“How did you get out?” Jacob asked when he seemed able to form words.
“I can do things. But it doesn’t matter, right now. Look, I don’t know if we can escape—there’s a guard at the top of the stairs—but I’ll try to come up with a plan. Okay?”
Jacob nodded, looking uncertain.
She pulled him into an embrace, once more. “I just wanted to let you know it will be okay. You’re not alone.”
“I know,” Jacob said, and those two words gave Sam more comfort than anything else he could have said.
“I love you, Jacob.” She didn’t know what made her say that, but it felt right to do so.
“I love you, too.”
Sam pulled away, fumbling for ideas of what to do next.
“Don’t go yet!” He held her tight.
“I’m not.” She squeezed him reassuringly and pulled him toward the cot. They sat, Sam’s back pressed to the wall, Jacob’s head on her lap. She caressed his hair, mind turning.
Before long, Jacob fell asleep. Sam’s heart seemed to exhale, as if all along it had been holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen. Her shoulders slumped. Her eyelids drooped. Here, sharing Jacob’s warmth, was the safest she’d felt in a while.
I’ll make it up to you, Jacob, she thought as she drifted to sleep.
Chapter 31
Ashby
The afternoon sun was bright, but several degrees cooler than it had been in Georgia, inside their derelict hotel. Ashby welcomed the breeze that blew on him, pushing his hair back and cooling his warm forehead.
They were in West Lafayette, Indiana, Sam’s hometown.
Perry had transferred them there, and now they stood under a tree in front of West Lafayette High School, waiting for classes to let out. Perry was eager to see Brooke and wanted to surprise her, while Ashby had just wanted to get out of that depressing hotel.
“So did Mateo say the Conscription Ball is on?” Perry asked.
Ashby nodded. “He made a couple of phone calls for me, got two affirmatives.”
“Well, changing someone’s face is not that hard . . . if one knows the correct spell,” Perry said, continuing the conversation.
“And do you . . . . know the spell?” Greg asked.
Perry shrugged. “I read it once, but I don’t remember it. If I could get my hands on that book again, my idea would work. I could change Ashby’s face and his mark . . . remove the Regent part, you know. They would have to let him in.”
“Could we make that permanent?” Ashby asked with a drop of sarcasm, fully aware that truly changing one’s caste was impossible. Many throughout history had tried. And failed.
Perry rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be permanent, and I do know a spell that can alter a mark for a few hours, which is more than we would need.”
“Too bad it won’t really help since you can’t get rid of his ugly mug,” Greg said with a grin.
Ashby smirked, something he would have been unable to do just a few weeks ago. Greg had started as a rival, but their relationship was changing.
“I assumed the book you’re referring to is in Rothblade Castle?” Greg asked.
Perry nodded. “The High Sorcerer’s library.”
A deep crease parted Greg’s forehead as he seemed to ponder something.
“What?” Ashby asked.
“My parents know a couple of Sorcerers. I wonder if they could help.”
Both Perry and Ashby perked up.
“My dad mentioned them a few times when I was little.”
“Who are they? What are their names?” Perry asked.
“I don’t know. They’re very secretive. Like my parents.”
“Hmm.” Ashby exchanged a looked with Perry. “Dissidents?”
“Probably,” Perry said. “A handful of Sorcerers did make themselves scarce after your mum became Regent.” He scratched his head, cocking it to one side.
“Let me find out.” Greg stepped away to one side, pulling out his cell phone, and dialed. “Hi, Mom.” He moved away from the tree and lowered his voice.
Perry turned toward the school. “Could be promising.”
A bell sounded in the distance, but Ashby barely noticed it. He was lost in thought, his decision and the possible consequences weighing heavily on his mind.
A sharp squeal pulled him back into the moment.
“Perry!” Brooke was jogging across the parking lot, her brown hair swinging from side to side.
To Ashby’s surprise, Perry rushed to meet her, lifting her off the ground and twirling her around with uncharacteristic excitement. Ashby frowned, watching them hug and kiss as they went about in circles.
