“This way.” He walked toward a large apartment complex. He wished she could sense him too, wished she knew he was coming, wished she’d meet him halfway and run straight into his arms. But he could be patient, because sooner or later, she would morph. It was inevitable.
Chapter 24 - Sam
“Your move,” Sam said.
Greg’s thick eyebrows bunched in concentration over the chessboard. He looked very handsome under the dim sunlight filtering through the overhead trees, his ebony hair lustrous and silky. Oh, how she wanted to reach out and touch it. She thought his well-proportioned, perfect features served as proof of what he claimed to be. He was like an anime character with his big, sparkling blue eyes, chiseled lips and to-die-for hair. And don’t even get me started on his body. She held her breath and stared at the trees overhead to take her mind off the way he was biting his lower lip. They sat at a picnic table outside of James’s apartment, after finishing their trig tutoring session.
“Check,” Greg said.
She looked down at the board to find that he’d played right into her hands. Two more moves, and she would have him. Unable to keep the smugness off her face, she smiled and moved the rook to block the threat.
“Your turn,” she taunted.
He tilted his head to one side, looking oh so cute. Sam twisted clammy hands in her lap, stealing glances from the board back to his face. Over the last few days, they had spent a lot of time together. She’d showed him around town after their lessons, and Greg had stayed over for dinner each night. The story was that Greg’s dad traveled a lot and his mother did shift work at a hospital. Rose and James were satisfied with the explanation, and extended him a permanent dinner invitation. Sam had been grateful to them, glad to be able to spend time with Greg. She felt the safest when he was around and didn’t get tired of ogling him. It was a guilty pleasure.
“I’m screwed,” he said, seeing Sam’s trap for the first time.
“Yes, you are.”
“Well, don’t get too smug. I was never good at chess.” Greg put an index finger on his king and tipped it over. “You win,” he conceded.
“Let’s play again.” She started rearranging the pieces, knowing she could go on for hours staring at his handsome face—what better than a quiet game of chess to help her indulge?
“No, thanks. I don’t enjoy torture,” he said.
“I can’t help it if you don’t like a good challenge . . .”
Greg sighed and stood. He looked around the picnic area. They were the only ones there. “Things have been really quiet.” He sniffed the air like a hound dog.
Sam said nothing, instead she dropped the chess pieces inside a smooth velvet bag, folded the board and set it aside. She didn’t want the conversation to steer Greg’s way. She was still processing the whole Morphid story and both attempts on her life.
The magic she’d witnessed at the gas station couldn’t be denied. Someone had almost killed her with red lighting. Days later, someone had almost drowned her in a pot of red soup—not magical, but pretty freakin’ funnyhorrific or funnyrrific. She hadn’t decided which. Death by soup. Yeah, hilarious. Her mouth flooded with the taste of sour soup—a food she’d never, ever, eat again, even if Le Cordon Bleu flunked her in L’histoire de la Soupe or whatever.
Greg said the man had force-fed him some foul poison that made him cough up blood. And it was true enough. She’d helped clean it, even when he objected. But they had needed to hide all the evidence before the other workers showed up and started asking questions. The next volunteer came in from the back just minutes after they picked up the last mushy vegetable, and had given her plenty of grief about “spilling” so much soup on her shirt. Greg was sure Veridan had paid the man to disable him before attacking Sam. He figured that the Sorcerer circumvented Greg’s Keeper instincts by hiding the details about Sam until the last minute. Army Coat, as Greg called the attacker, had pulled an envelope from his pocket after disabling Greg, with the rest of his instructions. Clearly, this subterfuge and maybe even magic had been involved in concealing the plan from Greg’s Keeper abilities.
None of it had been a dream, as much as Sam wished it were. Seeing was believing, right? Except the believing part got harder when Greg started saying she was a Morphid, too. That’s when her brain slammed on the brakes.
“Avoiding the topic won’t change anything,” Greg said, snapping her out of her thoughts.
How does he always know what I’m thinking?
