Keeper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  “And you are . . . ?” he asked in a heavy English accent.

  Greg said nothing and simply stared back, wary of the man’s next move. The flames by Sam’s car were spreading, serving as a raging, orange backdrop to the threatening figure before him. Greg gestured with his hand behind his back for Sam to retreat. He sensed her cautiously moving back.

  “Well? Where are your manners, my dear boy?” the man sneered.

  “Cut the crap,” Greg snapped, his mind racing. He looked at the man’s hands, wondering if he had shot that red electricity out of them. This man was a Morphid. No doubt about it. The beauty and grace were always a dead giveaway. But not just a Morphid; a Sorcerer, too.

  The man straightened the cuff of one sleeve and sighed. “Another uncouth Morphid raised amongst the unwashed human throngs. How unpleasant.” He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, a pristine white shirt and a silver tie. He looked like he belonged in an executive meeting, not blasting fireballs across a rundown service station. The man was slender, with an aquiline nose and jet black hair that gleamed under the sunlight. Fastidiously, he removed a nonexistent piece of lint from his lapel.

  “This will be more disagreeable than I anticipated,” he said, unexpectedly lifting a hand and releasing a bright bolt of energy that hit Greg square in the chest.

  Greg heard Sam cry out as he threw his arms up in a belated defensive gesture. An uncomfortable prickling sensation spread down his torso. He looked down in terror, expecting to find a gaping hole through his ribs, but he was unharmed. He shook his head, confused, panic ringing in his ears.

  The Sorcerer’s eyes widened. “A . . . a Keeper? No, impossible!” he said in a whisper.

  Keeper?! The word struck a chord in Greg’s mind.

  “Well, isn’t this unexpected?” The man looked shaken, but soon regain his composure. He took a few casual steps to one side.

  Sidestepping with him, Greg followed his every move, mind racing again. How was he still standing? Why wasn’t he lying dead on his back with a smoking hole on his chest? Judging by the Sorcerer’s reaction, he’d intended to kill Greg, not tickle him.

  “You best get out of here, mister! I’ve called the police,” Miriam threatened from behind the glass door.

  The Sorcerer scowled at the clerk, and she shrank back into the store with a little yelp. Furtively, Greg glanced toward Sam. She’d made it to his car, but she was still standing by the door, transfixed. He shot her a meaningful look, and she slowly went for the door handle.

  -Do something, before things get out of hand, Greg’s Morphid instincts cried out.

  This man was here to kill, without a second thought. He had to act or he and Sam would end up like two pieces of charcoal, either by the Sorcerer’s magic or the explosion from the gas pump. Greg could already feel the heat of the tall flames on his face. Making up his mind, he charged forward.

  “Stop,” the Sorcerer ordered, holding a hand up. He took two steps back, fear now in his eyes. Taken aback by this reaction, Greg slowed, wondering if he could get the reason for the attack out of him. “What do you want?” Greg demanded, casting a fearful glance toward the fire. Was there still time for this?

  The man composed himself and tried to look collected. “Simple. I want her dead.” He pointed a finger at Sam.

  “Why?” Greg growled.

  The man smirked, primped up his tie, then slid a hand behind it as if to smooth the shirt underneath. His fingers stopped, fumbling with something through the gap between two buttons. Greg frowned in suspicion.

  “You’re a bit clueless, aren’t you?” the man asked with a grin. “What’s your name?”

  “You say you’re here to kill her? There’s no room for stupid introductions.”

  “There’s no need for such . . . coarseness. My name is Veridan,” he said with a slight tilt of his head.

  Enough of this. Greg charged. The Sorcerer, Veridan, held his hand out, lips moving silently, but at a frantic speed. Suddenly, a red cloud burst into view around the man’s hand. Greg didn’t hesitate this time. The magic hadn’t hurt him before. He hoped it wouldn’t this time, either.

