Weaver

by Ingrid Seymour

  “I think we should wait and let them do their job,” she said, though without confidence. “It’s only been a week, and it has to take more than that to hatch a plan against Danata, right? Plus, they’re grown-ups, they know what they’re doing.”

  “Yeah, grown-ups like Veridan and Danata,” Greg sneered.

  “That’s different. Those two are evil. We’re talking about Sam’s mom and dad. Of course, they care. They have to do everything in their power to get her back safely. Right?” Brooke asked.

  Greg shook his head. “Maybe, but Mirante is the one running the show, and she cares more about dethroning Danata than anything else.”

  He paused, quarreling with his emotions. He hadn’t said his next words out loud to anyone, but he needed the pain of embarrassment, the pain of failure, to jolt him.

  “I was supposed to protect her.” He choked out the words. “I was supposed to keep her safe, and I failed her. I have to do something. She would come to me, if our situations were reversed. Can you imagine how she’s feeling? She must be wondering where we are, why we haven’t come for her. If I find her, if I get close enough, she can weave us back together, and then I would be able to defend her again.”

  Greg’s eyes flashed to Ashby. Sam hadn’t weaved their broken link. Was Greg a jackass for mentioning this? It was true that Fate had given her Ashby for a Companion, but Fate had also taken him away, hadn’t it? Still, Greg couldn’t help the guilt that rose in him, especially now that he knew exactly what Ashby had gone through.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to say—”

  Ashby put a hand up. “No need. I’ve come to terms with it. You know that.”

  Was that true? Was it possible to ever come to terms with such a loss?

  No. It couldn’t be, and Greg didn’t intent to go on living like this. He was going to find Sam. He was going to put an end to the pain.

  He peered at Perry. In Greg’s mind, he was the only one talking sense. Maybe, just maybe, the sorcerer would lend a hand. Greg had a feeling he would.

  Chapter 3

  Sam

  Sam stepped outside of the chamber that had served as her prison cell for the last week, and took a deep breath. In the hall, the two guards flanked her and forced her to follow the Regent’s brisk steps. The men seemed familiar. Sam recalled their hard faces from the last time she’d been held prisoner, the day Danata had ripped her from Ashby. What were their names? Simeon and Omar, she thought.

  Apprehension twisted in her gut. This couldn’t be good.

  Sam looked sideways at the guards. They kept their eyes straight ahead as if she weren’t there. The urge to run possessed Sam, but it was a stupid flight instinct as useless as fake butter on toast.

  Her nervous hands pulled on her dirty t-shirt as she forced one foot in front of the other. Their steps echoed in the barren stone hall. Sam tried to memorize the labyrinthine corridors but quickly got disoriented. There were no windows. Everything was made of gray rock, and the hangings on the walls were ancient, just like the spare pieces of furniture strewn about. It all depressed her even more.

  The first time she’d been here—when Ashby brought her with him right after her metamorphosis—the place had seemed magnificent. They’d waited for Portos in a large entrance hall that hung with beautiful tapestries and gleamed with marble floors. The place had been open—nothing like these claustrophobic halls Danata had relegated her to.

  But now, as she followed, Sam realized she’d been spared from an even grimmer area of the castle. Gradually, the halls grew narrower and darker, making her feel as if she was headed straight for the bowels of hell. When they passed a heavy wooden door and began to descend down a dimly-lit, closed-in staircase, she became certain of it.

  Her heart hammered, knocking against her ribcage as if it would break out. She wrung her t-shirt more fiercely, wishing instead to place her hands on her chest, but the manacles made it impossible. Swallowing thickly, she wondered where Danata was taking her.

  Images of medieval torturing devices popped into Sam’s mind. She looked over her shoulder at the guards who now were forced to walk in single file. They still avoided her gaze, but even in the gloom, she detected shame in the eyes of the guard directly behind her, Omar, if she recalled correctly. He knew what awaited her, and he didn’t like to be part of it.