Sam was getting tired of this whole Morphid affair, but Greg brought it up every chance he got. She was frustrated at the lack of real answers to her questions. All Greg had were conjectures. Like yesterday, when she told him that Barbara and James weren’t her biological parents, and he wasted no time speculating about her Morphid parents, their castes and the reason why they might have abandoned her. It was hard enough not to know who her real parents were. Didn’t he realize that saying they weren’t even human made things harder? If she couldn’t have something concrete, she’d rather pretend none of it was true. Besides, what was wrong with the here and now? The new feeling of belonging, the novel awareness of the opposite sex, the giddy sensation in the pit of her stomach when she first saw Greg every morning.
“Would you like a snack? Rose and I baked peanut butter cookies,” she said, making her avoidance blatant.
Greg twisted his mouth at a disapproving angle, but relented. “Are you sure James and Rose don’t mind me hanging around so much?”
“I’m sure. They’re too busy making googly eyes at each other to notice anything else.”
“Maybe I should ease off, anyway.”
“Come on. What would you do at your place?”
“I can read, study, I don’t know . . . something.”
“What about dinner?” She really didn’t want him to go.
“I bought some cereal, and I know how to fry an egg and make toast. I’m not completely inept, you know?”
“I was going to help Rose make some linguine, and I—I want you to stay,” Sam added tentatively.
Since they met, Greg had alternated between intensely close and strangely distant. Some days, she could swear he liked her, but others he pulled away for no apparent reason. She was afraid to put herself out there and run the risk of rejection. This was her first crush ever, and she didn’t want it to end. Self-consciously, she rubbed the velvety chess bag with the tips of her fingers.
“You do?” he asked, sitting back down.
She nodded sheepishly, avoiding his gaze. He seemed to be on one of his warmer-than-lukewarm moods. Her heart thudded.
“Why?” he pressed.
It was unfair for him to put her on the spot, considering his fickle attitude toward her. She almost gave him a casual, noncommittal answer, but refrained, not wanting his mood to turn cool. Instead, she looked into his eyes with a meaning she hoped he’d understand.
“Sam . . .” His voice was but a whisper. She shivered at the intensity with which he pronounced the one syllable that was her name.
He reached for her hand. When he’d almost made contact, he stopped and seemed to think better of it. Disappointment swept through her, and she couldn’t help but frown. Yet her dissatisfaction seemed to encourage him.
He reached out again. With an electrifying tingle, their hands met.
“It’s . . . wrong,” he said.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“This,” he caressed her hand, sliding a thumb over her knuckles. A current of tantalizing energy passed between them, making a wild shiver run through her. How was it possible for such a simple touch to feel this way? It was as if his fingers held the secret code to every nerve in her body. She tingled everywhere.
“W-why? It doesn’t feel wrong to me.” His touch was too good to be wrong—no matter what else she was feeling. In a daring move, she interlaced her fingers with his.
Greg inhaled sharply. He’d been fighting it all along, she realized with pleasure. Trying not to scare him, she stood and s
tepped closer, still holding his hand. He averted his gaze, looking nervous and conflicted.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Wondering how soon I’ll regret this.” He stood and took his free hand to her face. First, he let it rest on her cheek, soft as a breeze. Then, he slid it down her neck, making her body scream with new, vast sensations. He lowered his mouth until they were only an inch apart. His sweet breath teased her half-opened mouth. He was going to kiss her, and there was nothing she wanted more. Her first kiss. Seconds stretched like hours as he got closer.
“WHAT IN BLOODY HELL?!” An irate voice yelled.
In one swift motion, Greg whirled and stood in front of Sam protectively.
“Sam!” Her name, a reproach on a faintly familiar, accented voice. “Who is this?!”
“Calm down, Ashby,” a second voice said.
“Ashby?” Sam said in whisper. She peeked around Greg.
“Stay back,” Greg ordered her, putting an arm out and holding her back.
“Take your hands off her,” Ashby commanded.
“Don’t take another step. Stay right where you are.” A strange hum filled the air as Greg vibrated with some strange energy. “That’s a warning.”
