KEEPER

by Ingrid Seymour

  “Oh, but you haven’t been invited.”

  “She needs me to keep her safe.”

  “I can do that myself,” Ashby said arrogantly.

  “Can you?” One thing Greg knew was that no one could keep Sam safer than he could. Defending her from harm was now his sole purpose in life. “I’m her Keeper. I know when she’s in danger. I’ve saved her life twice. Where were you when she needed help?”

  Ashby’s face twisted in shock. He frowned, eyes wandering over the carpet as if he could find the thread of his thoughts there. His next words took Greg by surprise.

  “You’re a worthy Keeper then, and I thank you. I would very much like to hear what happened and how you saved her.” Ashby gave a slight head bow, increasing the awkwardness of the moment twofold.

  Greg was speechless. The guy was such an oddball.

  “If you don’t mind, of course,” Ashby added when Greg didn’t respond.

  “I can tell you about the first instance,” Greg finally said, realizing he might learn something about his suspicions of Ashby. “I’ll leave it up to her to tell you about the second.”

  Drawing his eyebrows together, Ashby regarded Greg suspiciously. “Why is that?” he asked.

  “Because . . .” Ashby could think whatever he wanted. Hopefully, he would imagine something torturous.

  Relenting, Ashby held up his hands. “All right, share what you will.”

  Greg measured his words and watched Ashby’s face for the smallest reaction. “Someone tried to kill her. I was there and managed to prevent it.”

  Ashby staggered back in disbelief. “What?! Kill her?! I thought you were referring to an accident or something.”

  To Greg, Ashby seemed genuinely surprised, but considering what little he knew of him, his suspicion stood.

  “Who would have something against her?” Ashby’s surprise left his face, which tightened in concentration, as if he were considering a known possibility.

  Greg didn’t like his expression at all. “Yeah, I thought you might know something about it.”

  Ashby looked up at him, defensive. “Why? What makes you think I would?”

  “I don’t know. Kinda makes sense.”

  Ashby said nothing.

  “It was a Sorcerer, and he wasn’t shy about using his magic in plain view. He said he wanted Sam dead. He said his name was Veridan. Heard of him?”

  “Veridan?” The name escaped Ashby’s mouth like an involuntary hiss.

  “Ah, so he is from your neck of the woods. Maybe even a friend of yours?”

  Instead of answering, Ashby started pacing. His breathing sped up, making him look more anxious than an expectant father. “That can’t be.”

  “Who is he? Tell me!” Greg demanded, but Ashby was lost in his own thoughts, thoughts that seemed to race across his forehead like bullet trains. Ashby knew who Veridan was, but this was also an unexpected development for him.

  “I should go.” Ashby walked to the door.

  “Whoa, whoa, stop right there, man.” Greg blocked his path. “You’re not leaving until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “We don’t have time for this. I need to find Perry, so he can get to work on Sam’s parents.”

  “I’m not stupid, dude. Something’s going on. You know this Veridan guy, don’t deny it. If you want to help me protect her, you need to tell me now.”

  “You’re mistaken. I don’t know this person.”

  “Bull crap,” Greg sneered.

  “We’re wasting time,” Ashby said emphatically. “Perry needs to set to work. You should put Sam in the tub, and I need to . . .”

  “You’re holding back,” Greg accused him. “You know what? Never mind. Deal’s off. Clearly, there’s something you care more about than Sam. Suit yourself.” He stepped away from the door. “I can take care of her without holding anything back. I guess we can’t say the same thing about you.”

  Hesitating with his hand on the door knob, Ashby stared at the floor. Greg watched him intently, sensing the internal struggle, watching his hands shake. After a deep breath, Ashby turned the knob and left without a word.

  Greg locked the door, wishing he could shut the entire world away. He went back into the bedroom and stared at Sam. Her skin was covered in a thin, transparent sheen. Her face was losing shape under a coat of the viscous material that coated her entire body. Her chest wasn’t moving, and her utter stillness almost sent him into a panic. Determined to stay calm, he set to work. Kneeling in front of the bed, he undressed her carefully, peeling off her shirt, pants and everything else. The clothes came off with a wet sound, pulling gooey strands away from her skin. When he started to pick her up, the sheet clung to her back. He peeled it away and threw it on the floor. He carried her into the bathroom and carefully set her down inside the tub.