  Removing his other hand from under his shirt, Veridan dipped it into the crackling, red haze, pulled out a long tendril of energy and unleashed it. Without thinking, Greg planted his feet and stretched out his hands, wrists together, as if he were catching a ball. Fire-red electricity crashed into his palms and tightened into a wild mass between his fingers. It was somehow contained, yet furiously thrashing in his hands, like a captive bird of prey. The Sorcerer staggered backward, astonished.

  With a sudden jerk of his arms, Greg threw the globe of energy back at its creator. The orb flew straight into Veridan’s still-outstretched hand. For an instant, he gaped as his magic popped and sparked in pathetic, tiny flares of red. Veridan shook his arm to dismiss the spell, but it didn’t budge. His eyes widened in panic. Before the Sorcerer could fight off the sticky ball, Greg closed the distance and caught hold of the man’s lapel, grabbing the side of his neck with his other hand and driving him back.

  “Why do you want to hurt her?” he asked, as Veridan started howling and shrinking away from Greg’s touch.

  A burning smell made Greg realize just what was happening. Horrified, he pulled his hand away from Veridan’s neck and saw the charred imprint of his fingers. Gasping and holding his wound, Veridan staggered back. Police sirens whined in the distance. With a murderous glare at Greg, the Sorcerer rolled to his feet and began sprinting away.

  “Hey,” Greg yelled, giving chase.

  He followed him across the street and into an alley. When Veridan was only a few paces away, Greg reached out to grab hold of his trailing jacket, but his fingers snatched only air. Swirling like an idiot, Greg looked in all directions. Nothing. He’d vanished into thin air. Cursing under his breath, Greg rushed back to the gas station. As he crossed the street, he found the flames lapping the sky. They had engulfed the gas pump and the narrow roof above it.

  Greg redoubled his step, fearing the worst, then staggered backward as the gas pump exploded, rocking the earth under his feet. He fell to the ground with a painful thud. His face flared hot. Struggling back up, he squinted through the blaze.

  “Sam!”

  He saw his car through roaring flames and thick smoke. A piece of metal flashing had landed on the trunk of his car. He had to get to her. Running straight into the flames without a second thought, Greg found his body pulsing with cooling energy. He passed through the fire, a forearm in front of his eyes. Scorching flames reached for his exposed skin but didn’t burn him. They didn’t burn!

  He reached his car. Sam had climbed inside. Greg pulled on the blistering handle and wrapped the fearful girl with his large arms. Carrying her like an infant, he ran into the store, just as fire trucks and police cars arrived at the scene. He herded a petrified Miriam through the back door. Spent, he collapsed on the ground.

  Miriam waited only to catch her breath before starting in on a frantic rant that wouldn’t stop for hours.

  Chapter 14 - Sam

  “Who do you want us to call?” the officer at the police station asked.

  Not Barbara, thought Sam, but she didn’t say it out loud. If she did, that would surely be the first thing they’d do.

  “James Gibson,” she said, writing the bureau’s number on a yellow pad.

  “The lawyer?”

  Sam nodded. Her parents had billboards all over town, with James standing behind Barbara, arms crossed over their chest, stern looks on their faces. The toughest lawyers in town.

  “Oh, great,” the officer grumbled, walking toward the phone at his desk. Maybe he’d dealt with them before. Sam knew it couldn’t have been fun.

  Greg was being held in someone’s office while Sam sat in the receiving area. Through the glass door, he appeared calm . . . way too calm, considering what had happened. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Clearly, he knew what was going on, and he owed her an explanation. A very good o
ne. He turned to look at her with his impossibly blue eyes. Her breath caught and her anger dissipated. Even now, his look was comforting and protective.

  “Look, I’m not crazy. I know what I saw,” Miriam the cashier repeated for the hundredth time. She had insisted on coming to the police station after the police had dismissed her story as crazy. “The boy tried to kidnap the girl, but a wizard or something came out of nowhere shootin’ death rays outta of his hands. She saw it, too.” She pointed a chubby finger in Sam’s direction.

  Feigning distraction, Sam looked the other way, trying to hide her embarrassment as best she could. Poor woman. She was the only one telling the truth, and all she’d gained was a place in the Looney Tunes category.

