Cautiously, he approached the portal, a hand over his brow. Within the circle, something like a veil of silk rippled and shimmered in subtle rainbow colors.
Heart hammering with expectation, he extended a hand to the gossamer surface until his fingertips made contact. The light undulated at his touch, sending a cold shock up his arm that was almost pleasant.
He smiled, feeling the way a proud parent might feel at the first touch from his child.
“At last,” he whispered.
Veridan was so enthralled by the magnitude of his creation—the nebula, the portal—that he barely noticed when a shadow peeled away from the dark surface of one of the rocks, and launched at him.
He had a split second to understand the threat and decide on his only course of action. There was only one choice, a path he was bound to take regardless of the danger.
Embracing his self-made destiny, Veridan stepped into the portal and was quickly swallowed by the cold light and the unknown world he’d sought for a lifetime.
Chapter 34
Sam
Sam’s dreams weaved with reality to form a vivid nightmare.
Greg was hurt, covered in blood and on his knees. She tried to reach him, but her legs were heavy, filled with lead. After an eternity, she got close, very close, but not enough to touch him.
She stretched her arms out. He did the same. Mere inches separated their fingertips.
“Greg!” she called out desperately.
Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he thudded to the ground.
Sam woke up with a start, heart in her throat, a scream at the edge of her lips, the thud of Greg’s body ringing in her ears.
A warning flared in her mind, telling her the sound wasn’t part of the dream.
“Jacob! Jacob! Wake up!” she hissed.
The boy was still asleep on her lap. He sprang up, wide-eyed.
“We fell asleep. Someone’s coming.” She got to her feet and whispered over her shoulder. “Close the door behind me as gently as you can.”
Sam rushed out without a backward glance, trusting Jacob to do as she’d instructed.
She slid into her cell on socked feet and scrambled for the door. She resisted the urge to slam it closed, and instead, eased it until the electronic lock engaged with a click. Next, she dropped to her knees by her discarded manacles, and got them on even as her hands trembled and the bar between the cuffs took great effort to engage.
Just as the door beeped, she slipped into her cot, facing the wall, and pretended to be asleep. At the familiar sound of someone sliding a metal food tray into the cell, she rolled over, blinking blearily at the guard. He glowered at her, then looked around the cell as if expecting to find something suspicious. After a quick inspection, he left, satisfied that everything was in order.
Sam sat up and buried her face into sweaty hands.
“Stupid stupid stupid,” she mumbled. If they had caught her, the small advantage she’d gained would have been taken away.
After her heartbeat returned to normal and her limbs stopped buzzing with adrenaline, she ate her breakfast, quickly stuffing a dry piece of toast into her mouth and washing it down with water. Danata hadn’t been lying when she said she would enjoy her hospitality, though she forgot to add the word “meager” in front of it.
When she was done, Sam decided it was time to test the limits of what her vinculums could do.
“Okay,” she said, placing the disposable water cup at the edge of the cot. She sat crosslegged in front of it and directed her links to knock it down.
One of the tendrils approached tentatively and tapped the cup. It wobbled a little or so she thought.
She rolled her shoulders which were stiff from sleeping propped up against the wall and focused, trusting the instinct that told her she could do more than weakly tap the cup. She had tampered with the electricity in the lock, after all. The cup was more substantial, sure, but it had to be possible.
At the thought, energy hummed through her.
Sam blinked in surprise and squirmed on the spot as a chill when up her spine. She commanded her vinculums to wait even as they lashed in front of her eyes, electrified. Something was building within her, and she had a feeling patience would pay off.
When her entire body felt ablaze with harnessed power, Sam let go. Her vinculums pulled back, and for a moment, she thought her instincts had led her astray, but they hadn’t.
Tendrils of light lashed out like whips, crackling and spitting sparks. They struck the cup, sent it flying against the wall, then lashed at it again and again, keeping it from falling as she ripped it to shreds.
Torn to small ribbons of plastic that attached to the base, the cup fell back on the cot, barely recognizable.
Sam found that she was on her feet, her body stiff and shaking from tension. Her chest pumped in and out, feeling strangely empty after releasing the power that had pulsed within her.
Hands trembling, she picked up the battered cup and examined it. Each shred was long and thin, the edges straight and smooth as if a pair of scissors had cut them.
She placed the waste on the tray and sat on the cot, considering this new power. Last night, it had seemed to have no possibilities, but now . . .
This could change everything.
Sam let her imagination fly.
Chapter 35
Perry
Perry’s brain fought to understand what had happened. Greg’s father had disappeared mid-blink. But how? The man was a plain Companion, nothing else.
Greg’s mum was standing where her husband had been just a second ago, looking struck.
“Nick?!” She spun in a circle, as if she expected him to reappear in the same abrupt fashion.
“What the hell?!” Brooke exclaimed. “What just happened?”
“Where is he, Greg?!” his mum asked, her cerulean eyes turning to Perry accusingly. He shook his head and put his hands up.
Greg frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. His gaze fell on the rock on the table, then went to Perry.
