Ruby Morgan Box Set: Books 6-10

by LJ Rivers

  He produced a handkerchief from his inner pocket and dabbed the corners of his eyes. A subtle move, as no one could tell whether he was wiping a tear or sweat. He looked down, shaking his head slowly, then lifted his chin again. All were moves I had seen dozens of times before, both at his political rallies and televised speeches from his church.

  “I don’t hate much in life. In fact, I try to teach my children to find other ways of expressing such feelings. We have made it a habit to avoid the word in my house.”

  He straightened his back, growing an inch taller. His voice had started the familiar crescendo. “But today, I feel hatred. I hate when people of power, of fame or other social stature send their ‘thoughts and prayers’ to the victims of such a heinous crime as took place this morning. And I am a man of prayer, as you all know.”

  Charlie bumped me in the side, again showing me her iPad. She quickly swiped from one news site to the other, all with the image of the sitting prime minister and variations of the same words Colburn had used. “PM sends thoughts and prayers”, “PM address to public: Pray!”

  “But I will do what I tell my children, and find other terms of disgust for such meaningless words,” Colburn continued.

  “It’s a friggin’ sermon on the mount,” Brendan whispered.

  He wasn’t wrong. Jarl Colburn lived up to his initials, cultivating as many similarities with the other JC as possible. Brendan’s hand rested on the small of my back, and I had the sudden impulse to drag him home with me, but that would have to wait a bit longer. His hand moved around my waist, and I folded mine in his.

  “I will not, however,” Colburn continued, “find another word to describe how I feel about the terrorists that attacked Millicent’s campaign offices. Yes, I said terrorists, because that’s what they are.”

  The mob of journalists started shouting questions again, the acoustics of the hospital lobby aiding the cacophony. JC stood quiet, biting his lower lip and repeated the head shaking. After a while, he raised his hands, and the orchestra slowly quieted again.

  “I am here to visit the victims, who I am convinced are in the very best hands in the country. As you all know, the staff here at Ravenscourt Park Hospital hold a special place in my heart. It was by no means a coincidence that I chose to give a tiny nudge to the board to ensure that this magnificent organisation could continue to help our citizens. And today, they rose to the task when the victims of this horrible, horrible terrorist attack came rushing in, desperate for care.”

  The staffer handed JC a water bottle; I hadn’t even seen an inkling of a cue between them. I reckoned his assistant had already been drilled to react on cue.

  “Three gulps, isn’t it?” Charlie said under her breath.

  I would have giggled, had I not felt the heat gathering inside. He was a familiar face on the news, and I had grown accustomed to the thought of him winning the election. I had even accepted my own part in it as a price worth paying for getting rid of the Mag-flu. Colburn had perfected his saviour role ever since that announcement in February, and today was just another performance. Still, this charade was pushing it too far. And I was not about to let him get away with it.

  “Uhm, think you could let up a little,” Brendan said between gritted teeth. “I kinda need my hand for practise.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I replied and released what had apparently turned into a death grip on his knuckles. I smiled at his exaggerated shaking and massaging, as if I could actually inflict any real damage to his fencing hand.

  “Very well,” said JC from his elevated position. “I’ve been informed that the chief surgeon is still busy saving lives. He won’t have time to see us quite yet. So, I’ll take a few questions.”

  Synchronised like a crowd of Queen fans during “Radio Ga-Ga”, the mob—or perhaps herd or pack—of journalists raised their hands and started throwing questions at him all at once.

  JC pointed at one of them. The others stopped mid-shouts, giving the chosen one the air.

  “What are you going to say to the victims when you meet them?”

  I groaned. Of course he, or his press officer, had already agreed to pick a stooge to lob a softball as an opener.

  “I’ll tell them that I will not rest for one second until the perpetrators have been brought to justice. I’ve been in contact with the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police and the Secretary of State for Justice, and promised them full support wherever I may help. JC Pharmaceuticals have transferred a substantial amount to this hospital, hoping it will ease the financial burden they are sure to experience.” He gestured at the crowd. “Yes, Rachel?”

