KEEPER

by Ingrid Seymour

“She’s a monster,” Sam blurted out.

  “A Ripper,” Portos whispered. “Something I thought was only a myth.”

  “Yes, a Ripper.” It was the perfect name for her.

  “I never suspected it . . .” Portos said with shame as they turned another corner.

  “Nobody around here seems to know much of anything,” Greg said.

  “You don’t understand, boy. Your kind and . . . her kind have only ever existed in the distant past. For many, only in fairy tales and nursery rhymes.”

  “Perry!” Greg exclaimed as he spotted the young sorcerer walking away from them down a grand stairway.

  Perry stopped and climbed back to the top of the steps. “Hey, I just got back from undoing all the spells on Sam’s family. Where’s Ashby?”

  Sam closed her eyes at the mention of the name. Something inside her twisted in agony, and she held onto Greg’s arm for support.

  “He . . .” Greg started, but after looking at Sam, he was unable to utter the words.

  “His mother, she . . .” Portos started, but he was unable to finish, too. “Not now, Perry. Later. I need to help them get back home.”

  Perry looked back uncertain. “And Ashby’s good with that?”

  “Everyone’s okay with it,” Greg said, hoping to avoid the impending fallout. “Let’s go, old man.”

  “Nah, wait a minute.” Perry stepped in front of Greg to block the way. “Portos, Ashby can’t be okay with this.”

  “Ashby’s dead,” Greg blurted out.

  Portos went pale. Sam choked back a sob as Perry gaped and turned to Portos with a questioning glance. The old man gave him a grief-stricken nod as his only response.

  “No,” Perry shook his head. “He can’t be dead. He was just . . .” Perry stopped.

  “There they are,” someone shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Go!” Greg gave the old man an encouraging shove on the shoulder.

  Portos started up the hall again. Greg ushered Sam forward. Perry stayed on the spot, staring blankly at the floor. After a moment, he turned sharply and ran toward the Regent’s hall.

  In an instant, the sound of boots against the stone floors filled the halls. Portos lumbered, going as fast as his old legs seemed to allow. After a few more turns down the labyrinth, Greg and Sam entered a large room filled with bookshelves, long working tables and a small, austere bed. Portos shut the door and locked it, just as something heavy thudded against it on the other side.

  “Open the door,” someone shouted, followed by several loud knocks on the heavy oak.

  The High Sorcerer hurried to a large, wooden cabinet and threw the doors open. Its shelves were stacked with row upon row of vials filled with luminescent potions, half-spent candles, jars with yellowed labels stuffed with herbs and small white things that suspiciously resembled teeth.

  Something heavy crashed against the door. Sam jumped and yelped. Portos slid a drawer open, pulled out a sun-shaped, silver amulet and slipped it over his neck. He grabbed two small vials of green, iridescent liquid and turned around to face them.

  “Drink this!” he ordered, handing each a small bottle.

  They uncapped the containers and gulped the nasty brew.

  Outside, one of their pursuers barked an order, “Back away from the door!” Seconds later, the metallic click of a gun cocking was followed by a loud bang. Splinters flew as the heavy lock twisted in the wooden door.

  “Do it. Send us back. Now!” Greg shouted.

  Portos squeezed his amulet between old, nubby fingers and quickly began muttering an incantation. A tingling feeling began in Sam’s lips and spread downward, traveling all the way down to her toes. She shut her eyes as her stomach dropped like she was riding a roller coaster. There was a cracking sound, as if the world were breaking in half. She lurched, but Greg was there, one arm around her waist.

  Then everything went still. Sam opened her eyes and found herself staring into grease-stained pizza boxes. They were back in the hotel room that they’d left only hours ago. Portos wasn’t with them. It was only Sam and Greg.

  No one else.

  She pressed her face to Greg’s chest, her body exhausted with both relief and dread. He held her tight and whispered reassuring words in her ear. They were home, but she didn’t feel safer—no matter how many times Greg said it would be all right.

