Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  He cleared his throat and walked to the bedroom’s only window. “I have no reason to trust my mother anymore, but Portos confirmed it. They said . . . they said you’re a Weaver and can undo what was done.” Ashby turned his back on the window and faced her. “Is that true?”

  A Weaver. So her understanding of what she could do had been right.

  Sam shook herself and looked at Ashby, understanding then that he’d searched for her only to ask this question. She thought there should be more than the desire to be linked once more. Maybe he should have cared for her safety, should have asked what brought her to New York City so far away from home, could have at least explained how he’d found her and how Brooke came to be with him.

  Anything, but this one momentous question that brought with it the weight of so many memories, pain and conflict.

  Sam felt like something had broken inside her. If all a Morphid was supposed to care about were instincts and Fate, then she was no proper Morphid. Not at all. And she would never be, at least not when it came to love and companionship.

  She was more than that, and, maybe, if Ashby could show more than just blind, selfish obedience to his nature, she could have felt more for him. As it stood, she felt only resentment for his single-mindedness and her own involuntary casting out toward him. But, more than anything, she felt regret for the past and for what she would need to do if he made demands.

  Sam drew herself to full height and answered with a clear conscience. “Yes, it is true. I am a Weaver.”

  A long silence stretched between them. Sam waited, feeling the moment quaver between salvageable and irreparable.

  Her human side wished for him to see what she needed from him: a simple nod of understanding or the gentle words to repair what had never been whole, something to build a bridge between them.

  Her Morphid side wished and expected a righteous demand to set right what Fate had intended for them. But this side felt foolish and immature.

  “Will you set us right, then?” Ashby finally asked.

  A bitter smile stretched Sam’s lips, and she hated herself for it. Although Ashby’s words had not carried the ring of a demand, they had been righteous enough. He felt entitled to her, to her love, when he’d done nothing to deserve it besides stumble into a messed up fate.

  “I will not.” Sam took a step closer to Greg to make her stance as clear as day. Her own strength surprised her, and also the incredible gentleness of the simple statement. Considering the surge of emotions coursing through her, it was no small accomplishment.

  Good. She was glad for her subdued compassion.

  So much of this wasn’t Ashby’s fault. She wanted to be clear, but that didn’t mean she should be heartless.

  “You choose your Keeper, even when you know it’s wrong.”

  “There isn’t a single part of me that feels being with Greg is wrong.”

  “You know that, by choosing him, you are condemning me to misery, don’t you?”

  Sam looked away from Ashby’s accusing black stare and considered his words.

  “Are you willing to live with that on your conscience?” Ashby stabbed a finger into his own chest. “I . . . I have no choice but to want you. I wish I could erase you from my mind, my heart, my soul, but I can’t. You’re in there like a festering thorn, right here.” He stabbed again, his words hissing through the cage of his teeth.

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” Greg said.

  Sam took his hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. Let him say what he has to say.”

  “Oh, so generous.” Ashby’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You probably think that if you bear my insults, you will feel better about your choice. You won’t. There’ll always be that side of you that knows what you’ve done is wrong.

  “I bet it feels easy, now. Greg is such a nice, dependable choice. Must be simple to love him. Me? Not so much. I’m so full of myself, so entirely Morphid and foreign to you that I never stood a chance. Not in a million years.

  “But you’re selfish. You never tried to know me, try to see any good in me. Well, guess what? I am good. I’m smart, strong, determined, a good friend. And one day, this easy choice will fill you with regret.”

  The words cut through Sam like hot knives, each sentence searing its way to her very bones. He’d laid her bare, showing her what she’d failed to see. She had never given him a chance and that, well . . .

  That was the root of her crime.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed through her constricted throat.

  “I care about my people,” Ashby continued. “I’ve studied and worked very hard to learn all I can to be a Regent, one far better than my mother has ever been.” He scoffed, his mouth twisting with disgust. “But I guess I won’t even have that now. You will get it all.”