  As so many times before during his press meetings, JC called on Rachel Straw, a sharp shooting reporter for the London Chronicle. Or, as Charlie put it one evening we were watching the news, gunning for the spot of press officer for the soon-to-be prime minister.

  “Have you spoken to Millicent Glover yet?” Straw asked in her famous velvety voice.

  “Indeed I have, and I was more than happy to suggest we postpone our campaigns for a week, in respect for the deceased, and to offer our help and support for the victims and their families.”

  He was practically shooting at an open goal. I had had enough. As the other journalists drew their breaths, hoping to be chosen next, I raised my hand.

  “Mr Colburn? Ruby Morgan for The Whisper.”

  The multi-headed journalistic monster turned, all eyes looking at my hand as I stretched on my toes.

  “Miss Morgan.” Colburn sighed. “I’m sorry, but I must be going now.” He smiled and waved to the crowd, and started to climb down from his chair.

  “Why won’t you cut the ties between your campaign and the Lionhearts?”

  He stopped, one foot on the chair and one dangling over the floor. “Excuse me?”

  “At no point during the last four months have you disengaged the Coalition of Purity from your loyal extremist followers who call themselves the Lionhearts. Why is that?”

  “We’re done here,” said JC’s press officer. He pointed at the lifts. “Mr Colburn is due to—”

  I had to give it a last, desperate try. “Should we take that as a sign that you agree with their tactics?”

  “Now you listen here, young lady,” the red-faced politician said and jumped down.

  He started towards me, and the sea of people parted to let him through while his muscle-men frantically tried to catch up with their employer.

  JC stopped five feet in front of me. “There is nothing but vile hatred behind your accusations, and I will not stand for it. How dare you? Get out of here and go back to your blog or whatever you want to call your journalistic hobby.”

  “I hope you all heard that,” I said loudly, nodding at the press. “Not even now, when confronted directly, will this mockery of a politician take a stand against the Lionhearts. I wonder why. Could it be because he knows they’ll help him win the election?”

  “When will you all wake up?” shouted Gemma, who had come up to my side.

  Two of JC’s bodyguards stepped around him and stood towering over me. Brendan pulled me close.

  “No, Jen! Back off!” Charlie hissed. “Guys? Help me.”

  I wanted to look, but kept my gaze locked on Colburn’s stony-faced expression. He was breathing heavily.

  “Well?” I said.

  He exhaled. “I have heard rumours about a group of people calling themselves the Lionhearts.” There was a slight twitch in his right eye, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “That’s also the extent of my knowledge. I have never met them, never spoken with them, and to be frank, I don’t even know what kind of group they are. If they have some sort of political agenda or ideology, it’s beyond me. For all I know, they could be an a cappella group from Eton.”

  JC earned himself a giggle from the crowd for that comment, and it seemed to spur his confidence further. “Whoever they might be, they have as much to do with my election campaign as an Ayrshire bull at a fair in Dalrymple. In fact, the latt
er is far more important, as it’s a proud symbol of how the hard-working farmers in this country will benefit from me taking the helm of old Brittania.”

  He had started to turn, facing the crowd more than me now. His voice was back to the controlled, charismatic tone of the stage artist.

  “Little Miss Morgan here is an excellent student, and a fine example of why I love the media in this country. In a few years, when she has finished her education, she might even learn to ask the right questions.” He winked and strolled back towards the lifts.

  Jen spun after him, but Brendan and Duncan grabbed her and held her back. I half expected her to shift into her wolf form and wriggle free, but she let the boys hold her as she stared after JC and his posse.

  “That was awesomesocks,” Charlie squealed. “Do you know how many reporters and news anchors have tried to get him off balance?”

