Understandably, the young sorcerer was apprehensive, and warned Ashby that a mistake at any stage of the process could land him hundreds of miles away from Sam; or, worse, lost in another dimension—without any possibility of return. But Ashby had been too desperate to care, and after all, Perry jumped at the chance to learn something worthwhile, a welcome break from the nonsense Portos called an “age-appropriate education.”
When Ashby had materialized at the mall, people had obliviously walked right past him, engrossed in conversation, looking in their shopping bags, or simply staring off into nothingness. He had known Sam as soon as he laid eyes on her. The magnetic pull between Integrals was impossible to ignore. No one noticed how he doted on the lonely girl by the window, or how he almost fell to his knees at the mere sight of her. He might have even gone on staring forever, if his time hadn’t been limited.
Rousing himself, he had then noticed two girls looking at his Integral in a contemptuous manner. Sam had seemed clearly bothered by them, so he approached, hoping to gain her trust by commiserating. Once he realized how little she knew about herself, it had taken all his restraint to keep from giving everything away. He had wanted to tell her the truth, but worried it would scare her. The best he could offer was a warning of the changes to come, hoping that a gradual understanding of her situation would be better than a sudden landslide of unexpected knowledge.
“What did you tell her?” Portos asked as if guessing his thoughts.
When he had probed Portos about a visit to his Integral, the High Sorcerer had warned him against it, pointing out that revealing too much about himself and his connections to the Regency could put Sam at risk.
“I didn’t tell her anything.” Ashby kicked off his sneakers.
“What exactly did you share with her?” His mother demanded.
“Only that her life will change soon.”
“What else?” asked Portos.
“Nothing else.”
“What else?” the Regent insisted.
“Nothing else, Mother. That’s all I told her. She didn’t believe me, anyway. She thought I was a lunatic. I told you. I don’t think she knows about our kind.”
“Oh, just grand,” the Regent said sarcastically. She turned to Portos and asked, “Any harm done, do you think?”
“I don’t think so, but I will check,” Portos assured her.
“You do that. And inform me right away. Tell no one else. I won’t have my son or others interfering in matters that concern the welfare and future of the Council. Understood?”
Portos inclined his head, keeping his eyes on Ashby. “I will not share any details with anyone.” The High Sorcerer nodded his agreement and accepted the reprimand graciously.
Ashby, on the other hand, disregarded his mother’s threat. “You’ll not keep me in the dark about Sam. Will you, Mother? I’ll go mad if I can’t at least have news about her.”
The Regent ignored him and continued to address Portos.
“I’ll see you in an hour for an update on any harm Ashby’s half-witted actions may have caused. As for you,” the Regent turned to face her son. “If you ever do something like this again, you’ll sorely regret it. You are my son, but I am the Regent. I won’t have my authority challenged, even by my successor. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my Regent,” Ashby responded, inclining his head the same way Portos had.
Smarter. He just had to be smarter about visiting Sam without being discovered. If his mother was going to keep him in the dark regardless, he didn’t have much incentive to play the obedient son.
“And take off those ridiculous clothes,” she said, pointing at his jeans and t-shirt. “I’ve never seen anything more disgraceful in my entire life.”
Ashby looked at his cheap clothes and had to agree with his mother this once. The pants fit him the wrong way, especially around his bottom. The relaxed fit was decidedly not for him. He had always preferred more sophisticated attire, as opposed to this shabby ones. But he’d wanted to fit in, which he’d accomplished. At any rate, the clothes were coming off, and he would be happy to never wear them again.
Ashby decided his path. He would see Sam once more. Soon. No matter what his mother said. Regent or not.
Chapter 6 - Sam
Sam arrived home, feeling like she’d been hit by a bus.
How could I forget my shopping bag?! How could I have been so awestruck by some random guy? Some lunatic?
