“No. I don’t think so. What I had to do for her was . . . much different. Harder.”
Sam didn’t want to think about last night. She had no good explanation or understanding for the finality of the awful task she’d performed. It seemed logical that it had been for the best, but the concept of completely excising someone’s vinculum felt as wrong as what Danata or other Rippers—if there were others—did to begin with.
“What exactly did you do?” Greg asked tentatively. “She kept saying ‘he’s gone’ over and over again. Is her Integral . . . dead?”
Tears prickled the backs of Sam’s eyes. She had no reason to cry for someone she’d never met, but the emotions that surged through her weren’t entirely her own. They were ghosts that belonged to Elizabeth, remnants of her sadness, infinite loss, and the sense that she’d never be whole again.
“Yes. He’s dead.” Sam held the onslaught back, enough to make her words sound normal.
“So then, you couldn’t heal her?” It was half a question and half a statement.
“Not in the way I healed Bernard. That was impossible. Instead, I . . . my instincts guided me to do something else.”
Greg wrung his hands together, waiting for Sam. He knew there was more, also knew to give her a chance to get her head around it, to accept it.
“I have to trust my instincts, don’t I?” She fought harder to keep the tears from spilling. She didn’t want to cry anymore. She wanted to be strong, wanted to understand this other being that lived inside of her. The split-personality sensation was getting old. Was it like this for everyone? Or would she have been able to understand her Morphid nature if she had grown up among her kind?
“It gets easier,” Greg said. “It’s maddening at first. The skills don’t come with a handbook. Our castes are too rare, anyway. For all we know, you might be the first of your kind. We have to learn as we go. And yes, you should trust your instincts. They’ve never led me in the wrong direction.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “They led me to you.”
His words reassured her. She nodded, placed a hand on top of his to hold his cool fingers against her flushed face.
“I . . . destroyed what was left of Elizabeth’s vinculum.” Sam spoke with her eyes closed, as if to hide her shame from the world. If she was to trust her instincts why did this admission hurt and embarrassed her?
“Um, maybe destroy isn’t the right word,” Greg said. As usual, he went to the heart of the matter, aware exactly of what was bothering her. “And if it is, then it means it was like removing a sort of . . . tumor, a cancer that needed to go.”
“But the way she was screaming. I hurt her, I—”
Greg placed a finger across her lips. “We don’t know that. She seemed a lot better in the end. Maybe we should find out.” He inclined his head toward the door.
Sam nodded.
Hand in hand, they left the room and walked into the hall. The hum of fluorescent lights filled the early morning silence. They checked Mateo’s office, but it was empty. Next, they padded into the sleeping area. The lights were still dim, just enough to see the still shapes lying on the cots and bunk beds.
Sam’s stomach tightened at the sight of the many lumps resting under those coarse blankets. Were they all like Elizabeth? Would attempting to heal them leave her half dead and riddled with emotions that had no business living inside her? Her stomach did another flip. If this was her fate, she didn’t like it one bit.
Her hand involuntarily squeezed Greg’s as apprehension slammed into the middle of her chest. He smiled reassuringly, probably sensing her fear, her desire to run out the door and flee into some western wilderness where hungry bears were her only worry.
Greg pointed toward a set of steps. “I hear people that way,” he whispered. “C’mon.”
He pulled her along. They climbed the short flight of stairs, walked down a narrow hall and came to a set of double doors.
Greg sniffed the air like a hound dog. His nostrils flared slightly, then his mouth stretched with a deep smile.
“Food,” he said.
“I smell sausage.” Sam tapped her nose with an index finger. “I could smell it from five miles away.”
“You could probably tell me the spices they used to season it.”
“Sage, I’m sure,” she said.
They pushed past the double doors and were greeted by the sounds of a busy kitchen. Pots clanked. Water ran in a sink. Sausage fried on a griddle. A heavy-set woman and a young man dressed in white rushed about preparing what looked like a massive breakfast.