  What is he talking about? Sam blinked and shook her head.

  “I don’t want the Regency, Ashby. I’m far from finding my path, but I can assure you, it doesn’t involve the governing council in any shape or form.”

  He laughed bitterly and lowered his gaze. “Maybe you don’t want it, but some people are just lucky like that. They get everything while others get nothing.”

  Ashby stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a few steps toward the door. “I knew that looking for you was mistake, but hope is a ridiculous thing. It drags you through the mud before dumping you in the pit of despair.”

  His steps, as he walked out, were firm, but did little to fool Sam. The slant of his shoulders, his lowered gaze, the aura of hopelessness that surrounded him, they all showed the depth of his pain and the absolute loss of hope as he left.

  Sam wanted to yell at him, wanted to scream it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t to blame for his despondent outlook on life. Everyone is responsible for their own actions and their consequences.

  Aren’t they?!

  All was not lost for Ashby and she had stolen nothing from him.

  Nothing.

  “You can make your own path. It starts now,” she said, staring at his retreating figure. He paused for an instant, then kept going, without ever looking back.

  Fate held no court over anyone’s life.

  Free will could prevail. She was proof of it.

  She trembled on the spot, trying not to think of all the times her instincts had triumphed over her logic, struggling to convince herself that Ashby could overcome this blow.

  Free will trumps Fate, she chanted in her mind.

  It has to.

  Chapter 49 - Veridan

  Veridan sipped his wine, then swirled his glass about, watching the crimson liquid with satisfaction. The remains of a filet mignon sat on a silver-trimmed plate before him. Soft classical music played overhead while wealthy humans sat over expensive china and enjoyed a late night meal.

  He could always appreciate New York. He hadn’t needed to stay—not when he could transport at a moment’s notice. Going back to Rothblade Castle, however, simply wasn’t a choice. Not tonight. There was only so much of Danata he could take, and his many High Sorcerer duties had dialed his tolerance to its lowest setting.

  The wine warmed his chest and brought on a nice drowsy feeling. Almost content, he stood and walked out of the restaurant, ready for his nighttime rest. It had been a long and unpleasant day. The homeless shelters had left a bad taste in his mouth that even his exquisite preferences had failed to completely erase. He could still sense the voids’ unwashed smell on him, in spite of his earlier bath. Maybe a night at his favorite hotel and usual suite would undo the lasting effects of this waste of a day. At least, he hoped so.

  After entering the lobby, he paused for a moment, looking for his key card. He found it in his breast pocket and was about to move toward the lift, when he saw none other than Ashby Rothblade entering the building. His steps were hurried, his expression one Veridan knew well. The boy was upset, very much so.

  “I wonder why?” Veridan murmured to himself, a smirk tipping his mouth sideways. Slowly, he pulled back, out of sig
ht, but certainly within earshot.

  A moment later, Perry Hambleton hurried in at Ashby’s heels, groveling after him as was his custom. “Ashby, wait!” He stopped in front of the lift where Ashby waited. “You can’t be serious. Your mother will kill us if we go back.”

  “There’s nothing here for me or anywhere else,” Ashby responded.

  “We could go back with Joao and Calisto.”

  Joao and Calisto?

  Veridan searched his mind, but couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone with those names. He made a point to sear them into his memory.

  There was a double ding as the doors in front of the boys slid open.

  “You know I can’t do that,” Ashby said as he stepped into the lift.

  Perry followed suit.

  “I’m grateful for their help finding Sam, but they are with MORF. If I go with them, it would be . . .” Ashby’s words were lost to Veridan as the door slid shut once more.

  Well, that was interesting. The buffoons had found the girl with the help of two MORF members? Veridan threw his head back and laughed a measured, but quite amused laugh.

  He came away from the wall, straightened the cuffs of his shirt and stretched his shoulders.