  Just remembering what had happened made Sam’s palms sweat. Tension tightened her shoulders as she ran clammy hands along the lengths of her thighs over and over again. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. The charred remains of her car rose behind her eyelids.

  Why?!

  Maybe if one of the lowlifes Barbara and James had landed in jail had attacked her, in the hopes of exacting some twisted revenge, she could understand. At least that would have made sense. Instead, there had been flying red things that blew up gas stations. Things that would surely make her question her sanity if it weren’t for poor Miriam, insisting on the same story.

  Then there was Greg and the way he’d come out of nowhere to protect her. It had been courageous and amazing and . . . well, weird. She glanced over his way again.

  “Where is he?” an apprehensive voice demanded.

  Sam’s head swiveled toward the entrance.

  A middle-aged woman—tall, slender and beautiful—stepped through the door, followed by a gawking young officer tripping over his own shoes. Sam would have never imagined anxiety could sound so melodious and look so stunning.

  The woman scanned the room. Three officers rose from behind their desks. “How may I help you?” they all asked in unison.

  “He’s right this way,” the young officer sputtered to the disappointment of the others.

  He led the woman toward Greg. She was undoubtedly his mother. They had the same piercing blue eyes and unearthly beauty. A moment later, and to the dismay of all males present, an equally striking man followed in step. Like deflated balloons, all the officers sat back down.

  Sam stared wide-eyed, craning her neck. Greg’s mom hugged him, and his father put a heavy hand on his shoulder. They looked relieved. The scene struck Sam like something out of a sentimental movie, and a pang of jealousy hit her. It wouldn’t be anything like this with her parents. It had never been.

  Greg’s mother stepped out of the office and demanded to see the person in charge. Two officers hurried to help her. She went back inside and sat next to Greg, listening intently as her son explained. Greg talked, gesticulating and shaking his head at times. At some point, he gave a slight nod in Sam’s direction. As curious eyes turned her way, Sam slid down the cheap, plastic chair and picked at her fingernails.

  “Your parents are on their way,” the officer in charge of Sam said from over the counter.

  My parents? Both?

  Sam sank lower, wishing she could melt into the chair. Of course Barbara was coming, too. She wouldn’t miss the opportunity to humiliate her, not after last night. If only Sam had been able to speak to Greg, they could have gotten their stories straight. For her part, Sam had left out all the stuff about electric rays, magic or whatever, and explained how a crazy man had attacked her, and how Greg had rescued her. They believed her easily enough.

  A few minutes later, the clop-clop of high heels announced Barbara’s arrival. Like a laser beam, her eyes homed in on Sam as soon as she walked in. She looked furious to say the least. Jerking her poisonous gaze away, she strode to the first available officer.

  “What are the charges?” she asked in her most professional voice.

  Unbelievable! She thinks I’m a criminal.

  James followed his wife, but stayed behind, as if unsure what to do. Sam tried not to listen, but Barbara’s voice seemed somehow amplified. Words like damages and witnesses acquired a worse connotation when spoken in the woman’s dry tone. Sam busied herself looking at the tile floor.

  “Are you okay?” James walked over and sat in the chair next to Sam.

  The question took her by surprise. There seemed to be legitimate concern in it.

  “I’m fine,” Sam nodded.

  “Are you sure?” Unlike Barbara, James sounded seriously concerned.

  “You mean you called us just to come pick her up?” Barbara said, pointing a stiff finger toward Sam.

  “No, ma’am. We called you because your child was attacked by a stranger, and had it not been for the intervention of that boy over there, she might’ve been seriously injured, kidnapped, or even killed. There was an explosion. It’s all over the news.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Who would want to kidnap her, plain old looking thing that she is?” Sam looked up, just in time to see the officer rub his forehead in exasperation.

  Seeing that there was no fight to pick here—they’d called her as a mother, not a lawyer—Barbara changed her tone. “We’ll keep abreast and take the necessary measures to keep her safe. If there’s nothing else . . .”

  “You see why I had to leave?” James said, looking at Barbara with a grimace. “She has this . . . ability to poison even the good things in life.”