Sam and Greg stopped and watched silently as the couple whizzed past each other, performing their tasks in a well-rehearsed dance. They took cues from each other, exchanged pots and utensils as they crossed paths, turned off timers and set new ones, flipped sausages before they burned.
They were both Morphids, judging by their height and perfect features. The woman was in her mid-forties, the guy in his early twenties. Their hair was mostly hidden under fishnet caps that tied at the back of their heads. They wore white, immaculate aprons without a speck of anything on them.
The kitchen was of a good size. It was old and battered from plenty of use, but it was pristine. Sneakers squeaked on the clean floor, all the pots and utensils had a place, and the surfaces looked as if they’d just been scrubbed. An utilitarian pot rack hung above a small work area with many spotless skillets dangling from hooks. Clearly, these two were professionals and ran the place with pride. That was enough to get Sam’s vote of confidence.
Greg and Sam were still standing there staring when the woman noticed them and stopped dead on her tracks. Sam got flustered and tried to think of what to say, but before she or Greg had a chance to utter a word, the woman surprised them by giving them a loud greeting.
“You must be Sam and Greg!” She smiled a huge smile. Her teeth were large and straight, her face round and welcoming. Sam liked her immediately.
“I’m Nadine. This here is Dan. And this is our humble kitchen.” She extended her arms to demonstrate their cooking place. Sam had been right. There was a great deal of pride in the way they ran the place.
Dan came forward, wiping his hands on a rag. He shook their hands, gave them a welcoming “good morning,” then apologized and ran back to the fryer to give a batch of tater tots a good shake.
“Mateo told me you might walk in here this morning. He asked me to tell you he went home to rest, but he’ll be back early. He took Elizabeth with him. Said she would get better rest there and he didn’t feel comfortable leaving here.” Nadine moved to a corner of the kitchen. “He also said you might be hungry, especially you, young lady.” She uncovered two plates that were set aside. “I’m glad you are up early. I just finished cooking these. The morning crowd is ravenous. Nothing is left unless you hide it and set two watch dogs in front of it.” Nadine gave a hearty laugh and looked back at them.
“I would give my life defending that,” Greg said. “They look delicious.”
“I made them special,” Nadine said proudly, “before the mass production began.” She hooked a finger toward several large pans of food. “Yours are real eggs, mind you. Well, dig in! I have to help Dan finish up. Doors open in a few.” She rushed off and left them to their amazing breakfasts.
They exchanged surprised looks, and then sat on the pair of stools in front of the counter. Everything was simple, but delicious. Sam could appreciate the freshness and preparation. The scrambled eggs were moist, the bacon cooked to crisp perfection, the biscuit layered and buttered. Even their coffee was prepared with extra attention. It wasn’t overly sweet and had a hint of foamy milk mixed in. Nadine had done wonderfully with the ingredients at her disposal.
“Seems like things are looking up,” Greg said between sips of coffee.
Sam laughed. He had a milk mustache that made him look goofy as hell, and he knew it, too. He crossed his eyes, going for an even sillier look. She laughed and stole a piece of bacon from his plate.
“Hey!” he protested, but let her have it anyway.
She bit into it and chewed, smiling. In the back of her mind, Sam could still feel all those desperate souls around her. The oppressive sensation in her stomach had not disappeared, but something had definitely changed. It took her a moment to realize what it was. After a moment, it hit her.
For the first time in weeks, she was safe!
No one knew where she was. Sadly, not even her best friend.
Just as they’d feared, Danata had eventually sent someone to kill them. But they’d gotten away, and now there was no one else to fear. Maybe coming here hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. Who would think of looking for her in a place like this?
Sam tried to hold on to this feeling of safety and well-being. It wasn’t easy, mainly due to one thought that had slowly inched its way closer and closer to the forefront of her mind. She pretended it wasn’t there and chewed her eggs with a smile on her face.