  Obviously, the girl had turned Ashby down. A blind man could have told the boy that, but Companions were so pathetic. They never could see beyond their infatuated noses. Why anyone would want to be shackled to another was a puzzle to him. Not that he was complaining. Ashby’s desperate need for his other half had just created this wonderful opportunity to speed things up a bit.

  Sporting a crooked smile, Veridan walked to the counter and made some inquiries about the Regency’s standing account with the hotel. Three rooms other than his own were being paid for by the council’s generous coffers: two registered to Morphids and one to a human girl with a penchant for ghastly costume parties. He thanked the concierge and left the lobby, whistling and contemplating his array of useful spells.

  There was always a handy one for any situation. This was no exception.

  Chapter 50 - Brooke

  Brooke squeezed her blubbering friend and patted her back. “It’s a mess. I know. I know.”

  Sam pulled away and gave her a pointed look. “And that’s supposed to help?!”

  “Hey, you know I’m not good at this. Besides, I’m mad at you.”

  They had been sitting on the bed of what seemed to be the only bedroom in the tiny apartment for the last thirty minutes. They’d told each other everything that had happened while everyone else waited outside, as they very well should. To say that she and Sam had some serious catching up to do was the understatement of both their lifetimes.

  “Mad at me?” Sam asked, incredulously.

  “Yeah, for keeping me in the dark all this time. God, why didn’t you trust me?!”

  “You’re seriously going to give me a hard time right now?”

  Brooke pursed her lips and looked at the ceiling, weighing the question. “I guess things are going shitty enough for you that I can grant you swift forgiveness.”

  “Well, that’s very nice of you.”

  “Thank you.” Brooke batted her eyelashes at a glowering Sam.

  They shared a charged glare.

  “Feel better?” Brooke asked after a moment.

  Sam gave her a sad smile. “A bit. I guess we should . . .” She hooked a thumb toward the door.

  “Yeah, you should meet Joao and Calisto. They’re pretty cool. Plus, there’s something else I haven’t told you,” Brooke said cautiously.

  She hadn’t mentioned Roanna and Bernard yet. She’d tried, but she’d been afraid of the questions that would inevitably follow, questions for which she’d probably have no answers. She had no real information on Sam’s parents’ whereabouts (she’d never even learned the name of the town she’d been taken to,) what they were up to with that MORF rebellion group or what it all meant for Sam. Joao and Calisto would probably be better suited to answer anything along those lines.

  “Something else. Something bad?” Sam looked scared as a little girl after a nightmare. It’d been rough enough already, she clearly wanted no news if it wasn’t good.

  “No, nothing bad. I promise. Actually, I think it’s pretty awesome. C’mon, let get out there.”

  Once out of the bedroom, they found everyone hanging out by the small kitchen.

  “Oh, coffee!” Brooke exclaimed when she noticed everyone holding a mug. “Can I have a cup? Please?”

  “Sure,” a somewhat familiar-looking blond man said as he pulled out two extra mugs from a glass-panel cabinet. “You too, Sam?”

  “Yes.” She sidled up to Greg, who wrapped an arm around her.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded and looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Brooke felt sorry for Ashby, but these two belonged together. Anyone with two eyes and two ounces of brain could see that.

  “What an exciting night,” a little boy said from a high stool where he was perched like a cute parrot. He had a mug too, but his had milk, judging by the white mustache across his upper lip.

  “Most of us wouldn’t call it exciting, son,” a tall man stepped behind the boy and put a hand on his shoulder.

  Brooke looked around and, for the first time, noticed Perry was missing. “Where’s Perry?”

  “He left a few minutes after Ashby,” Calisto said. “He didn’t think it was a good idea for Ashby to be alone, even if he was ordered to stay.”

  The blond man walked around the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room and handed Sam and Brooke their coffee mugs. She took a sip and had to smack her lips. It was good.

  “I’m Mateo, by the way, and this is my place,” the coffee god said. “These here are Jacob, Bruce and Elizabeth.” A middle aged lady gave Brooke a finger wave from her spot on a low cot by a set of windows.

