Keeper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  The kitchen door swung open and Army Coat rushed out. When he saw Greg, his jaw dropped open and his gray eyes doubled in size.

  “Sorcerer,” the man spat the word like an accusation. He cowered close to the wall as he ran toward the exit.

  Greg had an impulse to follow him and snap his neck, but Sam was his priority. He couldn’t sense her! He had to make sure she was alright, as much as he’d like to see that bastard dead. He slammed into the swinging door, shoulder first.

  Sam lay limp on the floor, her hair matted to her face, a reddish stain spreading across her t-shirt. Panic galvanized him for a moment until he looked closer. Not blood. It’s not blood. The large pot sat on a stool, dripping reddish liquid down the sides and onto the floor. She’s covered in soup?!

  Greg crashed to his knees at her side. Sweeping hair off her face, he checked for breath. Nothing.

  Oh, God!

  He checked her pulse next. It was faint but there. Frantically, Greg turned her on her stomach and pounded her back. When nothing happened, he slid his arms under her midsection, placed his fist at the top of her stomach and squeezed violently, pulling her up into him.

  Please, please, please.

  He was about to squeeze a second time when Sam went stiff, then convulsed forward, coughing, spewing muck from her mouth, pawing at her neck as if to push the nasty, intruding liquid out of her body. Greg helped her to her knees. She retched, trembling, one hand to her throat, the other one to her stomach.

  When the sickness passed, she sat back, crying, shoulders shaking. She held her head between pale hands and rocked back and forth. Greg wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her close, rocking with her, feeling all her terror, confusion, frustration and relief in waves—the same way she felt them.

  He simply held her, wishing there was something he could say, something he could do to erase the horror she’d lived in the last minutes. And wanting very fervently to make someone pay.

  Chapter 23 - Ashby

  Perry shook his head. “You’re asking too much of me. I can’t take you back to Indiana.”

  “I know I am,” Ashby said, “but nobody will find out this time.” He had to convince him. After only a few days since seeing Sam at the mall, the urge to see her again had become unbearable. Not to mention how useless and underestimated his mother made him feel. Perry liked breaking the rules. He’d magically transported Ashby to her before. Of course he could do it again. Ashby refused to believe that his mentor, Portos, and Regent Danata had scared him into being a good boy.

  Perry crossed his arms. “Is that so? And how do you plan to avoid detection?”

  “We’ll do it from outside the castle. From the old Derby cottage. It’s abandoned and no one ever goes there. No spells to warn anyone there, since it’s well outside of the castle’s perimeter.”

  “How do you plan to get out without your bodyguards? God, it’d be so much easier if I could just make them forget,” Perry complained, not for the first time. All guards at Rothblade Castle carried amulets that defended them against minor spells such as memory modifications.

  “C’mon, I have my means.” Ashby looked at the young sorcerer, a cocky smile on his lips.

  “Of course, you have your means.” Perry rolled his eyes.

  Ashby had exited the castle a few times without a bodyguard, even though his mother strictly forbade it. One time he had used a disguise, another time, the help of an obliging gardener (long dead now). He had many tricks to get a bit of adventure away from the stifling watch of his mother and her guards. “All right,” Perry said after thinking about it for a moment. “I’ll do it with one condition.”

  “And that would be . . .?”

  “I want to come, too.”

  “Oh, no. What if something goes wrong with the spell or with something else? No one will know what happened to us.”

  “Please, show a little respect, my lord,” Perry said with a wry smile. “Nothing went wrong with my first transfer spell. Nothing will go wrong with the second. As far as something else going wrong? I doubt it. Hardly anyone knows who you are over here, much less in some obscure town in Indiana. If anything, you’ll be safer there. Besides, why your mother fusses so much over protecting your Regent bottom is beyond me. I don’t see people lining up to murder you. But maybe she knows something we don’t.” Perry winked mischievously. “At any rate, would it be so bad if we got stuck there and no one knew?”

  “I guess not.” The idea was actually tempting.

  “Do we have a deal, then?”