  Sam froze mid step. “Please don’t take me down there,” she begged in a barely audible whisper.

  Foolishly, she hoped the man would take pity on her, but all she got was a rough “Come on, move!” and a shove that send her to her knees.

  A hand slipped around Sam’s arm.

  “Just do as you’re told,” Omar mumbled, pulling Sam to her feet.

  She trembled, staring down at the bottom of the steps where Danata waited.

  “What is the matter? Hurry up and get that girl down here. I don’t have all day,” she snapped.

  Gathering her courage, Sam jerked her arm out of Omar’s grip and decided she wouldn’t be a coward like these men. Whatever Danata had in store for her, it couldn’t last forever or be worse than the empty feeling that slowly gnawed away at her bones. And if death awaited, at least it meant her desolation would also come to an end.

  Sam walked down the rest of the steps until she reached Danata. The Regent appraised her, stopping at her manacled hands as she twirled a small key in a leather strap. She smiled.

  “Follow me.” Danata turned and led the way into a brightly illuminated hall that was nothing like the dark, dingy staircase they’d just left.

  Sam blinked as the narrow hall opened into a wide area with several metal doors, kept secure by electronic keypads. Proper lighting spilled from modern sconces attached to white walls. Clearly, the area had gone through some upgrades recently.

  The strong smell of bleach and anti-septic stung Sam’s throat. She sniffled and pressed her nose to the sleeve of her t-shirt. This was nothing like the dank dungeon Sam had imagined, but that didn’t mean the creepy feeling clogging her chest was going anywhere, on the contrary.

  For some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, this felt much worse.

  ◆◆◆

  “There’s something I’d like to see,” Danata said, the delightful timbre in her voice redoubling Sam’s dread.

  Vivid images popped into Sam’s head: manacles much worse than the ones she already wore, wooden contraptions that would stretch her limbs to a painful snapping point, electrical cords, drills. A knot clogged her throat. She swallowed and forced it to pass. There was no way out of this place, and no one to help her. She had to face this with courage.

  Clearly enjoying Sam’s state of dread, Danata walked to the end of the hall, faced the last door on the left, and slowly entered a code in its security keypad. A beep sounded with every touch.

  “Come closer,” the Regent said, swinging the door open.

  Sam hesitated.

  Danata tapped her foot impatiently.

  Thinking of Greg who never shied away from a challenged no matter how dangerous, she began to walk.

  I’ll get through this, she told herself. No way she’d give this woman the satisfaction of seeing her broken. One step after the other, Sam kept her breaths even and reached Danata. Once there, she took a moment, prepared herself for the worst, then turned toward the cell.

  At the sight of what waited beyond the door, Sam’s heart caught in her throat. The fibers that made up her body seemed to tremble, unbalancing her to the point of vertigo. She put a hand out, looking for a handhold, but all she found was Danata’s arm. She immediately recoiled.

  “Enter.” Danata put out a hand in invitation.

  Sam shook her head, not at the torture devices she’d imagined, but at the decrepit woman who sat curled up atop a dirty cot. Her back was against the wall, and her knees pulled up to her chest. She wore a long, dirty dress, her toes peeking out from under its ragged seams. Cracked, yellowing toenails betrayed her age and perhaps some debilitating disease.
Her hair also looked unhealthy, matted and dry, with wiry strands shooting in every direction. She stared at Sam and Danata with huge, brown eyes that seemed lost in the folds of her brown skin.

  Compelled by some invisible force, Sam stepped into the room, a hand stretched toward the woman.

  Danata followed, her steps finicky as if she was entering a pigsty and didn’t want to get her dress dirty. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent body odor emanating from the woman.

  Sam’s chest boiled with anger, and more than ever, she became aware of the depths of her hatred toward the Regent. Sam didn’t need to use her skill to know that this poor woman was one of Danata’s unfortunate victims. And yet, the Regent was acting as if the poor wretch was to blame for her own deplorable state.