“That . . . that wasn’t Dad,” he said, almost like a soft question.
“What do you mean?” his mum asked, a silver line of tears pooling in her eyes.
“That was Jules.” Greg’s voice sounded more certain this time. “That was the Sorceress. It had to be. She must have been using the spell we want to make herself look like Dad.”
“Where is Nick then?” Greg’s mum demanded, oblivious to everything else.
Greg didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up the rock and thrust it into Perry’s hands. “What is it?”
“But Nick,” Greg’s mum seized her son’s arm and pulled him. “Where is he?!”
“Mom, I’m sure he’s fine. This Jules person is a friend, right? Just calm down and we’ll figure this out.” Greg turned back to Perry. “So?”
Perry examined the stone, turning it around. The thing would have been as plain as any rock found by the side of the road, if not for its shape.
“It’s an orthotope,” Perry said.
“A what?” Brooke asked.
“This is not the time to play smart, Perry,” Ashby said.
“What’s an ortho . . . whatever?” Greg asked.
“It’s a rectangular cuboid,” Ashby said. “A 3D rectangle, in other words,” he explained further when met with frowns.
“I can see that much,” Greg said, narrowing his eyes at Perry.
“I’m not playing smart,” Perry said. “It’s just what we call it. Though I didn’t know that’s what orthotope meant.” He scratched his head.
“Please explain. This is all Chinese to me,” Greg said.
“I think it would be easier if I show you.” He put his hand out, the way he always did when they were transferring somewhere.
They all stared at his hand until Brooke placed hers on top and said, “this gets more interesting by the minute.”
Ashby’s hand joined next.
G
reg looked at his mum.
“Take me with you,” she said.
“Sorry, Mom. I think it would be safer if you stay.”
“No, Greg. Don’t you dare.”
But Greg laid his hand on top of the pile and nodded at Perry.
Squeezing the orthotope tightly, Perry closed his eyes and spoke the spell Portos had drilled into his head and made him practice during countless lessons.
“This spell you will learn, Young Cocky Sir,” Portos had said. “I don’t care how long it takes you. If you don’t, you can forget about learning transferring spells.”
Portos had never taught Perry how to use magic to transfer himself or others to a different location. Transferring was difficult and dangerous. So instead, the old man insisted on teaching him how to make perfect transferring potions and extract accurate destinations from pre-programmed orthotopes. Tired of the stalling tactics and eager to help Ashby find his Integral, Perry learned transferring spells on his own, sneaking books from the High Sorcerer’s library at Rothblade Castle. A dangerous prospect since a poorly trained Sorcerer could easily transport himself into the pit of a volcano or a vat of boiling water in an electric plant.
That’s why, as training aids for their apprentices, experienced Sorcerers recorded exact and safe coordinates into orthotopes. Their own brand of magic became part of the stones which made them particularly hard to read, harder even than the transferring spells themselves, although not risky, like getting one’s skin peeled off the bone by scorching lava.
Regardless of the difficulty, Portos had succeeded in teaching Perry how to read the tricky stones, so in a matter of seconds, he deciphered the destination and took them away from Greg’s house, feeling but a twinge of regret at leaving Greg’s mum behind.
It was only when they blinked out of existence that Perry bothered to wonder if following after a crafty Sorceress was a good idea.
Then, an instant later, he realized it definitely was not.
The moment they reappeared in a dark, unidentifiable place, someone yanked Perry’s amulet from his neck, and a shimmering rope wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms into place.
“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, flopping to the floor like a fish.
Was this a suppressing lasso? If it was, his magic was restrained, and he was as useless as a Companion.
Greg, Brooke and Ashby knelt around him, their faces skeletal in the glow of his restraint.
“Dammit! Where is a sword when you need one?” Greg said.
“A sword?” Brooke asked. “God, I feel like I’ve missed so much.”
“Never mind.” Greg looked around and called out, “Jules! Show your face!”
“Are you okay?” Ashby stared warily at the lasso. “Does it hurt?”
“No, but she took my amulet, and I can’t use magic with this thing around me. God, I’m so stupid!”
“Yes, you are,” a chilling voice echoed throughout the dark space.
“That’s enough of this game,” Greg said.
Laughter echoed. The darkness melted away, slowly revealing a wood-paneled study flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and lamps in every corner.
“Cool,” Perry said, watching the darkness crawl under the Persian rugs and into the gilded air-vents that adorned the polished hardwood floors. Conjuring darkness was not an easy thing to learn. Perry’s mouth watered at the prospect of acquiring the particular skill.
“Are you kids okay?” A man that looked just like Greg stepped out of the receding shadows.
“Dad!”
“Son!” The man, Nick, pulled Greg into a tight hug. He even thumped his back and chuckled in relief. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Me, too, Dad.”
Nick pulled away from Greg. “Jules, they’re pale as ghosts. You promised not to go too far.”
“I did not,” someone protested in a British accent.