“Stare much?” Greg stepped up next to him, pocketing his cell.
Ashby turned away, blinking. “Guess I do. Perry just acts strangely around Brooke. That’s all.”
“And by strangely you mean in love?”
“Perry? In love?” Ashby paused and looked back at the Sorcerer. “Nah, it can’t be? Can it?”
“That’s what it looks like to me.”
“But . . . Singulars don’t fall in love.”
“Keepers are Singulars,” Greg murmured.
“But Brooke’s human.” It was impossible, unheard of.
“We’re not that different.”
Ashby felt strange inside, as if someone had pulled the rug from under him to reveal a hole into an unknown void.
“Perhaps things are changing,” he said, something he would have never admitted before. “I used to believe Fate was immutable, but maybe it just takes time. Like tectonic plates or evolution.”
Greg nodded. “It rings of truth.”
They were lost in thought when Perry and Brooke walked up hand in hand, smiling like a couple of idiots.
“Thanks for not being a jackass and letting him come!” Brooke smacked a kiss on Ashby’s cheek.
“Wait? Weren’t you supposed to,” Ashby placed the tip of one finger to his temple, “erase her memories?”
“Ooops!” Brooke pressed a hand across her mouth, her eyes moving from side to side.
“I wasn’t going to risk erasing me,” Perry said. “I altered her memories substantially during Sam’s metamorphosis. There’s only so much you can get away with before causing damage.”
Ashby put his hands up. “Fine by me. It wasn’t my order.”
“Hey, Brooke.” Greg leaned forward and gave her a hug.
“Greg!” Brooke returned the hug. “How are you holding up?”
“Better.”
“Oh?”
“Let’s get out of here, Perry,” Greg said, looking around the parking lot at all the homebound students, “see if that plan of yours will work.”
“Where to?” Perry asked.
“New Orleans.”
Chapter 32
Greg
It felt odd standing in front of his old house, the small two-bedroom colonial with its red door and modest front yard. Greg remembered almost collapsing on the lawn the day he morphed, and Mom finding him in the foyer halfway turned into goo. It seemed like forever ago since he argued with her over the benefits of being a Singular and having no Integral. She’d worried he would never find love. How wrong they’d both been.
“Well?” Perry asked.
Greg shook himself. “Sorry.” He crossed the walkway and mounted the stairs to the front porch. “Mom said she would leave work and be home early,” he added, wondering whether to knock or not.
The door sprang open, freeing him of his indecision.
“Greg!”
Mom pulled him into a hug before he had a chance to say anything. At first, his arms hung limp at his sides, but as the surprise passed, he embraced her, letting her warmth comfort him. Her blond hair smelled like home.
She pulled away and drank him in, a satisfied smile on her beautiful face. “So handsome!” she said, pressing a hand to his cheek as if he were a little boy.
“Mom, these are Perry, Brooke and Ashby.”
He moved aside to introduce them.
“Call me Erica,” she said, shaking their hands.
After greeting each other, they went in and followed Greg’s Mom into the kitchen. A large pot was on the stove, and the table was set for seven people, one extra chair squeezed in one corner.
Greg gave his mother a questioning look.
“We have to wait for your father and Jules. I imagine you’ll all be hungry by then.”
“That’s great, Erica. Thank you,” Brooke said approvingly. “Lunch at school was terrible today.”
Ashby stepped forward. “Mrs. Papilio, what can you tell us about Jules? Do you think he can help us?”
“She,” Mom corrected. “Jules is a Sorceress.”
“My apologies.” Ashby inclined his head.
She waved a hand to indicate the formality wasn’t necessary, then walked to the stove. “I don’t know exactly what you need—Greg didn’t say—but she knows a lot, was apprentice to someone important, though I don’t know who.” She uncovered the pot, stuck a spoon in, then took a taste. She nodded approvingly.