  “I want you to meet Anima,” Danata said, as if she were introducing a longtime friend and not one the casualties of her cruelty. “She used to be part of my sister’s council, but had a . . . change of heart when I became Regent.”

  Anima hugged herself tighter, staring at Danata like a scared child who’s expecting a second beating. There seemed to be no recognition in her eyes, though, just the type of primal fear a warm-blooded animal exhibits in front of a predator.

  Danata faced Sam, wearing an expression that seemed foreign on her cold features. Sam tried to decipher what the look in her eyes meant, but came up empty.

  After a moment, Danata said, “I have, in my life, made many mistakes . . .”

  Sam frowned at the foreign sounds escaping through the Regent’s lips. Was this contrition? An apology? No, that was impossible. Anger, sarcasm, and ill-intention were Danata’s native language, not this. Sam’s distrust hardened further.

  “Anima is one of those mistakes,” Danata said. “She made me very angry once, even though she should have known better. Everyone is aware that my temper is . . . my biggest flaw.” She averted her gaze as if embarrassed.

  Sam didn’t buy her act. Not for a second.

  “No one is perfect, my dear Samantha,” Danata continued. “But many aren’t aware of their shortcomings. I am, and I’m paying for them. I lost my son.” Her eyes wavered.

  It’s all an act, Sam assured herself. There was no way a monster like Danata could feel regret. If she grieved for her son, it was for selfish reasons—nothing else.

  Suddenly, as if catching herself, Danata’s face hardened into a more familiar expression of indifference. Was the woman’s cold heart actually capable of true motherly emotions that she must fight to keep hidden?

  “When I ripped Anima from her husband,” Danata said, “I was young and inexperienced. I regretted it immediately and countless times since. She was a remarkable individual, but there was no way back. Not until now.” She turned her violet gaze to Sam.

  So here it was: the reason Danata was bothering to keep Sam alive.

  The woman smiled. “I never expected to be able to correct my mistake, but then you came along. My anti-thesis. Everything I am not.”

  The last words were full of venom and caused the world to right itself. This was the woman Sam knew, through and through.

  Danata took two steps toward Anima. “When I learned of what you are capable of, I immediately thought of Anima. She has never left my thoughts.”

  “Really?” Sam asked, displaying the full extent of her skepticism. “Is that why you keep her in a cell? Why she’s in such poor condition?”

  “Poor condition?” Danata looked around, feigning surprise. “She’s kept in a clean area. The staff provides her with food and clothing. She has medical care, if needed. Keep in mind that these people show no interest in caring for themselves, and my staff isn’t quite adept to the task. All things considered, I think this is quite charitable.”

  Sam scoffed in disgust. There was no point in arguing. Danata knew about charity as much as a lion knew about hollandaise sauce.

  “But that’s not why we’re here, is it? We’re here to help her.” Danata said in a sensible tone.

  “Oh, please! Drop the act,” Sam snapped, tired of the Regent’s antics.

  Danata straightened, arching an eyebrow. “I don’t expect you to understand or sympathize with me. That’s not why I brought you here.” She turned, gestured to one of the guards and said, “Go get him.”

  Get who? Who was she talking about? Greg? Ashby? Had she captured them too? Sam’s heart smashed against her ribs like a caged animal.

  Danata continued, “I brought you here to amend a mistake, to help Anima and her husband.”

  Relief washed over Sam, along with a healthy dose of guilt. Danata hadn’t captured Greg or Ashby. She was talking about the second victim or her so-called mistake: Anima’s Companion.

  “If you want to help them, you are welcome to. They deserve better, even if they betrayed me. Their punishment has certainly exceeded their crime.”

  Then Danata stepped aside and let Anima’s husband through.

  Chapter 4

  Perry

  Perry sat by himself in the kitchen of Mirante’s old house, eating a bowl of cereal. He missed Brooke by his side already. Her curvy shape, her teasing hands. He smiled to himself.