  “I suppose.” He thought about it a little longer. Maybe it would be good to have someone with him. “Fine . . . deal,” he said, extending his hand. Perry shook it firmly.

  “It’ll be fun.” Perry grinned.

  “No funny business, okay?”

  “Not from me.” Perry took a hand to his chest, looking comically injured.

  “I’ll meet you at 10 P.M. by the south tower. Don’t be late.”

  Perry seemed about to protest, but stopped when Ashby narrowed his eyes at him. It didn’t matter if the Sorcerer found the time difference between continents inconvenient, missed his beauty sleep, or what have you. He wasn’t about to scare Sam by visiting at an ungodly hour.

  * * *

  At 10:15 P.M., Ashby was waiting hidden in the shadows of a massive stone column. He was dressed in a black suit and tie, and felt much more presentable and confident than the last time he’d seen Sam. But where the devil was Perry?

  Just when his impatience started to simmer, Perry walked out through the service door. He looked around surreptitiously, holding his head down, casting a dim shadow under the moon. He wore dark jeans with a few fashionable holes and a simple black shirt.

  “Over here,” Ashby whispered.

  Perry gave no sign of having heard, but walked casually in his direction.

  “It’s about time,” Ashby chided.

  “Couldn’t help it. Xasdia was late delivering my dinner,” Perry said with an impish smile on his lips.

  “Stuff it! I don’t want to hear it.”

  Perry looked him up and down. “Looking a bit . . . stiff, are we?”

  “I want to make a better impression,” Ashby said defensively.

  “You’ll stand out like a sore thumb, more likely.”

  “Just shut up, Perry. Take this.” He picked up a burlap cloth from the ground and pushed it at the Sorcerer’s stomach. Perry grabbed it and squinted at it, trying to figure out what it was.

  “What’s this?

  “A cloak,” Ashby said sarcastically.

  “A cloak?”

  “Yes, they’re the latest fashion, didn’t you know? Just shut up and follow me.”

  They walked toward the garages. All was quiet at this hour, which was a far cry from the hubbub that was common during the day. Only the padding of their shoes against a stone pathway disturbed the calm. The luscious lawns and flowerbeds filled the air with the scent of cut grass and manure. Next morning, a battalion of gardeners would be out, tending every blade of grass on the expansive grounds, every leaf on the towering bushes and topiary sculptures.

  When they reached the prodigious building they called the garage, Ashby led Perry around the corner. Behind the structure, a delivery van sat, idling—no one at the wheel. Ashby’s black Bentley was parked a few yards away.

  “This is it,” Ashby said.

  Perry kept walking toward the Bentley. “What? You finally found a bribable guard? ‘Bout time.”

  Ashby had tried to bribe a few of the guards in the past, but none of them had ever let him leave the castle without Danata’s permission. They were trained and paid too well to risk losing their jobs.

  “No, not my car. The van.” Ashby walked quickly to the back of the delivery vehicle, where he found the back hatch open. Several burlap sacks lay on the ground, waiting to be loaded. In one leap, Ashby climbed in. The cargo area was only half-full. Perry followed, without a comment, for once.

  Ashb
y sat and got as close as he could to one of the sacks toward the back. An earthy odor filled the space. Gathering his legs and arms in a tight bundle, he tucked his burlap blanket around his body, concealing himself as best as he could.

  “I can still tell you’re not a sack,” Perry pointed out.

  “Just do the same, Perry” he said tiredly

  “They always check whatever goes in or out.”

  As if Ashby didn’t know that. “You’re a pain in the arse, you know?”

  Biting his tongue, Perry positioned himself next to Ashby. “I feel like a huge potato,” he said.

  “Shh, it’s time.”

  Someone was approaching. They ducked and covered their heads. A man, whistling a tune, loaded more sacks onto the van until Ashby and Perry were surrounded by them. His name was Higgs. Ashby had paid him handsomely to sneak them out of the castle and had promised not to mention their deal if they got caught. Soon the van was in motion, lurching back and forth none-too-gently.

  “Quite a means of transport you’ve found,” Perry whispered.