  The sight of her pale, naked body against the cold surface was just too much. She looked so helpless, like a newborn thrown into a strange new world. He wanted to get a blanket to cover her, but this was what she needed. Gently, he stroked her hair.

  “Sam,” he whispered. Even through her hair, she felt impossibly hot.

  Two weeks were going to be a very long time. The uncertainty would kill him. What if she woke up a stranger to the feelings they’d shared? He looked at her bare body without emotion, purely as a protective Keeper. He understood that—from now on, if he planned to survive—that’s the way it should be. He would still see her, but as if from the corner of his eye, trying to spare his heart the agony of her unavailability, of her love for someone else. Maybe it was time to embrace his Morphid side. Sam might not be the same person in a couple of weeks. If he didn’t brace himself, it would tear him apart.

  But what if she was the same? What if she still cared for him? He shook his head. He was fooling himself. For a moment, he wished he could kill the hope that nestled deep in his soul. Still, his passion took a stronger hold. He didn’t understand how he could feel so deeply when half of his heart kept screaming it was wrong to love her? How much bigger would his love be if he had a whole heart to love her?

  The word epic came to mind.

  Chapter 31 - Sam

  At first, the sound was faint. Rap, rap, rap—maybe someone knocking on the door. The tapping gradually became a pounding. It seemed impossible no one could hear it.

  Will someone answer the blasted door? It felt like a dream. Sam struggled to wake up. A furious voice finally helped her break through the gelatinous unconsciousness that weighed on her brain. I know that voice. Her eyes sprang open.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you? Do you want the neighbors to call the police?” It was Greg. Her Greg.

  “What took you so long?” a different voice asked. “And what are you doing dressed like that?” Threat and suspicion brimmed in this question.

  “I was taking a shower, you moron.”

  Sam looked around, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. With a jolt, she sat up.

  “Greg,” she called out in alarm.

  She jerked a hand to her throat. My voice. She sounded all femme fatale, smooth and mature. Panicked, she tried to stand, but stumbled on legs that felt as if they belonged to a stork. She started to fall and closed her eyes. This is gonna hurt. Then Greg was at her side, catching her, keeping her safe. Her eternal savior. He gently helped her sit on the bed.

  “You’re awake,” he said, sitting next to her, an arm around her shoulder.

  She sighed. It was such a relief to see those blue eyes. He looked at her anxiously as if asking a desperate question. The answer to what he wanted to know hung from her lips, but Sam was distracted, too baffled by the fact that she didn’t have to look up at him anymore. I must be six feet tall, she thought incredulously.

  Her eyes slid from Greg’s face to his naked chest. It was smooth and muscular. She blinked. He was wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist.

  “Sam, I asked you a question,” someone barked from the doorway.

  Reluc
tantly, she extricated her gaze from Greg’s breathtaking torso and looked up at the source of the intruding voice. Oh great, Ashby’s here. She frowned.

  “Is your mark defined yet?” he demanded.

  Her answer was another frown. What the hell is he talking about?

  “No, it isn’t,” Greg snapped. “She just woke up . . . for the first time.” He sounded disappointed and hopeful at the same time.

  Ashby made no attempt to disguise his displeasure.

  “I’ve changed?” Sam asked in a whisper. She was afraid to speak too loudly and be freaked out by her new voice again.

  “Not completely,” Ashby complained.

  Sam scowled at Ashby. What a pain in the ass. Clearly, morphing didn’t make him seem likable. Good!

  “He means there’s one final step left,” Greg explained. “Remember? Your body changes first, then your mind.” He finished the sentence with a wistful air.

  “Oh,” Sam said. So much had changed, yet nothing had changed. “When, then. . . ?”

  “Any time, now.” Ashby seemed to overflow with impatience.