Greg knew her too well to entirely miss her disguised anxiety, but she’d do her best to keep this from him. She had never told him all the details about that broken, dangling vinculum of hers and how it seemed to tug at her sometimes, anyway. And now that she knew that completely excising it was a possibility, keeping the specifics a secret and avoiding talking about it was more imperative than ever.
Deciding what to do about the last vestige of her tattered vinculum with Ashby was entirely her decision. Greg would not play any part in that.
Chapter 30 - Ashby
Ashby fidgeted as Brooke stood next to the telephone, listening intently to the receiver.
After a moment, she pressed a button and shook her head. “No answer. It went straight to voicemail.”
“Really?” Mirante asked.
“You try it, if you don’t believe me!” Brooke held the phone forward.
“How do we even know she dialed the right number?” Mirante asked with one raised eyebrow.
“Oh, please, lady.” Brooke rolled her eyes with practiced irreverence.
Ashby smirked. He loved the way Brooke was getting on Mirante’s nerves. The woman was simply insufferable, and she deserved whatever crude behavior Brooke had to offer, which seemed to be a considerable amount.
The truth was, the girl was insufferable as well. She had nearly driven Ashby mad while he’d attended Sam’s school in hopes of separating her from Greg. Ashby had seen Brooke as an obstacle then, but maybe that needed to change.
An enemy of your enemy is your friend, right?
Even if, in the end, he’d decided to stay with these MORF revels, even if he hated his mother for what he’d done to him, it didn’t mean they were his allies and friends.
Roanna appeared nice enough, a reasonable person even, but what did he know? It could all be an act. She was his mother’s sister, after all. Although the fact that Danata had always spoken ill of her was now a big mark in her favor.
In any case, he needed to reach his own conclusions about his aunt. For now, there was little to go by, except for Roanna’s nasty taste in advisers. Mirante was a bully. And what was a Regent but a reflection of his or her council’s behavior?
“Do you have any means of tracing Sam’s mobile?” Ashby asked, directing his question at Roanna. She was standing behind a high back chair, her hands gripping the head rest.
“Trace her mobile?” Roanna asked, confused.
Ashby frowned, confused as well. What was so hard about his question? Roanna looked questioningly at Bernard, then Mirante. It took Ashby a moment to remember where she had been for the last fifteen years and why. If her state of mind had been anything like Uncle Bernard’s, she probably had no idea of most of the technological advances of the last decade. He opened his mouth to explain, but Mirante cut him off.
“We don’t have the capability here. Besides, it is a foreign number. I have a few US contacts that can find out the location of the last call, but it can take a few days.”
“A few days? We don’t have that luxury,” Roanna argued.
“You should’ve let me use my cell phone,” Brooke quipped. “Sam would have answered a call from my number.” Her smug look was priceless, something she had tuned to perfection.
“With all due respect, Regent,” Mirante said. “No one knows where the girl is at the moment. So she is considerably safer than she was just yesterday. Besides, she’s in the company of her Keeper, an excellent one, if we are to trust the various reports we’ve heard.”
Ashby huffed.
“The girl,” Brooke made air quotes, something she seemed to do a lot, “has a name. S-A-M. Pretty easy, don’t you think?”
Mirante shot an acid look in Brooke’s direction. Ashby smirked again and nodded in approval when Brooke looked his way. She pursed her lips and peered at him through narrowed eyes.
Still an enemy, then?
“I need to find her, Luana. Our family has been torn apart long enough,” Roanna said with an edge of exasperation. “Not to mention that she needs our protection.”
“I know. I understand.”
Mirante’s expression did look like that of someone who understood. Ashby could grant her that much, at least.
She continued, “But understand me, my Regent, the crucial issue is your sister. What better way to make your daughter safe than to attack the source of all the trouble? Finding Sam and bringing her to us could turn out to be more dangerous than leaving her alone. We are about to embark on a battle against Danata, and all the forces at our disposal, and our resources are limited. We should focus them to one task.”