  Ashby ignored him. The van came to a stop at the back gate, the checkpoint for all service vehicles.

  “What do you have this time, Higgs?” A guard asked.

  “Turnips,” the driver responded, his voice a little shaky.

  “This late?”

  “Lord Bernard was late finishing his harvest,” Higgs said.

  “Bernard’s a fool,” sneered the guard. “Why does he even bother keeping a garden?”

  Ashby tightened his fists. The guard deserved a punch in the gut. Uncle Bernard loved working on his vegetables. He was a Sower and could grow just about anything to perfection. It was the only thing the poor soul could still enjoy and do well.

  “You shouldn’t say that! Lord Bernard is generous to donate his harvest. It’s well-appreciated at the soup kitchens in town,” Higgs defended. “His are excellent turnips.”

  “Sure, sure,” the guard said. “Well, let me have a look.”

  “O-okay.”

  Steps sounded outside as the two men made their way to the back of the van. The doors opened with a groan of hinges. Ashby waited for a beat, hoping to give the guard at least one small glimpse of the van’s interior, then he pressed the panic button on the keyless entry remote of his Bentley. The car’s anti-theft alarm began to wail, blaring through the still night.

  “What the hell . . . ?” the guard said.

  “What’s happening?” A second voice called out. There were always two guards manning the booth at the back gate.

  “I’ll go check,” the first guard said. “That damn thing’s going to wake everyone up.” Heavy steps moved away.

  “What about Higgs?” the second guard asked.

  “Let him go. It’s just turnips.” The first guard’s voice was now distant as he made his way back to the garage.

  “Off to the soup kitchen,” Higgs said happily. Ashby exhaled a sigh of relief.

  Once they were well outside of the castle’s perimeter, Higgs stopped and let them off. Ashby thanked him. Higgs gave him a broad smile and said they could count on him anytime. A vineyard lay nearby, and the scent of fermented grapes filled the air.

  “How far from here?” Perry dusted himself off. He smelled his shirt. “Ugh, I stink like a musty cellar.”

  “One mile, at most.” Ashby started walking in the opposite direction of the vineyard. He sniffed the sleeve of his jacket and wrinkled his nose. Perry was right. They smelled bad. Hopefully, a brisk walk through open country would get rid of the musty odor.

  “What?! I don’t feel like walking. Let’s do it here,” Perry crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Don’t be lazy. A walk will do you good. Besides, doing magic in plain view isn’t the best idea.” Ashby removed his jacket, picked off a few strands of burlap, and slung it over his shoulder. Perry huffed, but followed. Humans around these parts already spread rumors about Rothblade Castle residents. They didn’t need proof of their supernatural abilities.

  In spite of Perry’s initial grumbling, he caught up and began to clearly enjoy the walk over the rocky terrain. He stopped to poke a huge toad with a stick and bounded over the rocks like a happy goat, making Ashby remember the playful summers they’d spent together as children. As they neared a patch of woods, tall grass swayed at their feet, teased by a chilly wind.

  Twenty minutes later, they walked into the woods and soon arrived at a small cottage overrun by weeds. The windows were dusty and broken, the door closed and uninviting.

  “What’s the rush?” Perry snickered when Ashby hurried to the crumbling gate.

  Ashby ignored him, wishing his friend weren’t so impertinent all the time. Yes, he wanted to see Sam as soon as possible. What was the shame in that? But of course, a Singular like Perry would never understand the strong needs for one’s Companion. Ashby took a deep breath and, instead of letting his temper get the best of him, decided to feel sorry for Perry. The poor devil would never know true love.

  While the young Sorcerer took his time surveying the place, Ashby approached the cottage. It appeared deserted, but he was cautious nonetheless. After looking through one of the broken windows into the dark confines of the small structure, he confirmed it was empty. Shoving with one shoulder, he forced the door open. It scraped loudly against the cobblestone floor.

  “Great! Now everyone knows we’ve arrived.” Perry walked past Ashby and entered the cottage first. “Nice,” he said sarcastically when he saw the interior.