Perry craned his neck back and stared into a pair of worn, leather shoes. He assumed they belonged to Jules, though they didn’t look particularly feminine. Other than the shoes, the only other thing Perry could see was the bottom of the chair the Sorceress occupied, which was upholstered in ochre fabric with a pattern of small smoking pipes weaved with golden thread.
“Ma’am,” Ashby said, “I kindly request that you release my friend.”
“Outstanding manners, Mr. Rothblade, but they won’t buy you anything here. Your friend will remain restrained.”
“It’s obvious that manners are of no use to you,” Ashby snarled. “This is no way to treat a guest.”
“I would’ve assumed you were used to this. It’s your mother’s way, after all.”
Ashby’s eyes narrowed, and his upper lip trembled.
Uh-oh, a sign he was about to lose the very manners her had demanded.
Ashby opened his mouth to speak, but Greg, of all people, put a hand on his shoulder and attempted to get the situation under control.
“Let’s back up a little and remember why we’re here,” he said. “Jules . . . may I call you that?” Greg waited and must have received non-verbal confirmation because he continued. “I assume my father explained our situation and told you what we’re after.”
Silence again.
“So you know we didn’t come here looking for a fight,” Greg continued. “We need help, and if you can offer it, I would be tremendously grateful. The Regent has my Integral. I was supposed to protect her, and I failed her. But I’m not the only one who needs her back. There are hundreds of people who could use her help. She’s a Weaver, and she can undo what Danata Rothblade has done. I sense you understand what I mean.”
Perry cursed inwardly, wishing he could see the Sorceress’ reaction. His hands were starting to go numb. The lasso was too tight around him. They needed to talk some sense into the crazy woman before he lost his digits.
“Nick might have mentioned these details,” Jules said, nonchalantly. “But one can never be too safe when dealing with the Rothblades.”
“You led us here,” Greg said. “Why would you do that unless you’d already decided we are safe?”
Um, good point.
“Oh,” Jules stood, “just for a bit of fun. Can you blame me? The life of a dissident can be so boring.”
Now, Perry could see the woman’s chin, and a mean eye peering down at him as if he were dirt on her rug. She snapped her fingers, and Perry’s restraints disappeared. His arms were limp at his sides, and the tips of his fingers tingled as blood rushed into them.
Perry clambered to his feet, rubbing life back into his arms. “Some way to have fun,” he complained.
His gaze locked with the Sorceress’. She gave him a raised eyebrow and an expression that made Perry feel as if he actually ranked lower than dirt on the rug. He frowned, a strange feeling tickling the back of his mind. The woman looked familiar, though just vaguely. She had chin-length, gray hair and green eyes. Had he met her at Rothblade Castle at some point? Did she used to work for Danata or something?
“Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked, unable to stop himself.
Jules had begun to turn away, but she turned back and gave him a second, appraising look. She frowned and cocked her head to one side as if searching her memory. Something seemed to pass over her features. Her eyes widened, and she stood still for a moment, as if holding her breath.
Then she spun around and walked to a small, roll-top desk in the corner. She opened the hatch and pulled something out of one of the many small drawers. She held it up and stared at it, her chin trembling. After a moment, she looked back at Perry and stretched out a piece of paper in his direction.
Perry took it, a hollow feeling expanding in his stomach.
“What is this?”
Jules said nothing.
He inhaled, afraid of what he had in his hand. It was a photograph, old and creased, just a harmless piece of paper. There were three people in the photo, a couple and a little boy of about six. They stood in front of the Eiffel Tower, smil
ing from ear to ear. The boy stood in the middle, holding his parents’ hands, his feet swinging in the air.
“Who . . . who are they?” he asked, though the hollow feeling in his middle had grown so big there seemed to be only one answer to his question.
“I’m pretty sure they’re your parents,” Jules said.
Chapter 36
Perry
Perry’s hands went limp. The picture dropped to the floor. Jules picked it up and put it back in the drawer.
“What do you mean?” Ashby asked. “How would you know about Perry’s parents?”
Just what Perry wanted to ask, but his mouth had gone dry, and Jules’s words were echoing in his ears, emphasizing a message which carried the disturbing ring of truth.
“Perry? That’s what they call you?” Jules shook her head. “Your name is Quintin, Quintin Addington.”
Perry swayed on his feet. The sound of the name was pleasant and horrible at the same time.
“I don’t know why I didn’t notice it right away,” Jules continued. “You look so much like Maggie.”
Maggie Maggie Maggie. The name was like a hammer hitting a barrier inside Perry’s mind. He wanted to demand an explanation, but he seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Good thing Ashby was there.
“Please, explain what you mean,” his friend demanded.
But the Sorceress had lost all her initial bustle and was now as silent as Perry. She eased back onto her armchair, shaking her head at the floor, knees trembling as she sat.
“She got what she wanted,” she said after a few long beats. Her eyes lost in some faraway memory.
“Who do you mean?” Ashby insisted.
“Your mother!” Jules said in a near growl. “That indecent person who dares call herself our Regent. That’s who I mean. Maggie was my daughter. She disappeared thirteen years ago along with her husband and my grandson.” At the word, she looked at Perry and blinked as if she expected him to disappear.
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