  “There you are.” Greg walked in, brightening when he noticed Perry. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Perry set his spoon down. “I’m here, mate.”

  Greg pulled out a chair and sat across from Perry, an intense look in his eyes that didn’t bode well. Perry picked his spoon back up and took a bite of his Honey Monster Puffs, pretending not to notice Greg’s anxiousness.

  “You hungry?” he asked, pushing the cereal box in Greg’s direction.

  “No, I . . .” Greg paused for a moment, then just came out with it. “Take me to Rothblade Castle.”

  Perry blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Use your magic to transfer me to Rothblade Castle,” Greg elaborated. “Do this one thing for me.”

  “Bog off, mate. You know I can’t do that,” he said. “I’m not allowed to go there. Portos would have my head. Just leave me alone. I’m not in the mood for this. I just had to take Brooke back to her house, and it wasn’t fun saying goodbye.”

  Mirante had ordered him to “get rid” of the human and erase her memories. Worst yet, Ashby hadn’t backed him up, saying Perry would thank him later since Brooke would be safer until it was all over. The bastard.

  Greg kept going as if he hadn’t heard a word Perry said. “You could take me somewhere nearby, then tell me how to get there.”

  The desperation in Greg’s eyes made the cereal taste sour in Perry’s mouth. He shook his head. “What for? You wouldn’t be able to get in. If it was that easy, we’d have already gone and attacked.”

  “I thought you understood.” Greg ground his teeth.

  Perry frowned at him, but said nothing. One had to be cautious with Greg and his volatile temper.

  “I thought you saw through their bullshit,” Greg said. “Thought you would help me.”

  He heaved a heavy sigh. “Maybe, but . . . I still can’t take you there.”

  “I’m going either way,” Greg said, as if the threat would make a difference. It didn’t.

  “That’s your decision, but I won’t be bloody responsible for it.” Perry’s chair scraped the floor as he stood.

  Greg jumped to his feet, fists clenched. He looked mad, ready to force him to listen. A week ago, Perry would have been worried, but now he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the bloke. Greg was no match for Perry—not without his Keeper immunity to magic.

  “I don’t need your help,” Greg said after a tense moment. “I don’t need anyone’s help. I’ll find her and bring her back.”

  Greg turned to leave. Perry put a hand on his arm.

  “You’ll be no help to her if you’re dead.”

  “No one understands,” Greg said. “Not even Ashby. I have to help her.” Greg shook with anger.

  Perry took a step back and held both hands up as Greg’s knuckles turned white.

  “Believe it o
r not, we’re all trying to help her,” Perry said.

  Greg took a step closer. Unable to help himself, Perry placed a hand to the amulet on his chest, his conduit for magic.

  “Really?” Greg asked, his eyes falling to the pendant. “Well, don’t all trip on each other trying to do it.”

  To Perry’s relief, Greg shook himself and stomped out of the kitchen without letting his anger get the best of him.

  Perry rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. The bloke was intense, and if Portos’ plan to keep him in check didn’t start to work soon, they would lose him.

  Chapter 5

  Sam

  Shuffling steps followed the clank of a metal door. Sam waited, resisting the urge to use her skill to confirm her suspicions. She held her breath as the guard pushed Anima’s husband into the room and forced him to sit next to his wife.

  The old man was as disheveled as his Companion. Sam was disturbed to see that his watery eyes showed no recognition of his wife. Instead, they held only terror and focused entirely on Danata and the guard.

  After weaving her father, Bernard, Sam had used her powers only twice and in completely different ways. Jacob’s father and the homeless woman at the New York shelter hadn’t had a Companion to weave them back to. Their Integrals had died. So Sam’s task had been to repair what was left of their vinculums to allow the two poor souls a reprieve from the intense grief caused by the severing.

  This, however, was different. She was faced with two severed Companions, two Morphids who could still be made whole, two souls who could have peace again. How could she deny them that?

  “Well, girl,” Danata said. “You’re here for a reason. Make yourself useful.”