“I wish I’d had this on me. None of this would have happened,” Brooke said.
“Veridan and Danata are the ones to blame. No one else.”
She slumped, then jumped off the wall, looking unconvinced.
“I don’t blame you.”
And it was true. Brooke had been helpless against Veridan. The spell had been simple and short lived.
“Take the girl away from the Keeper.”
That was the only thought he’d implanted in her mind, and it wore off as soon as she fulfilled the task.
“I know you don’t.” Brooke sounded grateful for that. “We’ll get her back. That bitch isn’t going to get away with this.”
“No. She won’t.”
And that was a promise. To Sam. To Jacob. To himself.
The house’s front door opened again. Ashby and Perry came out and joined them.
“Can we talk?” Ashby asked Greg.
“Want to take a walk?” Perry took Brooke by the arm and didn’t wait for her answer. It seemed she went quite willingly, though.
Greg had no desire to talk to Ashby, and he’d been avoiding him since he noticed the furtive, questioning glances he sent his way. What else could he want but to gloat? Well, he’d let him gloat this once. At least now Greg knew exactly how Ashby felt. The suffering had at least given him the capacity to empathize.
It wasn’t much, and it was certainly not better than nothing.
Chapter 57 - Ashby
The night was quiet with only the chirping of crickets disrupting the peace. Greg’s gaze was lost in the trees of the outlying forest, his face armored with indifference.
“I’ve asked Portos if he thinks it’s wise for me to go back,” Ashby began. “I thought I could help somehow, find out something about Sam. He doesn’t think my mother will take kindly to my return.”
Greg’s eyed narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
“I’m not scared of her, though, and lately I find little reason to worry about my own well-being. It all feels so . . . pointless.”
Again, Greg said nothing. Ashby looked at the gravel at his feet and kicked a round pebble down the driveway. He turned and headed back toward the house. It seemed trying to talk to Greg was also pointless. Why had he bothered?
“Does it get better?” Greg asked.
Ashby stopped and considered the question for a moment. “No, not for me. But I have no hope, so . . .”
“Hope is all I’ve got.”
“Then you’re lucky.”
“The way things turned out . . . we didn’t set out to hurt you,” Greg said.
Ashby knew it was true, but that didn’t make his pain any less.
“I know,” he said after a moment. He could give Greg that much. After all that had happened and what must happen next, what good would it do to try and hold on to a lost cause? He had to let Sam go, even as his instincts demanded that he hold on. He had to be strong, stronger than he’d ever thought he needed to be.
But more than anything, he needed to find a way to cope. What better place to begin than right here?
“I don’t hold it against you,” Ashby said, with some difficulty.
They held each other’s gazes. Greg looked confused. Maybe he thought it was a joke or a lie, and he would be right. Ashby did hold Greg responsible, in a way. He and Sam and their damn, intertwined fate. But if he held onto this grudge, it would destroy him, would make the possibility of ever finding peace—never mind happiness—impossible.
Now, if he could only make himself believe in forgiveness, maybe there would be a chance.
“I don’t hold it against you,” Ashby repeated.
Maybe, if he said it enough times, it would become the truth.
Greg wasn’t buying it, though. The slow blink of his eyes made it clear. He pushed away from the wall and stood in front of Ashby.
Will you make me regret this?
Greg lifted a hand. Ashby flinched ever-so-slightly, failing to realize the meaning of the gesture.
“Truce?” Greg asked, extending his hand further.
Ashby clasped Greg’s hand and shook it. “Truce.”
The handshake was brief, but strangely liberating. Maybe there still was hope for him.
They both turned their backs on the house and faced the night and the forest once more. In the distance, they could see two dark figures walking hand-in-hand.
“When did that happen?” Greg asked, gesturing toward Brooke and Perry as they made their way toward the closest patch of trees.
Ashby shrugged and shook his head in defeat.
“You think it’s a good idea?” Greg asked, no judgment in his tone, only curiosity.
“It definitely isn’t.”
“I guess it never is.”
“I guess not.”
Wind rustled the tops of the trees. The house behind them seemed to buzz with energy like a busy beehive.
MORF was full of plans, all taking shape under Mirante’s roof. Bernard and Roanna’s priority had become rescuing Sam, while Mirante’s remained the swift return of the Regency to its rightful owner. Whether those two goals would clash was yet to be seen.
Greg turned abruptly, his shoulders straight, his chest swelling. “Will you help me find her?” he asked, the question bursting out of him as if he’d been holding it in, trying not to let it escape.
Ashby could tell how much this request cost Greg’s pride. With his vinculum severed, his built-in Sam compass and Keeper powers were gone. He had no more way of finding her than Ashby did. Moreover, he had no way of telling when she was in danger and in need of his help. And, even if he did, his magic and immunity to it were also gone.
In other words, he was as useless as Ashby himself.
“Yes, I’ll help you.”
Greg and Ashby shook hands once more to seal their pact. Even ripped from Sam as they were, she was still part of them. They had no other choice but to find her.
So that once they did, at least one of them could be whole again.
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