  There were cobwebs, dust and broken furniture in every corner. A small fireplace, black with soot, stood in the center of the room as a forlorn reminder of warm, home cooked stew on long-ago winter nights.

  “I think it’s perfect,” Ashby said, ignoring Perry’s attempts to goad him.

  “Maybe you and your lovebird can fix the place up and move in.”

  “Just get to work.”

  “Yes, your Highness.” Perry’s tone was sardonic, but he closed the door and set to work.

  It was dark inside, but they could see well enough. The young Sorcerer knelt in the middle of the room and pulled a scarlet handkerchief from his pants pocket. He unfurled the bundle and placed it gently on the floor. A small, corked vial filled with green liquid sparkled, casting a glow onto Perry’s hands. Ashby gagged, remembering the brew’s awful taste.

  Perry cradled the tiny vessel and deposited it in Ashby’s hand. “You know what to do.”

  “Why does it have to taste like liquefied snot? How about figs? Or pomegranate?”

  “Look, does it work? Or not?”

  Ashby huffed. He would drink a barrel of the foul stuff if it meant he could see Sam again. Ashby uncorked the bottle. Perry drew a thick chain from around his collar. A silver talisman slid from under his shirt. He set it on the palm of his hand. The edge of the amulet was adorned by two serpents eating each other in a vicious circle. Any silver disc would have worked, but Perry had a weakness for “wicked-looking” accessories. It helped collect Perry’s powers until he was ready to release the strong conjuration.

  For his part, Ashby needed the potion to absorb the spell. Without it, the magic would have no effect on him, and only transport Perry. Ashby’s every molecule would remain tied to the elements that surrounded him. At least, that was how Ashby understood it. Perry was right about one thing, he thought: as long as it all worked, the details were incidental.

  In one gulp, the green concoction washed down his throat, leaving behind glittering particles inside the vial. He winced in disgust, the taste of something like rotten eggs flooding his mouth. Perry watched, amused.

  “Well? What are you waiting for?” Ashby asked.

  Perry stopped grinning and started reciting a spell under his breath. Ashby waited impatiently, wishing the young sorcerer had more practice. After a few minutes, the same tingling sensation he’d experienced the first time spread over his body. He closed his eyes tightly as a wave of nausea hit the pit of his stomach. This was
the worst part, but it was a small price to pay, considering what awaited him on the other side.

  There was a loud pop as he felt transported. It has something to do with breaking the time and space barrier. He wobbled, but steadied himself quickly when he opened his eyes. He looked around, disoriented. Something was wrong.

  Perry stood in front of him, staring up at a bright, green streetlight. “What in bloody hell?!” His exclamation was followed by a terrible screeching of tires.

  “Hey, are you nuts?” someone yelled. A deafening car horn blared behind them.

  They turned and found themselves face to face with the grill of a large truck. The driver stuck his head out the window and glared at them.

  “The light’s green, you morons. Get off the street,” the man yelled when they just stared back, bewildered.

  Ashby grabbed Perry’s arm and dragged him out of the way onto the sidewalk. Traffic started flowing again. Ashby looked around at the different signs over the buildings. He spotted a couple of fast food restaurants and a pharmacy, but no Sam.

  “Where is she?” Last time, he’d spotted her right away. But now, he couldn’t sense her nearby.

  “Well, it was a little harder than I expected. I think we got off course, just a touch.”

  “Damn it!” Ashby exclaimed.

  “Now see here, my lord,” Perry said sarcastically. “See how dangerous that was? We could have ended up in the middle of the Atlantic. This should be the last time we come here.” Perry waved a mocking finger in Ashby’s face. As Sorcerer adviser to the future Regent, Perry was supposed to impart counsel whenever appropriate. “Just practicing . . . for the future, you know.”

  “Yeah, sure. Now, let me concentrate.” Ashby closed his eyes and let the need for Sam take hold of him. It was hard keeping it in the back of his mind, but extremely easy to let it flood him. Her pull became stronger, like a rope around his spinal column, tugging him. He felt her with all his being, and knew exactly where to find her.