“Yes, keep him safe.” Bruce looked down at his son. “His mother saw a Diviner once, years before morphing. He told her she would lose her first born. A bit vague, given that she lost everything. She always worried, begged me to take it seriously, but I chose to think it was nonsense.” He lowered his head in shame. “I have to take care of him, keep him safe. For her.”
Mateo slapped a hand to Bruce’s shoulder. “You will.”
Bruce seemed to notice Greg for the first time. He looked him up and down, a hint of distrust in his eyes.
“Mr. Cofield, this is Greg Papilio,” Sam said. “My boyfriend.”
“And her Keeper,” Mateo added.
“Keeper?” Bruce echoed. “A protector?” The expression in his eyes changed to something like awe.
“That’s right,” Mateo said. “She’s important, and it isn’t hard to figure out why.”
Sam shook her head. She didn’t want to be important. She wasn’t important. She wanted a peaceful, normal life. Not a life of hiding and living the pain these severed people felt every time her instincts compelled her to heal someone.
She wanted a simple life with Greg, and her free will. She wanted her free will. The prerogative to live her life however she chose.
“She can undo Regent Danata’s evil.” Bruce sounded like he couldn’t decide whether this was a question or a matter-of-fact statement.
“And there’s more,” Mateo said. “She’s Roanna Rothblade’s daughter.”
Bruce searched Sam’s face as if trying to recognize someone else in the shape of her nose or curve of her mouth.
“I thought the Regent’s daughter died with her in a car accident.”
“Just another one of Danata’s lies,” Mateo said bitterly. “You’ll have to heal everyone, Sam.” He stepped forward, restless with excitement.
“Wait a minute,” Greg interjected. “Did you forget what happened just a few hours ago? She collapsed. For a moment there, I couldn’t sense her at all. She’s not healing anyone else until we figure out what caused that. Don’t forget, my job is to protect her, and I’ll do that no matter what.”
“Of course, Greg,” Mateo said. “No one who has ever suffered at Danata’s hands would want anything else.” He looked somewhat disappointed, but sounded sincere.
Sam turned to Greg. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I think I just overdid it. I should have waited before healing Mr. Cofield. It was too much.”
“Are you sure that was it?” Greg asked.
It seemed some part of her was sure, but she didn’t feel like a whole person anymore, so it was hard to think in absolutes.
Before she could answer, Mateo said, “She’s new to her skills and doesn’t know exactly how they work. Instincts are strong in young Morphids. It takes time for our minds to learn how to control them. She will figure it out.”
“Whatever the case, you will rest. Promise me,” Greg said.
“You don’t have to ask me twice.”
Sam’s exhaustion was bone-deep. Like a little girl, she wished she could be back in her own room with her own things. Her soft bed with their clean, flower scented sheets. Her baggy, flannel pajamas and warm socks. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d worn yesterday and didn’t even remember when she’d last showered.
“She should eat something substantial, too. It’s well past lunch,” Mateo pointed out.
“Greg, too.” Sam had heard his stomach growl several times. At least she’d had some hot tea and soup. He’d had nothing since breakfast.
“You could stay here, if you want,” Mateo said, “but it would be an honor if all of you stayed with me. My apartment is small, but there are some extra cots here that we could bring with us. There’ll be a bit more privacy. You could take a shower. I know you two want one, badly.” He laughed to himself. “Probably need one, too.” He laughed harder.
“Um, Elizabeth is already there. Are you sure that’s not too much?” Sam asked.
“Nah, I’ve had twenty people stay there at once. That was a challenge. This would be nothing.”
Mateo had a huge, inviting smile on his face. He was a giving man, so open and generous that it made Sam feel selfish for not being more willing to help, for still fighting her nature and denying what was so obviously her fate.
“What do you say?” Greg put an arm around her shoulder and gave her an encouraging smile.
“Sounds great. Let’s go.”
It was impossible to think clearly with all the severed souls that came in and out of the building. Leaving here was probably a requirement if she wanted to decide what to do next.
Chapter 42 - Veridan
Veridan took a deep breath as he read the name over the building. NYC Rescue House: Homeless Shelter. This was the last place on his list. The other four had been a waste of time. He hoped this one would yield some answers.
He stood on the sidewalk, watching listless Morphids file through the door labeled, “Soup Kitchen.” They all looked like they needed a good meal, but walked as if food were the last thing on their minds. Their languid, shuffling steps made him think of Bernard and the way he had wandered through the castle like a useless ghost.
Veridan ran a hand over his jacket. He felt dirty after visiting all those places. He didn’t want to go into this one. He was sure these people had lice and who knew what kinds of transmittable diseases.
One step at a time, he made his way toward the door. He told himself it was the filth, the smell, the possibility of catching something from them that disturbed him—not the fact that he was in possession of their essence and the power from their severed links.
He quelled the stirrings of remorse without a second thought.
Danata had done this to them, not him. He had simply figured out a way to make use of what otherwise would have been wasted energy and eventually would be used to set Morphids free of fear and the need to hide in a world that belonged to them as much as it belonged to humans.
Their suffering would not be in vain.
