Weaver

by Ingrid Seymour

  “I think you call it third wheel or something.”

  “Oh, right,” she said, giving Ashby a backward glance.

  As soon as he closed the door to his room, Perry pulled Brooke in for a kiss. A thrill ran through his body as it always did every time their lips touched. He walked her backward toward the bed, still kissing her. He fell on top of her, a wave of desire hitting him right at the core. He stifled a groan.

  So far, they hadn’t done more than some intense snogging, but he was dying for more. They’d been with other people before, but they’d both had their reservations about sleeping together. Now, after being away from her for what felt like forever, he was wondering why he’d ever felt like having sex with her was a bad idea.

  He deepened his kiss. Brooke arched her body under him, pushing her hips against his own. It seemed her reservations had gone the same way. Out the window. Emboldened, he slipped a hand under her shirt. She dug her nails into his neck, and the pain was sublime.

  Perry’s heart hammered like never before, not even his first time. He could hardly remember the girl who’d given him that initial taste of the forbidden, but he was sure he would never forget Brooke—not that he had any intentions of trying.

  His fingers crawled upward, inch by inch. He went slowly, her every need and pleasure his first priority. Before, he’d been a bastard who only cared about himself. How things had changed.

  Her neck tasted the way she smelled: sweet. She made a sound in the back of her throat, and he almost went mad.

  “Perry,” she said in a quick exhale of breath. “I think . . . maybe . . . we should . . .”

  He stopped immediately and pulled away, hovering over her.

  She smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I just . . .”

  “Shhh,” he pressed a finger to her full lips. He lay beside her and pushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. “You’re beautiful.”

  She gave him the same look as the first time he’d called her that.

  “Stop fishing for compliments. You know you’re beautiful. More so than any Morphid girl I’ve ever seen.”

  “Now, you’re lying,” she scoffed.

  “I’ve never lied to you, Brooke.” He’d lied plenty to other girls, but never her.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay, tell me this then . . . do you think this plan will work?”

  Perry threw his head back and laughed sadly. “Now, you’re not playing fair.”

  “That means you don’t think it will.” Her eyes watered. She loved Sam like a sister, and this ordeal had been hard on her.

  “It’s no easy task, but I think we can pull it off. Ashby and I know that castle like the back of our hands. We can find her and get her out with no one noticing.”

  “Oh gosh, I hope so.”

  They lay quiet for a minute, holding hands and content to do nothing more than that.

  “How was it . . . growing up there? Were you happy?” she asked.

  Thus far, Perry had avoided thinking about that. All he’d ever believed about his past had turned out to be a lie, and his emotions were too conflicted to consider. What Danata had done to his parents was horrible. And Jules, her life had been destroyed, everything stolen from her. It was cruel.

  Yet, beyond the natural sympathy anyone might feel toward her situation, Perry had a hard time feeling anything more. He’d had a good life at Rothblade Castle. Maybe he hadn’t had parents, but he’d had a brother.

  Did that make him a bad person? What would Brooke think of him? He took a deep breath and spoke the truth.

  “Yes, I was happy. Ashby and I . . . we had good times.”

  “Good. I’m glad,” Brooke said to his surprise. She caressed his cheek. “Don’t let what’s happened taint that. None of it was your fault. You were just a boy and didn’t know better. The old woman’s bitterness is justified, but it doesn’t mean you should make it your own.”

  Perry swallowed the knot that formed in his throat and blinked rapidly at the ceiling.

  “Aw,” she kissed his forehead. “Why so emotional?”

  “Because . . .”

  The hell with it.

  “Because I love you, Brooke.”

  Chapter 48

  Veridan

  At the mention of a “different realm,” Fina pulled Veridan to a table in the far corner of the tavern.

  He explained everything, watching the Sorceress’ expression for the smallest change. There was none. She remained the same throughout, listening without blinking. When he finished, Fina remained impassive, her gaze never breaking from Veridan’s, as if she expected him to cave in and admit it was all a lie.

  Finally, she said, “Who put you up to this?”

  He frowned. Not what he’d expected her to say. “No one. I speak the truth,” he said simply. He wasn’t the kind to grovel, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  She looked him up and down, the same way she’d done when he first entered the tavern. “The story is ludicrous, beginning with the fact that our kind doesn’t cower to lesser beings. But your costume . . . well . . . it’s simply ridiculous.”

  Veridan fumed. He was wearing his best Loro Piana suit. If anyone was ridiculous it was her with that vampiresque cape and stable-boy outfit. All she was lacking was a smelly horse. He pushed his chair back, ready to leave before he lost his temper. He’d been wrong to listen to his instincts. This woman hadn’t been the right person to confide in.