  What if she skipped the next part? Was that possible? It wouldn’t be wrong if only her body changed and her mind remained her own, would it? Maybe that would be freaky or unheard of, but she felt fine the way she was, like she was still herself—at least her mind did.

  “Is there a mirror?” she asked, suddenly eager to know just how unlike herself she had become.

  “In the bathroom. Come with me.” Greg stood up, keeping one hand around her shoulder and the other one on the towel at his waist.

  “I’ll take her,” Ashby said. “Go put on some clothes.”

  For a moment, Greg looked as if he would object, but then removed his arm, leaving Sam with a feeling of loss and abandonment.

  “I’d rather go with Greg,” she blurted out. She spoke her mind, but her body protested with a pang in her chest. She dismissed the odd sensation.

  Ashby patiently stepped aside. He was content to bide his time until the final battle. Fate was on his side. All he had to do was wait, right? If only she could defy fate. She wished it with all her heart.

  She looked at Greg and made a point of feeling his arm around her, of memorizing his handsome profile from this exact angle. They walked together across the hall and into the bathroom. When she saw her image in the mirror, her mouth gaped.

  “I told you,” Greg said, leaning close to whisper into her ear. He stood behind her and only his closeness, his warmth along the length of her body, convinced her that the astonishing woman looking back was real. He was so near that not even the astounding image of her new self could distract her from this intimacy.

  “Look at yourself.” Greg lifted a hand and pushed back the hair that rested on her right shoulder.

  Sam did as he said. Tracing her altered features with the tips of her fingers, she attempted to dispel her incredulity. This really was her. Her hair was longer and lustrous, and its once-flat brown color now burst with reddish highlights that no beauty salon would be able to recreate. The childlike roundness of her face was replaced by angular, yet feminine, features. Her eyes remained the same shade of honey, but now they appeared golden, even iridescent.

  Engrossed by her face, Sam’s hands subconsciously travelled downward. Her neck seemed to go on forever before she reached her chest. She wore an old black t-shirt with golden letters that read “New Orleans Saints NFC Champions.” She smiled faintly, remembering that Greg wore it all the time. She wrapped her hands around herself, shrugged and smelled her shoulder. The fabric still carried his scent. As she hugged her torso tighter, she also discovered she wasn’t the same flat-chested girl she had once been. She smiled, delighted and bashful at the same time. Letting her fingers travel further down, she discovered a narrow waist. All this, in a matter of days!

  “Greg,” she turned around, eyes wide. “How long did this take? What about Rose and James? And school? Oh my God!”

  “Relax, relax. Everything’s okay. Come, are you hungry? I can fix you a peanut butter sandwich while I explain everything. Go to the kitchen, I’ll be right there.”

  She obeyed him without protest and found Ashby sitting on the countertop next to the stove. When she approached, he lifted his gaze from the floor and offered her a meek smile. Feeling awkward, Sam pulled the waistband of her pants up. They were sliding off. She may be as tall as Greg, but she certainly wasn’t as wide. Blood rising to her face, she tried not to think of how she’d gotten dressed in those clothes.

  “So, a peanut butter sandwich sounds good?” Greg asked. He was still getting dressed as he walked out of the bedroom. In one fluid motion, he stuffed his sinewy arms inside a black t-shirt and pulled it over his head. He was barefoot, wearing black jeans that were frayed at the bottom.

  “Sure,” Sam said.

  “No problem.”

  Greg started making a sandwich.

  Sam didn’t wait to ask, “So how long was I out?”

  “Sixteen days,” Greg said as he opened the refrigerator and poured milk into a red disposable cup.

  “What?!” Sam coughed, her throat feeling a little raw. “Sixteen days?”

  “You have nothing to worry about,” Ashby put in, hopping off the counter.

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Greg frowned at Ashby as he handed her the food.

  Sam took a gulp of the cold milk. It felt great sliding down into her empty stomach. “Why not?”

  “Well,” both Greg and Ashby started.