  Chapter 39 - Sam

  “So how was Europe? You have got to show me some pictures!” Brooke exclaimed, giving Sam a tight hug that felt different since she was now taller. “I missed you.” As Brooke released her, Sam looked carefully for any hint of skepticism in her features, but her friend showed no sign that she’d noticed anything different—even if Sam didn’t look anything like her old self anymore. Not even the fact that Sam was now taller seemed to make an impression.

  What a mind job!

  Apparently, Perry was quick at following orders, and everyone, including James and Rose, showed no awareness of the physical changes Sam had undergone or the time she’d been missing.

  “I missed you, too,” Sam admitted, giving Brooke another tight hug that made the girl blink in surprise.

  “You okay?” Brooke asked.

  “I’m fine.” Sam fought the tears that suddenly filled her eyes.

  She’d missed the normalcy, even the boredom. She’d wanted her life to change, but not like this.

  For now, it was good to be back in school. They had stayed away for two weeks after their return from England, afraid that an army of Morphids, headed by Regent Danata herself, would come after them. But nothing had happened, and Greg’s instincts had remained quiet, though alert. The possibility of having to run, if and when Greg sensed danger, loomed over their heads.

  Fearful and gloomy thoughts occupied Sam’s mind most of the time. She found herself staring off into space, the feeling of emptiness heavy on her heart. Sleep eluded her most nights and when it came, nightmares made real rest impossible. She dreamed about being ripped from Greg, the way she’d been separated from Ashby.

  Most disturbing of all was the sudden recollection of the memories Veridan had unlocked. The woman she had now come to believe was her mother, and the unseen face of the man who must have been her father. Her need to learn their identities made her restless and taunted her, driving her mind to tragic explanations for her adoption.

  With all of that, school was a much needed distraction. She had to have a purpose and weaving people back together was not a profession that would ever put food on the table. As elated as she’d been after helping Bernard, she wanted to feel normal and human, even if she was a Morphid. She didn’t have the slightest idea how to be comfortable in this new skin. After all the trials, she didn’t even know her caste. What if there were more mental changes she wasn’t even aware of?

  Greg kept insisting it would take time, but she doubted it would ever be all right. What they’d gone through with Danata and Veridan made her despise her own kind. They were also part of her nightmares, lurking in every shadow.

  Bernard came to her, too, with his sad, lost eyes. She always thought of him with longing, and the crazy hope that he and his Roanna had something to do with her past—that they might even be her parents. Why else would Bernard have kept calling her by his wife’s name? Why else would Danata hate Sam so much? There had to be some sordid history there. So many questions, and no answers.

  “You didn’t have to take both of them, you know,” Brooke said as they walked toward class. “School’s been dull without those two hotties. Did you bring them back?”

  She hadn’t stopped to consider how obvious it was that they all disappeared at the same time. It was best to avoid this question altogether. “So what did I miss?”

  “What did you miss? Are you serious? You’re not going to get away with that so easily. I have to see pictures, hear about what you did—”

  “That’s the thing. Uh, my . . . camera phone broke.”

  “What? What kind of lame excuse is that? You could h
ave bought another one, bought a disposable, something!”

  “Um . . . no, it broke after the trip. Some TSA guy dropped it at the airport. I lost all my pictures.”

  Brooke narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “You’re kidding, right? Sam, I’m your best friend, and you didn’t even send me one miserable email or text. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  “Sure.” Brooke rolled her eyes. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t another of our most talked about missing persons. We were about to issue an Amber alert,” she added, looking at Greg who was headed in their direction. “What did you guys do with the other one, kill him?”

  Sam felt her knees buckle, then Greg was right beside her, holding her by the waist at just the right time.

  “Hello, Brooke. How are you? It’s good to see you, too,” Greg said.

  “I guess neither one of you is going to answer my questions. Fine, be mysterious for all I care.” Brooke stomped away without a backward glance.