  “Was it Banall?” she demanded.

  Veridan placed a hand on the table and began to stand. Fina changed her voice to a deeper tone, imitating someone—Banall, he imagined.

  “I can just hear him . . . those Rothblades, they’re a bunch of fools, always rambling about the Repression Exodus, thinking they’re cleverer than the rest of us. What did he offer you? Where are you supposed to take me so he can beat me senseless?”

  Veridan froze—half sitting, half standing.

  “Repression Exodus?” he asked, his insides turning to water. So maybe Rothblade wasn’t such a common last name, after all. He sat back down.

  Fina leaned forward, teeth bare, looking like a feline with her claws out. It wasn’t hard to imagine her leaping over the table and scratching his eyes out.

  “Vasco Rothblade,” Veridan said, “relative of yours?” He was the Morphid who led the exodus out this realm to the human one.

  “Everyone knows that,” she growled. “You had the right idea a second ago. Get out of here before I tear your head off.”

  Veridan wondered how much she knew about her ancestor. “Doubters are just dreamers with broken hearts,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He paused. “Listen, this conversation is counterproductive. We could sit here hours trying to convince each other, and we’d both lose—perhaps even our heads.” He touched his neck and gave Fina his most charming smile.

  “Exactly my thoughts.”

  “I can take you there. Right now.” Veridan stood and adjusted the sleeves of his jacket. “Your ancestors truly found a way to leave Nymphalia. I’m not sure, but it sounds to me like things are . . . less than optimal around here again. Or perhaps I should say still bad.”

  She looked up at him from under her pinched eyebrows.

  Veridan pulled out one of the orthotopes from his pocket and placed it on the table. “I trust you know how to use one of these.” He showed her his own stone. “It leads to the foot of the portal I created to come here. I will wait for you there. Ten minutes. No more.”

  He walked out of the tavern. He wanted Fina to come, to meet him at the top of that mountain, amongst those trees. The desire to see her face again was strong—enough that it’d probably be better if she stayed behind.

  It was ridiculous! He’d just met her, and already he missed the red gleam in her eyes. He wondered what color they would be away from Nymphalia’s Earth Magic. Dark? Light? Would it matter?

  As soon as he found himself on an emp
ty street, Veridan used his orthotope and transferred himself to the clearing in the forest. The glow of the portal and the sharp scent of pine filled his senses.

  He waited.

  Ten minutes passed excruciatingly slow. She wasn’t coming. Veridan cursed and stepped toward the portal. Frustration filled him. Unable to leave, he turned away from the magical doorway and paced, granting Fina a few more minutes. Other than coming to this place, he hadn’t wanted something so badly in a long time.

  A pop sounded behind him. Veridan’s heart stuttered. He turned slowly to find the Sorceress standing there, the portal shining at her back. He exhaled in relief, feeling more ridiculous still.

  Fina was crouching, a chain dangling from her hand. She was clutching her amulet, ready for anything. She was expecting an attack and yet she came.

  Veridan stood straight, hands at his sides, showing his open palms. “There’s no one but me,” he assured her.

  Her eyes darted around the clearing, and when she caught sight of the portal her agitated breathing came to an abrupt halt. She turned slowly, backing away from it at the same time.

  Putting himself in her shoes, Veridan considered what to do. After a quiet moment, he approached the portal and stuck a hand into its very center.

  “I will go first.” He wanted to say more. “Please, trust me. Believe me.” But he refrained, sensing that it would work against him.

  He stepped into the light and, this time, knew she would follow. She’d taken that first leap of faith. She was ready to dream again.

  And she did. Her hand poked through just seconds after he set foot inside the nebula. He thought the place would scare her, but when she came across, her eyes contained only wonder.

  Quickly, Veridan took her beyond the darkness. Once out, she pulled away from the nebula, blinking at it, a million questions etching her features.

  Veridan took her hand and led her out of the small alcove and into his chamber, his heart hammering with a schoolboy’s excitement.

  He didn’t notice the slumped shape lying on the floor until he nearly tripped on it.

  “What is this?!”

  The girl, Samantha, lay pale and immobile in the middle of his chamber.

  Chapter 49

  Greg

  Two days proved to be an eternity, way longer than the previous two weeks. But, finally, the day for the ball was here. In just a couple of hours, they would transfer back to England and attempt to get into Rothblade Castle.