  “One at a time, please.” Sam looked back and forth between them.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Regent,” Greg said sarcastically.

  Mr. Regent? Sam blinked, but said nothing.

  Ashby gave him an acid once-over, then turned to Sam. “Rose, James and even Barbara received a visit from my friend Perry. He made all three of them forget that you even exist . . . temporarily, of course,” he added when Sam seemed about to protest. “At school, everyone thinks you are in Europe with your father.”

  “So, I guess now we can tell everyone that the French have amazing plastic surgery techniques that work overnight,” Sam joked sarcastically.

  “That won’t be necessary. I doubt you’ll want to bother with anyone here, once your transformation is complete,” Ashby said, conceit dripping from his voice.

  Anger bubbled up inside Sam. She put the milk and sandwich down on the small peninsula that separated the empty breakfast nook from the kitchen. “Just so you know,” she growled, walking toward Ashby and waving a long finger at him, “I hope you’re wrong. The last thing I want to be is some mindless zombie. I like who I am, and I like making my own decisions.” She was beyond caring if Ashby was hurt by her words. This might not be his fault, but she was sick of his smug, arrogant attitude.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Ashby said calmly. “But it’s your nature, and once your mind has fully matured, you will feel differently. Everything will be as it should.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Greg disagreed. Turning to Sam, he made things plain. “His plans are to take you away with him.”

  “What? No way. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She went to stand next to Greg. Ashby simply shrugged.

  “And not just that. He’s hiding something,” Greg added.

  “I’m not hiding anything,” Ashby protested.

  “Well, something smells rotten. He knows the guy who attacked us, and he’s denying it.”

  “The guy at the gas station?!” Sam exclaimed.

  “Yes. Conveniently enough, the future Regent here also knows a Sorcerer who goes by the name ‘Veridan.’ Turns out he works for Ashby’s mother, the current Regent no less. But his mummy says they had nothing to do with the attack, and this moron believes her. I don’t. How common is the name Veridan?”

  “Quite common among Morphids, actually,” Ashby said. “The Regency is not in the business of hurting anyone. On the contrary, we help our kind. Besides, Veridan is under my mother’s command
and she has nothing against Sam. It would be absolutely ludicrous of you to think the Regency is involved. My mother—”

  “Wait a minute. What’s all this ‘Regent’ mess?” Sam interrupted.

  Greg explained for her. “Regents are like Morphid royalty. They lead the governing council, make sure our existence remains a secret, keep historical archives and stuff like that.”

  “You mean you’re the future . . . head of some Morphid council?” Sam felt really confused.

  “Yes. My caste marks me as a Regent. I’ll inherit the post from my mother, Regent Danata. As my wife, you’ll be there to help me ensure the safety of our kind,” Ashby proclaimed with pride.

  A fit of roaring laughter came over her. This was too much. “Me? Your wife?” Sam managed to say between choppy breaths.

  Greg grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

  Ashby, for his part, looked less than amused. “Why is that so funny?” he asked, looking half mad and half embarrassed.

  “There must be some mistake,” Sam said, trying to regain her composure. “If you’re like Morphid royalty, shouldn’t you be pestering some exotic princess somewhere? Won’t your mother be disappointed all you got is a plebeian?”

  For the shortest instant, Ashby looked taken aback, as if he’d never considered this. “You . . . you don’t even know who you are, who your real parents are. It’s quite possible your lineage is as good as mine.”

  Greg blew his cheeks in mockery. “Well, I guess he doesn’t do plebeian.”

  Missing the jibe altogether, Ashby went on. “There have been a few occasions throughout history where even the Regent was of common descent. Fate decides what is best for our kind and what is best for us as individuals. The marks spell our jobs out clearly.” He gave Greg a pointed look.

  “Common descent, huh?” Sam shook her head, unable to believe the guy’s brazen comments. The worst part was, he was clueless about what he was doing.

  “It happened at times when great change was needed. Regent Vessey’s Integral turned out to be a peasant girl, she later gave birth to the most powerful and revolutionary Regent Morphids have ever known.”