Greg caught the scent of something familiar. “Is that étouffée?”
“Yes, honey. Your favorite.” She turned, spoon in hand, and beamed at Greg. He gave her a huge smile, touched by her relentless cheeriness.
While they waited at the kitchen table, she kept them entertained with talk about the neighbors, her job, and endless offers of iced tea. Greg didn’t miss the fact that she didn’t ask any questions about Sam or why they’d come, which he appreciated.
“Greg, your mom is adorable,” Brooke said, “and so pretty!”
“Thank you, honey. You’re pretty, too.”
Greg glanced at his watch. They’d been waiting an hour already.
“Um, maybe we should eat.” Mom didn’t wait for them to agree and laid out dinner on the kitchen island.
Following Greg’s example, they all spooned a layer of white rice into the bottom of their bowls, and topped it with a generous serving of crawfish étouffée. They gave him a sideways glance when Greg dusted filé over his stew. Only Perry did the same, curious about the thickening agent.
Sighs of pleasure and surprise went around the table as they ate.
“This is good!” Brooke mumbled after stuffing a spoonful into her mouth. “What do you call it again?”
They were almost done with their dinner when the front door opened. Greg jumped to his feet and rushed out of the kitchen. Dad was in the foyer, setting down his briefcase. He straightened and turned. Their eyes locked. A smile spread across Greg’s face. He walked to his father and stopped a couple of paces away.
“It’s good to see you,” Dad said, extending a hand.
They shook hands, squeezing hard and lingering. Greg fought the impulse to hug him. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, but he hadn’t seen him in a while. The awkward moment stretched until Greg’s mother skirted around them.
“Where is Jules?” she asked, peeking into the living room. After a short perusal, she turned around, frowning.
“She didn’t want to come,” Dad said.
“What? Why not?” Ashby stepped into the hall, too. The space was starting to feel quite cramped.
“These are Greg’s friends,” Mom said. “Ashby, Perry, and Brooke.”
“Ashby Rothblade?” Dad asked as they shook hands.
Was his father star-struck by the Regent’s son? No. There was something else in his eyes. Distrust?
“At your service,” Ashby replied.
Dad’s eyes lingered on Ashby’s face before moving to Perry and Brooke.
Greg hardly let them greet each other. “Will your friend not help us?”
“Let’s go in the living room, and I’ll explain,” Dad said.
Greg exchanged a cautious glance with his mother. She shrugged and shook her head.
All four sat at the edge of the large sofa, Greg’s parents across the glass coffee table.
“Are you the Sorcerer?” Dad asked, singling Perry out.
“That’s me,” Perry said.
“And you need this spell to help Sam?”
“Yes.” Perry eyes danced between Greg and Ashby. “Greg explained, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he told me over the phone, but I want to hear it from you.”
“Um, okay.” Perry scratched his head.
“Why the interrogation?” Greg interrupted. “I already explained—”
Dad held up a hand, never breaking eye contact with Perry.
“Well,” Perry continued, “we have a plan to rescue Sam. It involves getting into the heavily guarded and magically protected Rothblade Castle. Our plan is to change our faces and marks to gain passage into the Conscription Ball. The castle is too heavily fortified to enter otherwise.”
“Who are your parents?” Greg’s father asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Greg demanded. “This is ridiculous.”
“It’s okay, Greg,” Perry said, sounding magnanimous, an odd tone for him. “His friend probably put him up to it, am I right?”
Dad nodded.
Perry smiled. “She must not part easily with spells. Some Sorcerers hoard them like gold.”
“Hoard them?” Dad said. “Don’t you mean protect them?”
“Nick, what is the matter?” Greg’s mom asked. “If Jules isn’t willing to help just tell us.”
Dad jumped to his feet, nearly crashing with the coffee table. “The Regent, her family, and her Sorcerers are hardly the kind of people who need help.”
“Nick!” Mom’s face turned red. “It is our son who needs help.”