Sam peeked from under his arm and saw two figures standing ten paces away. She recognized Ashby immediately, in spite of his slicked back hair and black suit. A guy with brown hair, in jeans and a t-shirt held Ashby back, and—if beauty was the biggest giveaway—they were both Morphids. Crap. She’d been so immersed in things with Greg that she’d forgotten about Ashby, and their off-the-wall conversation at the mall.
“Let go, Perry. Repel him. That’s an order,” Ashby said.
“But . . .” The guy named Perry started to protest.
“Just do it.”
Perry shrugged and whirled his hands. An iridescent cloud appeared between his fingers. Sam shrieked and hid behind Greg, right before a dazzling beam of light shot in their direction.
“Greg,” she yelped, clinging to his shirt.
The magic hit Greg square in the chest, dissipating and raining to the ground like harmless fireworks.
“Blast it!” Perry exclaimed.
“What did you do wrong?” Ashby demanded.
“Nothing. He should be on the ground,” Perry defended himself. “He’s . . . he’s immune or something. But how . . .” he trailed off.
“What are you?” Ashby demanded, pointing at Greg. “Answer me.”
“I’ve had enough of this,” Greg rumbled. Over his shoulder, he whispered, “Stay here. I’ll take care of them,” and started in their direction.
“Wait,” Perry yelled, extending his hand in a defensive pose. “You . . . you’re a Morphid, right? I’ve only read of one caste that can do that . . . Keepers,” he finished in a whisper.
Greg stopped short, swaying in indecision. “What do you want?”
“A Keeper?” Ashby repeated in a perplexed echo. “I’ve never heard—”
“It’s a rare caste. A myth, I thought. A servile caste.” Perry didn’t sound very sure about his guess.
“Maybe he’s just a Sorcerer. Clearly, one better than you,” Ashby said.
“No Sorcerer’s immune to magic.”
Greg clenched his fists into trembling balls as he took a step toward them once more. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues. Though he was probably thinking of Veridan’s tricks at the gas station.
“Greg!” She grabbed his arm. “I—I know him.”
Perry stepped in front of Ashby and spoke, quickly and reasonably. “If you’re a Keeper, you must know we mean her no harm. Ashby’s her Integral, for God’s sake. He would never hurt her.”
Greg’s arm stiffened under Sam’s hold.
“Sam, order your . . . Keeper to stand down,” Ashby said as if Greg was a dog.
Sam bristled. What? How . . . infuriating! Greg wasn’t some servant to be bossed around, by her or by Ashby. All fear gone, she stepped next to Greg and interlaced her fingers with his. Ashby’s face disfigured into a mask of incredulity and pain. His reaction made her hesitate, but she forced the words out.
“Who do you think you are?” She really wasn’t looking for answers. She just wanted to put Ashby in his place. Standing like a rag doll, Ashby babbled something unintelligible.
Serves him right. He had some nerve if he thought he could show up and order them around.
Perry came to his friend’s rescue. “Please, forgive us.” He bowed slightly.
She scoffed at the ridiculous gesture.
Perry continued. “Ashby and I are sorry for our sudden and unannounced appearance. We didn’t mean to disrespect or . . . interrupt anything. We’re here for a simple and harmless visit. We regret the unfortunate misunderstanding.”
A bit over the top, but at least he was making sense. Ashby, on the other hand, was still babbling nonsense. “I . . . I don’t think or expect . . .”
Perry began rapidly whispering in his friend’s ear.
Greg growled under his breath, “So you actually know these guys?”
“One of them. It’s a long story. Tell you later,” Sam whispered back.
“But he . . .” Ashby started to protest. However, Perry intervened again. After closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Ashby seemed to heed whatever advice his friend gave him. He took a step forward and bowed, just a bit.
“Perry’s right. Please, forgive my . . . behavior,” Ashby croaked. The words weren’t coming on easily. “Sam, I wanted simply to visit you. I came expecting something different. Not this.”