She parked her blue Toyota Prius, in the driveway and got out, feeling extremely angry for letting that crazy guy get to her. She unlocked the back door and walked into the kitchen. Flipping on the light switch, Sam looked toward the table, expecting to find dinner money once again under the salt shaker. Nothing. The house seemed quiet, but the lack of cash meant at least one of her parents was here.
Her stomach rumbled. Half a milkshake was not even close to a satisfactory supper. She opened the fridge and stuck her head inside, leaning lazily on the door. Just what she was afraid of. There was a boxed lunch with her name on it. The usual leftover crap from some lunch meeting at her parent’s law bureau. Some sort of wheat wrap filled to the brim with bean sprouts and cold, grilled vegetables. Yuk! Whatever happened to real food? Gooey lasagna, grilled steak and creamy potatoes, even just plain old mac and cheese.
She took the wrap and buried it deep inside the garbage can. The last thing she wanted was a lecture on not eating her dinner, or a reproach from her mother about the trouble she’d gone through to bring her something to eat. After a moment trying to decide on her gastronomic inclinations, Sam filled a large bowl with vanilla ice cream and crumbled Oreo cookies on top. Ashby had sent her into a carb-loading kind of mood. As usual, if her mom caught her with the triple-scoop beauty, Sam would say it was dessert—not the main course.
Quietly, she walked upstairs, her bowl of ice cream in one hand. When she reached the landing, she checked her parents’ bedroom. A light shone through the slightly open door. Normally, she would have continued on to her room, trying to pass unnoticed. Even the stack of library books on her night table was much friendlier than the blank looks her parents usually gave her. But, unsettled by her run-in with that crazy guy at the mall, Sam wanted to make sure she wasn’t alone in the big house.
Without knowing why, she tiptoed toward the master bedroom, taking a moment to gingerly deposit her bowl on a console table off to the side. When she reached the door, she stopped and listened. All was quiet until the rustle of paper broke the silence.
They brought their work home. Sam lost all interest in secrecy and detective work. She turned to leave, but changed her mind. After all, they’d thought of her and brought her dinner. The least she could do was thank them, even if she hadn’t eaten it.
After a quick knock, Sam walked right in. “Hey, I wanted to thank you for dinner.”
At first glance, all she saw was an empty room. Then she spotted her mother kneeling on the floor. She was leafing through a sheaf of documents, the doors to the antique cabinet in the corner wide open in front of her. Her mother gasped and looked back at Sam with murderous eyes. Trying to recompose herself, she stuffed the papers back into the cabinet. Only the subtle trembling of her hand gave her anxiety away.
Sam didn’t know what to say. For a moment, she stood frozen, watching papers spill out onto the floor as her mother tried to shove them into the cramped space. Barbara Gibson was not the type of woman who got flustered easily. She was a trial lawyer who ate prosecutors, witnesses and the odd judge for a snack. She could chew nails and spit bullets. Whatever was in that cabinet had to be major to upset her so deeply. Seeing her this way was unsettling. Sam let her eyes peruse the cabinet’s contents, hoping for some clue of what was going on. For a split second, she almost offered to help pick up the mess, but something told her that’d be a bad idea.
“Sorry, Mom,” Sam apologized. “I’ll let you work. I didn’t mean to bother you.” She backed up and closed the door behind her, grabbed her bowl of soupy ice cre
am and hurried into her room. She was sitting on the bed, distractedly slurping ice cream when a knock on the door startled her.
“Come in,” she said, after hiding her bowl behind her tall stack of library books.
For a few seconds, no one came in. Sam started to get up, thinking the door was locked, but before she got a foot on the floor, the knob turned and her mother walked in, glaring. Her eyes were red. Sam fumbled with her old teddy bear, feeling extremely awkward.
“Haven’t I taught you it’s rude to barge into people’s room?” her mom said in a subdued but shaky voice.
“I said I was sorry.” Sam stared at a bald spot on her bear’s fur.
“Your father went on a business trip,” she snapped as she turned to leave. “He’s not sure how long he’ll be gone. He said he’ll call you.”
Call me? He went on business trips all the time and never called. Sam frowned. “O-kay?” she said. It sounded like a question.