  Brooke nodded at her, then lifted her mug in a reverent salute to Mateo. He chuckled and got back into the kitchen. An awkward silence followed, in which every pair of eyes seemed to focus on Brooke for some reason. She fidgeted for a moment until she realized they were all just following Sam’s lead. Her friend was staring holes through Brooke.

  “Right,” she said. “You’re wondering about that other thing I mentioned.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow in response.

  “Well, it’s about your parents.”

  With a jolt, Sam pulled away from Greg. “What? My parents?”

  “Yes, I met them. They came looking for you the day of the party. But all hell broke loose and you and Greg disappeared, so . . .”

  “Roanna and Bernard?” Sam pronounced the names as questions, sounding uncertain of more than just the names.

  “Yes, they’re back together because of you, and they’re with this MORF group, planning to take back the Regency.” Brooke felt all excited for some reason. As if any of this had anything to do with her. But princess stories happened to others, not her.

  “With MORF?” Mateo said, his black eyes going all wide and sparkly. Why did his eyes look so familiar? Brooke scratched her head.

  “What is . . . MORF?” Sam asked.

  “It’s a group that was formed fifteen years ago by members of the council who were loyal to your mother. They suspected foul play from Danata when Roanna was supposedly killed in a car crash. They asked me to join back then, but . . .” He trailed off. “I had no idea they were still around.”

  “Oh, they’re still around, all right,” Joao said.

  “Wait a minute,” Calisto said. “Your name is Mateo, and the last name on the bell outside was . . . Fates! Are you Mateo Espina?”

  “What? You know him?” Brooke looked back and forth between them. “Man, this is getting so convoluted.”

  “I don’t know him,” Calisto said. “I’ve heard his name. You’re Ashby’s father, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, brother!” Brooke exclaimed. No wonder the man looked familiar. “Maybe it’ll turn out I’m half Morphid and my super power is matchi
ng purses and shoes perfectly. Something’s gotta give.”

  “I imagine my name isn’t well-spoken of in those circles.” Mateo lowered his gaze.

  “Not really,” Joao piped up.

  Calisto elbowed him.

  “It’s all right,” Mateo said. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of all the pain I could have prevented if . . .”

  Joao shifted on the spot, clearly wishing he had kept quiet about Mateo’s not-so-hip reputation. He cleverly shifted his attention back to Sam. “Your mum and dad are dying to see you. You should come with us. MORF can keep you safe.”

  “Where . . . where are they?” Sam asked.

  “Our—” Joao started, but Calisto didn’t let him finish.

  “One of MORF’s secret locations.” She gave her brother a nasty glance.

  “Secret, huh?” Greg said. His blue eyes flashed to Sam with a warning.

  “Well, it is,” Calisto said. “And I totally understand if you’re suspicious. You don’t know us, so why trust us? We’re in the same boat.” She looked around the room, pausing a bit longer on the three adults.

  “So?” Brooke stretched out the word. “What do we do then?”

  “Personally, I’d like to go home,” Joao said, “but it seems our chauffeur isn’t here.”

  “You have a chauffeur?” Milk-mustache boy, Jacob, asked, looking as innocent as a bag of kittens.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not the kind of chauffeur you’re thinking of, Jacob.” Sam smiled at the kid with fondness and Brooke knew right away that the boy had Sam wrapped around his little finger.

  Darn cute boys get all the perks.

  “No, Jacob,” Calisto, who stood next to the boy, leaned toward him with a smile. “We’re talking about our friend, Perry. He’s a Sorcerer and can take us wherever we need to go in a matter of seconds.”

  “Awesome,” Jacob said, his blue eyes full of dreamy stars. “I hope I morph into a Sorcerer. That would be sweet.”

  “Sorcerers get a good rep.” Calisto twisted her mouth as if she thought little of them. “But there are other castes just as cool or cooler even.”