“What do you want with me?” Sam asked, finding it hard to maintain a harsh tone.
Ashby took another step forward and when Greg blocked his path, he did his best to ignore him.
“I came to talk to you, Sam,” he said gently. He looked into her eyes so intensely that it made her falter.
She lowered her eyes. “W-what for?”
“Look. I think you should leave,” Greg said. “You’re upsetting her.”
Ashby turned to Greg, black eyes flashing with hatred. “I don’t understand why you don’t know your place. You’re standing between two Integrals . . . Keeper. I’m sure you know there’s no way you’ll get away with this for long.”
To Sam’s surprise, Greg lowered his head, abashed. She looked from one to the other even more confused than before.
Ashby turned to face her again. “I presume you now know what you are? What I came to warn you about before?”
Sam nodded. It was all too incredible, but as much as she wanted everything to be a big misunderstanding, denial wouldn’t change anything—just as Greg had said.
“Then you know you’ll morph soon.” Ashby smiled, apparently happy at the idea of her changing into something she didn’t want to be.
Sam shook her head, panic filling her chest.
“You mustn’t worry,” Ashby tried to calm her. “It’s quite natural. Everything will be clear then. You’ll know who you truly are meant to be, and I’ll be the happiest Morphid alive. You’re just confused, right now.” He smiled pityingly, and Sam knew in her heart that he told the truth. Still, his words of reassurance just filled her with more doubt and fear.
“I’m your Integral, Sam. Do you know what that means?”
Sam shook her head. Not in answer to his question, but to the idea of being mindlessly attracted and devoted to someone she hardly knew, like a dumb puppy struck with instinctual lust.
“It means that . . .”
“I know what it means,” Sam snapped. “And it’s creepy and wrong.”
Ashby looked as if he’d been stabbed in the heart. She stepped closer to Greg, but not without effort. She felt conflicted and knew that what she’d said was hurtful. Holding her breath, she tried very hard not to care.
“Maybe we should leave, Ashby,” Perry interjected.
“No!” Ashby raised his voice.
“Uh, is something wrong?”
Everyone turned to find Rose
standing off to the side, watching them warily. No one answered.
“Are these your friends, Sam? . . . Greg?” she added after Sam shook her head.
“They were just leaving,” Greg said.
“Sure,” Rose said with skepticism. “Um, what’s with the suit?” Rose asked, looking at Ashby up and down. “Have a meeting or something?”
Ashby winced, and Perry smirked for some reason. The comment seemed to be the last straw for Ashby. An expression of deep shame colored his face, making him appear on the verge of either tears or a killing spree—Sam couldn’t decide which. He looked so lost and out of place that she suddenly felt sorry for him.
“We were just leaving,” Ashby managed somehow. He turned to look at Sam, and his eyes wavered with the most pained gaze she’d ever seen. His lips parted as if to say something, but instead a sad, little smile stretched his lips, making her want to evaporate.
When he turned to leave, Sam’s mouth opened and uttered his name quite involuntarily. “Ashby,” she said. The yearning in her own voice made her shudder. He faced her again, expectant, as if his life depended on it. At the same time, Greg took hold of her hand. Ashby shot him a murderous glare, turned and left without a second glance. She fought the sudden urge to run after him, but it took so much to resist that she trembled like a butterfly wing.
“What was that all about?” Rose asked. She blinked when she got no response. “Well, I just came to see if you’re ready to help with that linguine,” she added.
“Greg’s not staying,” Sam said, pulling from his grasp. “Sandwiches would be fine by me.”
Rose looked at Greg, picking up on his surprise at Sam’s words.
“Everything . . . all right?” Rose asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Sam said. “His mom called and said she’d be home early. That’s all.”
“Oh! In that case, I’m glad you’ll get to spend the evening with your mother, Greg. You don’t get to do that very much.” Rose tried to sound cheerful, as if to brighten the bad news Sam had obviously just given him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sam said, walking away toward the apartment without a backward glance. The tearing sensation inside her chest almost bringing her to her knees.
Keeper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 1) Page 17