  I squinted and looked at the closing lift doors. “I did make him flinch, didn’t I?”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Duncan said, pulling Jen alongside him. “I think this one needs some fresh air.”

  Jen removed his hand from her arm and did the same with Brendan on the other side. “I’m fine, thank you. I was never going to attack him.”

  “Sure?” Brendan raised an eyebrow.

  “No.” She poked a finger in his chest.

  “We leaving, then?” Gemma reclaimed Duncan’s arm.

  We all started for the exit, but Jen shook her head. “I’ll go back up to Nick, but go ahead, you guys. See you later.”

  I gave her a hug and watched as she went over to the lifts. She stopped in front of them and waved at us. Grinning like a mad dog, she pushed open the door to the stairwell and disappeared.

  Chapter Seven

  Despite everything going on with Nick and the rest of my flatmates, I’d decided to make the most of the last night I had with Brendan before he left. He’d be gone for the next two months more or less—first training in France, then to another training camp up north before he’d hopefully be selected for the UK Olympic squad.

  Jen had phoned to say that Nick was awake and breathing on his own, so she had brightened a little since the rest of us left the hospital after Colburn’s appearance. I would go back to heal Nick again tomorrow, so it lightened my mood to know that he didn’t need the respirator any more. But it pained me to think about how he’d ended up in the hospital in the first place. The vicious attack had by all accounts been spurred by the political rhetoric and a growing hatred towards Mags.

  I emerged from Jen’s closet with the clothes she had told me—not suggested—to borrow. It was the same outfit I had worn on my first date with Brendan—the one with the very, very deep neckline. While it made me a little uncomfortable, and was slightly too posh for where we were going, it felt like the right thing to wear for this date. It was as if we were starting over, and the Lady knew I could use some new beginnings in my life that weren’t all filled with fire and mayhem. The black A-line skirt was smooth and light as I put it on. I borrowed some of Jen’s hair products and did a twirl in front of her full-length mirror.

  “Looking hot, Ru.” Charlie leaned on the doorframe, a wide grin on her face.

  “I feel kind of ridiculous, but at least I already know Brendan liked it the first time I wore it.” I remembered his words as if it were yesterday: ‘That might be the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen’. It was the first time anyone had ever called me pretty, except Mum or Dad.

  “Well, I think you look smoking!”

  I dipped back into Jen’s closet to find the handbag she had insisted on. “What about you?” I asked, my voice muffled by the enclosed space. “Any new flings lately?”

  “Nah. I’m working all the time.”

  I tugged at the strap for what I assumed was the bag Jen had meant, and a mountain of handbags tumbled out over my head.

  “Crap! I think I ruined my hair.”

  Charlie laughed. “Sometimes, Ru, you’re a real klutz.”

  I cringed at the word that could have easily been my middle name through primary school, but decided to laugh along with her instead.

  “Here.” Charlie stepped to my side and gave me a hand to escape the mountain of bags surrounding my feet. “I’ll fix your hair.” She pulled her fingers through my tresses a few times and nodded in approval.

  I eyed the pile of wannabe designer items. On the top of the pile was the small handbag with the thin silver chain attached that I’d been searching for. I picked it up and filled it with the essentials, which wasn’t much. “So, how is it, working with Travers?”

  “It’s totally amazeballs! The Mag-Ops have access to so much tech. It’s like my own personal playroom.”

  “I’m glad. It sounds like a great stepping stone.”

  “It’s a step away from my studies, though, so I’m thinking about applying for an extra subject or two, something more tech-related.”

  As if she needed more on her curriculum. She was already knee deep in books. “Whatever you do, you’ll be great at it.” I kissed her cheek and glanced at my phone. “And I’m running late.”

  “Go to your man.” Charlie smirked and gave me a light slap on my bum, shooing me out to the hallway.

  I gave her a wave as she disappeared into her room, and slipped into a pair of black Converses. They totally clashed with the outfit, but I couldn’t bring myself to wear heels. Besides, if I needed to run—which I had learned could happen practically any time, anywhere—I could.