Dad stared at the floor for a moment, his jaw muscles jumping. He slipped a hand into his pants pocket and fingered something inside.
“Sir,” Ashby said, “I would not be surprised if past grievances exist between Jules and my mother, but I assure you, Perry and I are no longer associated with Danata Rothblade.”
“Is that right?” He asked, sounding dubious.
“It is so. She finds my betrayal so abominable that she made sure to severe all our ties, and I honestly couldn’t care less.”
“All ties?” Dad asked as if he understood exactly what Ashby meant. But since when did he know about filial bonds and vinculums? It’s not like it was common knowledge. What the hell was going on?
Dad was silent for a moment, his eyes dancing from side to side, as if weighing the situation. The humming of the AC seemed to grow louder as they waited.
“Sheesh, I couldn’t cut the tension with a chainsaw,” Brooke whispered.
“Veridan severed it?” Dad asked.
Huh? Greg had never mentioned Veridan to his father. Something wasn’t right.
In his pocket, Dad’s hand moved again.
Everyone tensed. Perry’s hand jumped to his amulet. Greg pushed closer to the edge of the sofa.
Dad held Perry’s gaze with an expression that seemed to say “don’t do anything stupid.”
Slowly, he pulled out a stone, set it on the coffee table, and said, “If you’re worth your stones as a Sorcerer, you will know what to do with this.”
And before anyone had a chance to say or do anything, Greg’s father disappeared into thin air.
Chapter 33
Veridan
Veridan tossed on his bed, unable to sleep. He knew he needed to wait, needed to give the nebula’s inhabitants time to forget he’d been there, lest they tried to attack him again—except an eerie feeling told him there wasn’t much time left to act.
With a groan of frustration, he got out of bed and dressed. After securely tying his polished shoes, he checked his amulet to ensure it held enough energy. Inside the nebula, its vast energy was all he needed to power his spells, but if he succeeded in his plan, he’d be on his own.
Satisfied, he rushed into his alcove. The nebula waited, floating and throbbing as it always did.
Wasting no time, he issued the spell and plunged into its darkness.
Walk
ing firmly and keeping his eyes wide open, he made his way back to the dilapidated structure where he’d encountered the obsidian figure. He inspected the area, checking behind every massive stone, making sure none of the ripped souls lay in wait.
Once sure he was alone, Veridan issued the second spell, intoning each word with care. When he finished, there was no sign of a portal anywhere, but he’d learned too many spells in his lifetime to be discouraged by this.
He repeated the incantation again.
And again.
And again.
Something sparkled against the tarry backdrop of the nebula. His heart picked up its pace as what looked like tiny stars hovered in mid-air, going out then bursting back to life. It was nothing like a portal, just a scattering of light, but that was all the proof he needed. His grandfather’s books had been right—with enough energy it was possible to go back.
Veridan redoubled his efforts. More careful with the incantation, he enunciated every word with the same cadence and emphasis every time. The shimmering lights grew brighter and more numerous with every new iteration of the spell.
Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he was glad the nebula allowed him limitless power.
Veridan’s focus didn’t waver and soon the sparkling lights started to expand, moving away from each other and forming a wide circle. The shape hung at ground level, like a circus master’s ring of fire, waiting for a giant lion to leap through it.
I will be that lion, Veridan thought, giving himself in to the incantation.
His words rose, a growing crescendo in which he poured all his dreams, hopes and desires. This was what he’d worked for all these years, and nothing could stop him now.
Nothing.
A pinprick of light appeared in the middle of the circle. It came into life like a firefly, intermittent and tenuous. But without warning, it burst like a supernova that expanded until it reached the outer ring, sizzling on contact and releasing blinding light that nearly dropped him to his knees.
He covered his face with a forearm, tears spilling down from a combination of joy and the piercing light. Blinking, he stared at the ground from under his arm. For a moment, he feared he would have to enter the portal blindly, but gradually the brightness diminished until he was able to look into it.
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