That was a fair point. Ashby lowered his gaze and consider it. Mirante appeared sympathetic enough to Roanna’s plight, but perhaps she was too practical to make decisions based on emotions, even maternal ones. Ashby couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to Calisto and Joao. They were looking bored, especially the latter. They didn’t seem to be following the conversation. That might be for the best, considering the woman’s cold logic seemed to have no regard for her children’s sensibilities.
Many times, Ashby had heard similar things from his own mother, and always, they managed to be hurtful, no matter how much he tried to ignore them.
Would Calisto and Joao come second to their mother’s protection of the governing council and what it represented? Ashby could not help but answer yes to the question. From what he’d seen so far, Mirante was a stout council member, determined to make Danata pay for her crimes, no matter who stood in the way.
Roanna stood quietly, gazing at her hands. Her long, pale fingers were interlaced and still. Everyone watched her as she deliberated. Again, Ashby noticed her resemblance to Sam and ached a little more.
What was Roanna waiting for? She shouldn’t have to deliberate on what to do.
They had to find Sam, had to make sure Veridan or whoever else Danata sent after Sam couldn’t get to her. If these people thought Greg could protect her, they were mistaken. Danata would find a way to neutralize him. She’d almost succeeded before. It was only a matter of time until she found a way to get past his defenses. Roanna had to know this. She couldn’t let Mirante dissuade her.
“You are right,” Roanna said after a moment.
Ashby waited for a but to follow. There was none. He jumped to his feet, and Brooke with him.
“What?!” they both demanded in unison.
They exchanged a quick glance. Brooke’s chin tilted slightly as if giving him the floor to continue his protest. He took it without hesitation.
“You will do nothing to try to find Sam?” he asked.
“Maybe she is safer for the moment,” Roanna said.
“Maybe? For the moment? That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” Ashby snapped.
“Sam is only in danger because of Danata. If we remove her, we accomplish both our goals.” She turned to Uncle Bernard. “Do you see a better course of action to protect our daughter? I worry we might lead evil Samantha’s way. Danata could have spies within MORF.”
“I
sincerely doubt it,” Mirante piped up.
Roanna ignored the comment, never unlocking her gaze from her husband’s. “Do you agree it would be best not to interfere? ”
“I do,” he said after some hesitation.
Ashby cursed under his breath. It seemed Uncle Bernard wasn’t any smarter now than when he’d roamed the castle’s gardens. They couldn’t be serious!
“You must do something. Send someone,” Ashby insisted.
“We have no one to spare,” Mirante intervened. “Our resources are few, and the task at hand a difficult one, to say the least.”
“I will do it, then. It’s what I set out to do in the first place.”
Roanna considered him.
“Forgive me, my Regent,” Mirante said, “but he should not be allowed to go prancing around looking for your daughter. It would be a mistake.”
“And how will you stop me?” Ashby shouted, utterly tired of the witch’s attitude.
“Hey! Don’t you yell at my mother.” Joao took a step away from the hearth.
Perry came to stand by Ashby’s side, a hand on his amulet.
“Boys,” Portos chided, just like he had many times when Ashby and Perry were children, and he caught them speeding down the castle’s corridors.
“He can’t be trusted, my Regent.” Mirante looked unimpressed. “I advise against his involvement in any of our affairs.”
“Everyone, please take a seat,” Roanna said firmly. It wasn’t a request, but an order.
The only one who sat right away was Brooke. She let herself go like a heavy scarecrow and collapsed on the chair, blowing her cheeks.
“You people are insufferable.” She faked a British accent that sounded totally ridiculous. Ashby looked back in disapproval and was surprised by the conspiratorial wink she gave him. He glanced about to see if anyone else had noticed. No one had.
He took a deep breath, adjusted his jacket, and sat, pondering Brooke’s gesture. Maybe she knew how to get in touch with Sam. Maybe there was something she hadn’t shared with the rest that she was willing to share with him, now that things had taken the wrong turn.
Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2) Page 18