“Oh! One more thing,” she whirled and faced Sam again, “don’t leave dirty dishes up here.”
“I won’t,” Sam said, biting her tongue. She wanted to say something else, something with some snark, but she knew that it wasn’t a good time to poke the beast.
After her mother left, Sam tried to read a little, but it was no use. She was too distracted, coming up with scenarios that could explain what was going on. She set the book down and retrieved her dirty ice cream bowl from its hiding place. In the kitchen, she rinsed it, dried it and even put it back. A model daughter. She went back upstairs and considered going to bed, but it was only seven thirty. She changed into her shorts and tank top pajamas, trying to ignore how pathetic that was, telling herself she was just getting comfortable.
A movie, she decided. A new one. She was sprawled on her bed, browsing through the new releases when her cell phone vibrated.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Brooke asked.
It was good to hear a friendly voice. “Trying to find something to watch. How are things in New York?”
“A little bit boring. Jenny had to go back to work, so I was cooped up in the apartment all day today. We just finished dinner. How about you?”
“Mostly boring too, though . . .” she dragged the word, remembering her weird day.
“Do tell!”
Sam could imagine her friend making herself comfortable. She explained about Ashby, emphasizing how batty he was and leaving out the part about how the bizarre conversation had affected her.
“He sounds crazy!” Brooke agreed. “But if he was hot, we can overlook that. Was he hot?”
Sam laughed. “Pure eye candy,” she answered, feeling a twinge of shame for using the cheesy phrase.
“Sugar coma of the eye?” Brooke asked. They both laughed. That was Brooke’s favorite way to describe guys she found irresistible. “Well, did you get his number?” her friend asked, still laughing, though Sam could tell she wasn’t joking.
“No way! The guy was bananas. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was some sort of charming, extremely-good-looking serial killer. They’d probably find my body in a junkyard or something.”
“Well, at least then you could say you went on a date before you died,” Brooke teased.
Sam bristled. “Hey, that’s uncalled for.”
“I know. By the way, Reed called me. He’s back from chess camp, and he’s wondering if you wanna go out.”
“Man, he doesn’t give up, does he?”
“Maybe you two should go to a movie or something. Just so you both can get it out of your systems.”
“I have nothing to get out of my system. I don’t want to go out with him. You know that.”
“I meant you can have your first date and get that out of your system,” Brooke clarified.
“You’re the one who’s obsessed with me going on a date. Maybe you’re the one who needs to get it out of her system, not me.”
“Fair enough,” Brooke admitted. “I’d just like to go on a double date with my BFF before we are . . . let’s say . . . forty?”
“Whatever!” In spite of herself, Sam laughed. Brooke always had a way of lifting her spirits.
“So, anything else going on?” Brooke asked.
Sam considered telling her about her mom, but she didn’t want to spoil her good mood already. They could talk about that another day.
“No, nothing else, really,” Sam said.
“So, what movie are you going to watch?” Brooke asked.
“Umm, let’s see,” Sam picked up the remote and scrolled down the list, rattling off names. Brooke shot several of them down with gagging sounds and grunts. They were narrowing down to a few when the creaky step in the stairwell moaned. Sam listened for a second, then threw the remote on her pillow and walked to the door, phone pressed to her ear.
“I’d pick that last one,” Brooke said, after a short moment of silence.
“Yeah,” Sam whispered distractedly into the receiver. She cracked the door open and peered into the dark hallway.
“Why are you whispering?”
Is someone coming or going? Sam wasn’t sure. After a moment, she decided someone was going, since nobody appeared at the top of the steps. The door to her parents’ bedroom was closed, and the light was off. She walked into the hallway and leaned over the railing to look down into the foyer. No signs of life.
“You still there?” Brooke asked.
Sam tiptoed back into her bedroom and crept to the window. “Yeah, I’m here,” she said.
“What are you up to?”
“I thought I heard someone sneaking up the stairs.”