The smell of cooked meat drifted past Veridan’s nose as he entered the dining area. It was a surprisingly good scent, one that reminded him his last meal had been several hours earlier. Many were already sitting with their dinner. There was practically no conversation, mostly people with blank faces and slow moving mandibles hardly fit for chewing.
He stepped to the side and pushed against the wall. His eyes drifted slowly from face to face. Just like in the other shelters, he recognized many of them. He’d been present for all their . . . ablations. Most were unrecognizable, however. The filth and debased expressions made it hard to recall who they had been with clarity.
Ironic to think these individuals had once been respected members of Morphid society, the kind who were important enough to meet the Regent. No doubt they would have preferred total obscurity, in retrospect.
Nothing looked out of the ordinary. The girl and her Keeper weren’t here either. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this convergence of Danata’s victims had nothing to do with the Weaver.
He scoffed. Of course it had everything to do with the Weaver. If she wasn’t in New York yet, she would be, soon. If she was already here, maybe the Keeper had sensed danger—even if Veridan had intended no harm, yet—and had taken her away before being discovered. But he doubted it. The boy’s instincts were triggered by imminent peril, not general ill intent.
Well, Veridan didn’t give up easily. He was a patient man. He had been one for the last thirty years. It might take a few days or a few weeks to find the troublesome kids, but he would find them. And once he did, he would decide what to do with them. No need to decide just yet, lest he trigger a premature warning and give the Keeper a head start.
Veridan walked to one of the tables and sat next to a catatonic-looking man. His jaw barely moved as he sat. He had a shock of red hair on top of his head and an unruly beard of the same offensive color. Veridan examined his face, trying to remember him. The man was fairly young, mid-thirties, perhap
s. There was grime in his fingernails and neck. He wore a bright red flannel shirt and a pair of black jeans.
“Roger?” Veridan said, vaguely recalling his name and reason for ending up here.
The man had made Danata’s acquaintance at the Canadian Securities Exchange two years ago. She’d had a specific request relating a certain private investment of hers, a request Roger had refused. The fact that he was here now, that he had made it all the way from Toronto to New York City, spoke volumes of this strange congregation and gave Veridan’s assumptions a near certainty.
Roger peeled his eyes from the food and looked at him sideways. For a moment, there seemed to be a flash of recognition and fear in his eyes, but it was gone as fast as it came.
Veridan placed a thumb on the man’s head and, with his other hand on the talisman, spoke an incantation. Roger’s eyelids fluttered and his breath caught. When Veridan broke contact a second later, he went back to normal, with no one the wiser. This was Veridan’s fifth such incantation today.
He would get what he was after, sooner or later.
Chapter 43 - Brooke
“Perry, I want you to be my very own personal travel agent!” Brooke exclaimed. They had just finished eating dinner at a sushi place in Times Square and were now following Ashby and Perry. The two were walking purposely toward the ritzy part of town, while she tried to keep up with their long strides.
“Not a profession I would enjoy,” Perry said in a dry tone.
Brooke shot Ashby a dirty look. Ever since his highness pulled Perry aside in Greg’s apartment, Perry had been anything but fun. A damn shame, because where else could she get someone to “transport” her all over the world in higher fashion than any filthy-rich jet setter?
She could only imagine what else he was capable of with his magic. She sighed, disappointed.
They had arrived in New York a few hours ago. Like fools, they’d wandered through Manhattan, looking for a Sam in a haystack. An adventure that would have been a total waste if not for Calisto and Joao, who were a total trip, way better than her at creative name-calling while people watching. Just now they were eying a woman with legs up to her throat.
“No, please,” Joao mock whispered, “I swear that’s not my baby. It’s hers,” he pointed at his sister.
“If the stork ever comes our way, it’ll be because of you, little brother,” Calisto said. “You’re the only one destined to bring little spawns into this world.”
“Thank God!” Joao said.
Brooke winced. That was harsh, at least in her book. Calisto, however, didn’t seem affected by the comment at all. Maybe Singulars didn’t care about passing their genes down to cute little Morphids?
“Would you two behave once we go in here, please?” Ashby stood at the bottom of a staircase covered with thick, red carpet. Brooke looked past him in awe.
It can’t be!
Brooke slowly looked up and couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open. “We’re staying at the Plaza?” she asked.
“It’s where we always stay when we come to New York,” Ashby explained. “The Regency has a running account with them.”
Perry had walked ahead and was already strolling through the revolving doors. Ashby followed suit and, after a shrug, so did Joao and Calisto.
“Might as well get something out of the Regency,” Joao said. “It owes us for our absentee parents and messed up childhood.”
Twenty minutes later, Brooke walked into Ashby and Perry’s room. Calisto and Joao would share another and Brooke got her own, which she was dying to see. At the moment, however, they had things to discuss.
“So what’s the plan?” Ashby asked as soon as the door closed behind them. He walked to the window, pulled the curtain back and looked out.
The smell of rose petals wafted in the air. An honest-to-god chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling. There were two queen size beds made to perfection in white, crisp linens. Gold and black accents adorned the room for an understated, classy feel.
Brooke collapsed on a golden, velvet armchair and put her feet up on a matching foot rest. “Damn, this is nice.” She was more than happy to enjoy a few luxuries. At over $900 dollars a night, she doubted she’d ever have the chance to stay here ever again.
