted to ask him, after all. She let the door swing open all the way. He waltzed in and looked around.

  Brooke closed the door and played with the tie belt, feeling very much aware of how little she was wearing under the bathrobe. Perry looked her up and down, his insistent gaze making her feel as if he had x-ray vision.

  Oh, my God! What if he does?

  No! Don’t be stupid, of course he doesn’t.

  Anyway, if he did, what difference would it make if she had on a robe or a proper outfit? Duh!

  “I’m wondering . . .” he strolled in her direction, “what you are or aren’t wearing under that robe.”

  Before he got any closer, Brooke spun and walked to the other side of the bed.

  “Um . . .”

  Snap out of it, you ditz.

  She wasn’t going to turn into a bimbo just because a hot guy wanted to see under her robe. She had no problem with that, not as long as her expectations got themselves in line.

  With a deep breath, she resolved to show him she could be perfectly calm and collected. “Why are you here, Perry?”

  He cocked his head to one side. “I thought that would be clear.”

  “I’m not dense, so don’t worry about that. I just want to get a clear picture in my head, especially since you’ve been acting so hot and cold. Expectations are everything in . . . things of this nature.”

  Perry nodded. “True. Setting expectations from the beginning can save a load of heartache in the end.” He paced from the night table to the end of the bed and back again. A hand to his chin, he seemed to be pondering what to say.

  A boat of lies, most likely.

  Brooke struck a pose and crossed her arms over her chest, bracing herself for his play.

  “I’m really sorry about the hot and cold treatment, love.” He stopped and faced her from the other side of the bed. “It’s why I’m here, really. I wanted to explain. Ashby forbade me to . . . pursue my interest in you, because I am interested. I want to make that clear.”