“You mean like a vampire or a werewolf?” Brooke joked.
“No, just my mom.”
“Close enough. Why would she be sneaking around?”
Sam held the curtain to one side and peered out. Her mother’s car pulled out onto the street.
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”
“Okay,” Brooke’s voice was uncertain. “Is everything all right?”
“Dunno. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll call you.” Sam pressed the “end” button before Brooke could protest.
She ran downstairs and opened the garage door. It was empty. Sam paused for a second, and, without warning, a sneaky idea took hold in her mind. She tried to dispel the sudden urge to spy on her mother. Closing her eyes, she tried to convince herself it wasn’t right to invade people’s privacy, but that just made the itch worse. She had to scratch it or she’d go mad.
From a shelf, she retrieved her father’s toolbox, found a small flathead screwdriver and made her way back upstairs. Already, her heart sped and palms sweated. She took a steadying breath, and, barely making a sound, she climbed the ample staircase toward the bedrooms. There was no need for stealth, but she couldn’t help it. She felt sly and clandestine. So not her, but whatever.
No one’s here, she reassured herself. Chill out.
Right now she had the chance to satiate her curiosity—if she could muster the courage and stop shaking like a wet puppy. A little prying shouldn’t be such a big deal. It wasn’t like she was stealing her mother’s cash. She was only going to see what was inside the cabinet, and then she would leave everything exactly the way she’d found it. No one would be the wiser. She was only this nervous because her mom was scary—super-villain scary, to be clear. If she discovered Sam sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, she’d probably turn her to stone with one look.
Well, she isn’t here to find out, is she? Sam thought, trying to embolden herself.
She stood at the master bedroom door. This is stupid. I don’t need to do this! She would find out whatever was going on sooner or later. But as she remembered her mother’s strange behavior, all hesitation leaked out of her mind. She turned the knob and gave the door a push. The hinges creaked just a little. A shadow moved, scaring her, but it was only the door opening and letting light in from the hall. She breathed deeply, telling herself there was no reason to be nervous. I’m alone. I’m alone. Goo
se bumps rippled through her body in waves.
Sam turned on a small bedside lamp and squinted, focusing on the cherry cabinet—the one she had never cared about before. There were enough papers around the house, all full of legal jargon that she couldn’t understand, so the inconspicuous cabinet had never seemed important.
Trembling, she knelt in the same place she had seen her mom. She placed the screwdriver on the carpeted floor and wiped sweaty hands on her bare legs. Closing her eyes, she listened intently for the garage door. Silence. If her mother came back and found her snooping, Sam would be grounded for life—or worse. Her mom could probably even think of a way to sue her for breach of trust or something.
She shook her head and, with a firm hand, placed the tip of the screwdriver under one of the old cabinet door hinges. A simple pin held them together. She tapped the screwdriver handle upward with the heel of her hand, and little by little, the pin inched out. Quickly, she repeated the same procedure on the second and third hinges. Once the three metal pins were out, Sam gently jiggled the door until it came away.
It was even easier than she’d imagined. Just like that, she was staring into several piles of documents. All the junk inside made Sam want to give up. The cabinet was ready to reveal its secrets, though, so she decided to finish the dirty deed.
With one door removed, the second invitingly swung open. Systematically, she went through the different piles of paper, trying to disrupt them as little as possible. Most of the documents were meaningless, but soon she noticed a manila envelope jutting out from the middle of a large stack. Its edge didn’t align with the rest of the papers.
She pulled it out and opened it. Hesitantly, she started reading. Two words jumped off the page and all but bit her on the face. “Irreconcilable Differences”. Her father had filed for divorce! Sam closed the envelope and put it back where she found it. She stared blankly into the cabinet while an enormous sadness settled in her chest. Ironically, she wasn’t sad because of the news. She was sad because she wasn’t really surprised. She had expected this for a while now. She had just never imagined her mother being so upset about it. She had to have known. The only surprising thing was that it took her dad this long to do it.
Keeper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 1) Page 5