“We ate. We have rooms. What else before we do something to find Sam?” Ashby looked around in exasperation at the silence he received in answer.
“A shower would be nice,” Joao eventually said as he reclined on one of the beds.
“What would be the point if all we’ve got are the clothes on our backs,” Calisto said. “We should have packed.”
Joao rolled over and stared at the chandelier. “Mum is probably about to burst a carotid artery right about now.”
“She’s not the only one.” Perry exchanged a meaningful glance with Ashby. His gaze turned to Brooke for a split second, then flicked away as he noticed her watching him.
“Yes, my mother has a tendency to turn blue when she gets angry,” Ashby said.
“Hmm, maybe that’s why Mum couldn’t stay and be part of her council,” Calisto mused. “They would have been at each other’s throats all the time.”
“Sounds like a cat fight worth watching,” Brooke put in.
Joao sighed. “Jet lag is pants. I’m knackered.”
“Huh? Jet lag wears pants?”
He laughed. “I mean jet lag sucks. I better get up before I fall asleep. Let’s go to the park and send out some scouts.”
“Scouts?” Brooke felt so lost with these people.
“You’ll see.”
“What if others see you?” Ashby asked.
“I’ll try my best not to draw attention. It’ll take longer, though. Wish we could get on the roof or something.”
“C’mon! That should be no problem,” Perry said. “I just transported all of you across the Atlantic, you think a few floors will be a problem, seriously?”
Joao slapped his forehead. “Oh, yeah. I forgot we’ve got you. Brilliant. Let’s do it then.” He rubbed his hands together, like a kid preparing himself to dip both hands into a huge cookie jar.
Ashby made a face of disgust and put a hand to his stomach. “Ugh.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted a talisman,” Perry said.
Brooke hopped from the armchair and joined the circle. The now-familiar sensation of weightlessness came over her and, when her eyes blinked open, she found herself on the roof of the Plaza Hotel.
“Holy cow!” she exclaimed at the breathtaking sight of Central Park at night. “It’s so big. I didn’t realize that.
Perry took a step closer to the wrought iron railing that lined the edge of the roof. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Everyone stood in awe, saying nothing. Wind blew in all directions, ruffling their hair. The United States flag flapped above them from a tall pole at the top of one of the spires. Gray clouds drifted past in the sky, giving Brooke the sensation that the building was moving. Her head spun. She let out a little yelp and sent an arm out, looking for balance. Her hand landed on Perry’s bicep.
He started, looking down at her hand. She pulled away and tried not to think of how strong he felt under that shirt.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, as if it was a secret.
“I’m fine. Just got dizzy.” She looked back down at the sprawling park.
Expect for The Pond and other small bodies of water, trees covered the entire area, looking like cute broccoli florets from this high above. Spotlights shone here and there under the thick canopy, giving the park the feel of a fairytale forest.
“Well, enough sightseeing.” Joao gave one loud clap, then rubbed his hands together again.
From the giddy look of excitement on his face, it was clear he didn’t get to use his powers very often.
Joao looked to the sky. “This might take several minutes, depending on how many helpers are nearby. Please move back. It might be scary.”
Calisto scoffed and rolled her eyes, but stepped
aside anyway.
“If it was daytime, we could have a boat load of helpers. I read somewhere there are a million pigeons in New York. But no worries, we can get to them tomorrow morning, if we need to. For now . . . how ‘bout that picture?” Joao extended a hand toward Brooke.
She pulled a photo of Sam and Greg onto her cell phone’s screen and handed it over, then joined the others off to the side.
“This should be interesting,” Perry said.
“If you like being pooped on by birds,” Calisto put in.
Brooke wrapped her arms over her head. “Yuck!”
Joao gave Calisto a dirty look.
“All right, all right,” Calisto gave in. “There’s no poop involved.”
Brooke lowered her arms, not sure who to believe.
Joao turned his back on them and faced Central Park once more. He stood there for a few moments doing little more than breathe. Finally, he extended his arms to the sides and, over the whistle of the wind, said something she couldn’t make out.
Just when Brooke started thinking it was all a mean joke, a rhythmic beating sounded in the distance. At first, she thought it was a hallucination, but when she saw a black cloud moving in their direction, she knew the sound wasn’t in her imagination.
Beside her, Ashby inhaled deeply. Brooke looked up at him. His dark eyes stared at the approaching cloud. His blond hair blew in the wind. An odd expression marked his angular features. His jaw muscle worked and, for some reason, Brooke felt a strange affinity with him at that moment.
He’s jealous.
Calisto, Perry and Joao could do something special, not to mention Sam and Greg. He and Brooke, however, were less interesting than plain vanilla. As small as her contribution was, at least she’d offered her knowledge of Sam’s last location as well as her cell phone. That was better than nothing, which was exactly what Ashby had contributed.
That had to feel pretty shitty.
Brooke felt her stomach squeeze with pity for him. He had no special skill, had lost Sam, and probably was about to lose his post as the next in line to the Regency. What would be left for him once it was all said and done?
Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2) Page 24