  “Brooke,” Sam called after her.

  “Let her go. She’ll get over it.”

  “I hope so.”

  “How are you today?”

  “Glad to be back . . . I guess.”

  Greg smiled and shyly took her hand. “Things will settle down.”

  “I’m counting on that, or I won’t be able to stay sane. I don’t know how you . . . ?”

  As always, Greg understood. “You don’t know how I . . . deal with it?”

  She nodded. Since their return home, her conversations with Greg had been circumspect. She didn’t like discussing what had happened, reliving the agony. So many faces haunted her dreams. But today, she felt as ready as she’d probably ever be. She met Greg’s gaze and nodded.

  “I take it one day at a time, one minute at a time. Do you . . .” he paused, allowing her a chance to dismiss the conversation, “feel different, now that . . . you’re only linked to me?”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes.” The word came out as a breath of exhaustion.

  Greg stared at the floor and shifted his weight from one foot to another. She let go of his hand and hugged herself.

  “But each day, the emptiness gets a bit smaller. Sometimes I manage not to think about it all. Other times . . . well, it’s not so easy. I guess time will make it all okay . . . eventually.”

  “Good . . .” Greg’s lips stayed parted as if he wanted to add more, but then he pressed them back together. What else was there to say? Nothing.

  “Any . . . alarms?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” Greg tried to smile reassuringly, but it fell short of its goal.

  They had left things in an upheaval at Rothblade Castle. It might take the Regent some time to get it together again, but they had no doubt she would recover, and once she did . . .

  “She’s crazy,” Greg said. “She’ll want revenge, even if it’s all her fault, even if she was the one who . . .”

  “Who killed Ashby,” Sam finished for him. “You can say it. I can handle it now.” She tried to tell herself that at least once a day. It still hurt like hell, but at least she could say it out loud.

  “Yeah well, we won’t be safe indefinitely. I’m sure of that. If only I’d killed that bastard,” Greg expressed his regret yet again, but he wasn’t a killer.

  Sam sighed. “Veridan’s just one of our problems.”

  “I know what you mean. The Regent’s the one. I’m afraid she might try to . . .” He didn’t finish.

  “I know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.” Her head wasn’t stuck in the sand, even if it seemed that way. Her link to Greg was their only weapon. If Danata had managed to sever that, they might die or, in the least, Greg would lose his powers.

  “We’ll be okay, Sam. That’s my job, and I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m getting more used to my powers every day.”

  “She’s an awful woman,” Sam continued. “What she did to that poor man, Bernard. Only a monster could do that. I wonder how many others she’s hurt that way.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Sam. You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

  “Every day, I try to tell myself that I shouldn’t worry about it, that it’s not my problem, but what if it is? What if that’s the reason I’m here?”

  The bell rang, announcing their next class. Sam was relieved. Her mood always turned sour when she considered the possibility that weaving broken, lost souls was a moral duty she must fulfill.

  “Ugh, calculus next,” Greg complained, bringing her back to a much easier reality, a reality she wished to be part of wholeheartedly. “You’re going to have to help me catch up.”

  She smiled. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Always know what I need?”

  He shrugged and smiled, his eyes twinkling. “One of the perks.”

  They exchanged an awkward, meaningful glance. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you with math. You’ll be fine.”

  Greg tenderly brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I know.” It was the first time since they returned that he’d touched her this way. A chill ran down Sam’s spine, leaving her with a pleasant thrill. A small part of her resented the reaction, but that half was growing quieter every day.

  “Let’s talk after class,” Greg said, inclining his head toward their classroom.

  * * *

  Later, in Spanish class, Sam found her regular seat empty. As she sat, reassured by Greg’s presence in the back of the room, Brooke ignored her by pretending to doodle in the back of her notebook.

  “Brooke,” Sam whispered. “Brooke!”

  “What?” Brooke turned around, looking peeved.

  “I’ll tell you everything.”