  Three minutes later, I stepped up to the campus gates. Like he had on our first date, Brendan was waiting for me. And he was wearing jeans. I flashed a smile and strolled to his side.

  “Milady.” Brendan wiggled his eyebrows and took a bow.

  “While I appreciate the sentiment, it feels wrong after that whole ordeal with the knights,” I said.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Ruby Ruby it is. Or maybe I should start calling you Red Rage? I’ve heard tales of this kick-ass vigilante from The Forge, and you kind of remind me of her.”

  I stuck my tongue out and laughed, then hooked my arm in his. “Ready, Zorro?”

  “With you on my arm, I’m ready for anything.” He patted my hand, then turned to look at me and lifted my hand up. “Your ring? I thought—”

  “Mum gave me a new one.”

  He squinted. “With a different stone. I didn’t see that in this light at first. It looks good on you, though. Are you OK wearing it?”

  “Definitely. I’ve missed the feel of it on my finger. I know it sounds silly, but it’s like I got a part of me back.”

  “Nope, not silly at all.” His soft lips settled for a moment, just next to my ring, before he straightened again. “Ready, Ruby Ruby?”

  I smiled, and we resumed walking.

  A few minutes later, we arrived at The Halfway, the restaurant Brendan had joked about first being named ‘The Unsatisfied Woman’ before they changed it to ‘The Halfway Inn’. The pun, silly as it was, still made me giggle.

  He reached for the door, but I cut in front of him. “Men and children first.” I held the door, and he stepped inside. It looked exactly the same, bringing back more memories of our first date. I’d been terrified of Brendan finding out what I was, and his comments about Mags hadn’t exactly boosted my confidence. Now, some nine months later, I didn’t have to worry about that any longer. I could tell Brendan anything.

  We went up to the small desk with a ‘Please Wait Here’ sign next to it and a young man in a navy-blue suit drifted over to us. “Welcome to The Halfway.”

  “I’ve got a reservation,” Brendan said. “O’Callaghan.”

  The man ran his finger over the computer screen. “So you do, Mr O’Callaghan. This way, please.” He showed us to the same table where we had sat last time. “Your waitress will be by shortly to take your orders.”

  After a quick deliberation, I opted for something sparkly, and Brendan ordered a pint of Guinness before the man stepped away.

  I smiled at Bren
dan. “You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  He gave me a seductive look and my knees suddenly felt a little wobbly, even sitting down. “I wanted tonight to be special, and this is where it all started.”

  “All of what?”

  “I knew I liked you when I brought you here on our first date, but this was where I thought for the first time that I could possibly more than like you. The ginger princess stole my heart at The Halfway.”

  “That’s so cheesy.” I tried to keep a straight face, even though my heart was flipping in my chest. “And just so you know, I abdicated.”

  He laughed. “You told your father that?”

  “I did.”

  “And you think he accepts it?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not up to him. Besides, it’s not like either of us has a throne to sit on. We’re both here, on Earth, and whatever kingdom I might have inherited is lost.”

  “I’m going to keep telling myself I’m dating a princess, though, if that’s cool by you.”

  “Very well, peasant. Whatever floats your boat.”

  “You do.” Brendan kissed the back of my hand and held onto it as he leaned back. “So, have you heard from him?”

  “Who? Auberon?”

  He nodded.

  No point hiding it. Brendan knew pretty much all there was to know about my relationship with my father. “He came by the house while I was reading outside. Lurking in the shadows, as always.”

  Brendan frowned. “I hope you told him to leave.”

  “I did, but I also granted him a minute to explain himself, which he did.” I rubbed my thumb on the back of Brendan’s hand. “No matter what, he’ll always be my father, but I know what he, is and I won’t allow him to manipulate me again, so you don’t have to worry.”

  “Ready to order?” a waitress asked in a chipper tone as she approached and placed our drinks in front of us.