  Sam looked at James, bewildered. He’d never talked to her like that.

  “Listen,” James said, staring at his hands, “I want you to know you’re welcome at my place. I understand if you’d rather stay home for a few days, but . . .” He looked up and gave her an apologetic smile. “I just wasn’t sure at first, but I’ve thought it through. Especially considering all this.”

  “Thank you.” The words almost choked her. She swallowed hard to let the knot in her throat pass. She wondered what made James change his mind. Were a few days away from Barbara enough to remove the poison from his blood?

  “Well, thank you,” Barbara said, extending her business card. “In case you need to get in touch with me.” The way she offered it suggested that dialing her number would cost the caller a limb. She whirled and began walking toward the door.

  Out of nowhere, Miriam stepped into Barbara’s path, an urgent look on her face. “Are you this girl’s mother?”

  “Ms. Grove,” called out the harried officer who had been questioning her, “that won’t be necessary.”

  Barbara looked down at the woman as if she carried a deadly disease and quickly tried to circumvent her. Determined not to be ignored, the little woman side-stepped with Barbara.

  “You’d better not let that child out of your sight if you don’t want something terrible to happen to her,” Miriam said. A warning like that might have worked on most mothers, but it had zero effect on Barbara Gibson.

  “I won’t,” she said, summoning one of her best courtroom grins. Quickly, she walked around the plump woman and headed out the door without waiting for Sam and James to follow.

  “She was almost killed by a ball of red lighting,” Miriam yelled into Barbara’s back.

  Barbara stopped, but didn’t turn around. She seemed to be considering Miriam’s words. However, her pause was brief. Resuming her crisp step, she exited the police station, probably glad to get away from yet another lunatic, just like the ones who plagued her courtroom.

  James stood, but Sam remained seated, reluctant to go anywhere. She cast an anxious glance toward Greg, who gave her a reassuring nod. She waved half-heartedly and stood up. Just looking at Greg gave her courage to go outside and face Barbara’s wrath. When they exited the police station, Sam squinted in the bright sunlight. Barbara wasn’t in sight.

  “We drove separately,” James said, seeing Sam’s puzzlement.

  “Oh.”

  “Do you want to talk about what happened?” James asked.

  Sam shook her head. There was only one person
to whom she could talk about this, and that was Greg.

  “Are you sure? They told me what happened on the phone. It must have been terrifying. Did you recognize the man?”

  She shook her head again.

  “I can find someone who might be able to help, if you want someone else to talk to. There are people who can help you process these things, he said as they got into his car.”

  Wow, what was up with him? Freud paled in comparison. “I’m fine. I promise. I think it was just one of those random attacks you hear about.”

  “All right. Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

  Good. He would let it go.

  “However,” he added, before turning the key in the ignition.

  Well, it couldn’t be that easy. It never was.

  “For the next few days, I don’t think you should go anywhere alone. At least until the police find out more.” Sam could tell James was uncomfortable trying to fill the paternal role.

  “That pretty much means I can’t go anywhere,” Sam complained. Who was going to take her places? Him? Barbara? Not that she could go anywhere with her car burned to a crisp.

  “We’ll work something out. Rose can help,” he added the last bit gingerly.

  “Rose?” Did he have a new secretary?

  “Uh . . . you know.” He looked at Sam as if she were being dense.

  “Oh.” The girlfriend! “Well, I . . . I wouldn’t want to . . .”

  “She’s a nice person, Sam. I think you’ll like her. Please give her a chance.” A hint of command was in his voice, but he quickly went back to his more conciliatory tone. “She’s been wanting to meet you for a while.”

  “Really?”

  James nodded. “Will you give her a chance? Be nice to her?”

  “Uh, sure. No problem.” Thinking for a moment, Sam realized she really had nothing against the woman. It wasn’t as if she’d broken up a real home or anything.

  He smiled and started the car. “Great. Let’s get out of here. We can drive by the house to get your things, then head over to my place. Sound good?”

  “Oh, no!” Sam exclaimed.