  Brooke’s face lit up and her eyes widened with expectation. “So . . . ?” she nagged when Sam remained quiet.

  “I just can’t right now . . . not for some time.”

  “Oh, what a load of . . .”

  “Buenos días,” Profesora Garza said, walking in at her customary brisk pace.

  “It’s not good, and . . . it wouldn’t be easy right now. It’s too soon,” Sam whispered.

  Brooke must have seen the pain on Sam’s face, because her expression became sheepish. “Yo comprendo,” she said in her best Spanish accent. “But don’t think I’ll let you forget.” Brooke waved a warning finger in front of Sam’s face.

  “I know you won’t. Don’t worry. I’ll tell you, even if you’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “I won’t,” Brooke said, sounding hurt by the accusation.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  After a very normal day of classes, Sam met Greg by the lockers. He was putting his books and basketball inside. His last period—the only one they didn’t share—was gym, so he wore shorts, a Pacers jersey, and wet hair.

  “Cool tattoo, dude. Can I look at it?” Matt Canden said as he noticed part of Greg’s mark peeking out from behind his collar. Whether from secrecy or embarrassment, Sam couldn’t tell which, Greg pulled his jersey back up.

  “Sorry, man!” Matt looked chagrined. “I just wanted to see what it was, but that’s cool. I’d love to get one, but my folks won’t have it.”

  Greg smiled apologetically. “No problem, man. Good game,” he told Matt, trying to smooth things over a bit. Matt seemed unaffected, and waved goodbye without a second thought.

  “Hey, there you are,” Greg said as he noticed Sam, standing off to the side.

  “I hide mine, too. We should research how they do scarification, so we can explain when somebody asks the inevitable questions.”

  “I can tell you how. I’ve already looked into it,” Greg said with a rueful smile.

  Sam couldn’t help but be amused by his innocent expression. For all his heroic bravery and good looks he was still the same shy Greg she’d met in the beginning. Her lips stretched into what must have looked like a sad smirk. Her life had been so bleak lately, it felt as if a hard shell of grief was breaking off her face. As she
smiled, Greg’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. Once more, she was amazed by how well he knew her, by how in-tune to the smallest details, including the exact words she needed at a given time, or whether a mere smile or shrug would be better.

  In a sudden spur of relief and gratitude, she threw herself at Greg and wrapped her arms around him. He stumbled a little, then returned the embrace. His scent was masculine, and his strong arms felt good around her. Greg held her tight for a long moment, then muttered something so low that she couldn’t catch it.

  “What did you say?” Sam asked.

  “Uh, nothing.” He shook his head and avoided her searching eyes.

  “You said something.”

  “It’s nothing. I’ll tell you later.”

  “I want to know now.”

  Greg stared at the lockers as if what he’d said was written on one of the metal doors. He seemed very nervous. “You . . . you know already.”

  She searched his face, trying to make eye contact. Greg’s gaze shifted, and with azure intensity met hers, reaching into the deepest corners of her being. Suddenly, she was glad he hadn’t spoken the words loud enough for her to hear. What he’d said to her was plain to see in the fervor of his gaze. Once again, he seemed to understand it wasn’t time for her to hear him out.

  She shook herself and changed the subject. “Are . . . are you planning to stay and do your homework at the library?” Sam asked. After what had crossed between them, it seemed like the most callous thing to ask, but Greg replied casually enough.

  “Nah.”

  “Oh.” She was disappointed.

  “What if we go to my place and study there? I mean . . . if you want.”

  Sam felt her breath snag like a piece of silk on splintered wood. The idea of being alone with Greg was exhilarating and scary at the same time.

  “I better not,” she managed.

  “But you will, right? Someday?”

  Sam didn’t know what to say, but the heat gathering in her cheeks answered the question. An irksome smile of triumph stretched on his lips. It wasn’t malicious or conceited, but her womanly pride told her to show her displeasure at such audacity. She shoved Greg as hard as she could. He barely moved and his expression only grew more satisfied.