  Three of them were in Ashby’s hotel room, making sure they had everything they needed. With Finley as part of their group, their plan had changed to include her, which added one more unpredictable variable that Greg didn’t like one bit. As if all the other risks weren’t enough, now they had a freshly morphed girl with an unknown caste. The fact that she insisted on going with them due to her untrained calls was the cherry on top.

  He would keep an eye on her, though. If these calls were leading her to Sam to cause any type of harm, he would take care of Finley, no matter how fond Ashby seemed to have grown of her.

  As if she’d read his thoughts, Finley peered at him from her spot on the bed. She looked sheepish and uncomfortable without Ashby in the room.

  An elaborate gown lay next to her, the dress she would wear to the ball. She was waiting for Brooke to come out of the small bathroom where she’d gone twenty minutes ago, promising to hurry.

  Greg tugged on his bow tie. He felt ridiculous in a tuxedo. He’d never worn one before, and it was as uncomfortable as he’d imagined.

  There was a knock at the door. After confirming through the peephole that it was Ashby and Perry, he let them in.

  “I’ve settled the bill and paid up to tomorrow, in case we need to come back,” Ashby said, strolling into the room.

  Perry hesitated at the door, giving Greg a strange look.

  “Are you coming in or not?” Greg asked.

  He snapped out of it. “Ah, sure.” He walked in, avoiding Greg’s eyes.

  Greg glanced back and forth between Ashby and Sorcerer. They were both wearing tuxedos too, though they seemed more at ease in them. The two had gone downstairs to settle the bill, Ashby dragging Perry with him for a private word. Clearly, Perry hadn’t liked what he’d heard.

  “Is something the matter?” Greg asked.

  Perry shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Greg didn’t believe him. “No, really.” He wrapped a hand around Perry’s bicep, halting his progress. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, just Ashby being a wanker, as usual. He . . . um . . . he suggested that maybe I should let Jules do the transformation spells, but I can do them. She made me practice a couple of times, and I know what I have to do.”

  Ashby and Perry exchanged a look. Greg tried to understand the vibe between them. There was too much history between the two to fully comprehend their dynamics, though. In the end, he shrugged and let Perry go.

  “Next.” Brooke waltzed out of the bathroom, wearing a midnight blue gown that went down to her ankles. Her hair was pinned back with perfect curls cascading onto her shoulders.

  Perry wolf-whistled, admiring her by taking an exaggerated walk around her while Greg bit down a pang of envy. He wished Sam was here, showing him how beautiful she looked in a new dress.

  Finley picked up her dress and rushed into the bathroom next. Greg hoped she wouldn’t take as long as Brooke. They only had one set of make-up and hair implements, else they would have gotten ready in separate rooms. Why hadn’t anyone thought of buying a separate set?

  After checking his watch, Ashby said, “We have plenty of time. The contracted limousine will wait for us as long as necessary.”

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting nervous,” Brooke said.

  Perry stood in front of her and rubbed her bare arms up and down. “You can still stay, you know.”

  “I know, but I won’t be a coward. Sam needs me, and I may be able to help in some way. You never know.”

  “You never know,” Perry echoed. “Okay, turn around. Time to make you a Morphid.”

  Brooke faced away, exposing her bare back to the Sorcerer. Perry held his amulet in one hand and traced a circle at the base of her neck as he spoke a string of unintelligible words under his breath.

  Slowly, like a dark stain of water seeping through paper, a dark mark appeared on her skin. At first it was but the rough outline of a circle, something a child might have traced. Then, the center began to fill with minute details that soon acquired the shape of a gray wolf and a staff, the dual caste of a Companion and a Council member.

  When the spell was done, Brooke rushed to the mirror behind the door to admire Perry’s handy work.

  “Neat!” She touched it. “It feels bumpy, like yours.”

  “It has to look as real as possible to pass scrutiny,” Ashby said.

  “That was easier than doing ours,” Perry said, sounding puzzled. “I thought it would be the other way around.”

  “Guess it’s easier to do it from scratch, than to modify it,” Ashby said.

  Perry had worked on everyone’s marks earlier, changing his and Ashby’s to gray wolves since they would play the part of Companions to Finley and Brooke. Greg, for his part, sported a Seeker caste while he would pretend to be Brooke’s brother, there to accompany her in such an important occasion. Finley’s, of course, was another gray wolf and staff like Brooke’s—now she didn’t have to go as a Regent and risk being murdered on the spot.

  “Shall we get started with your face,” Perry asked Ashby.

  “Um, why don’t you do Greg first?”

  “Wimp!”

  Greg had also been the first one to get his mark modified. And now, he had no trouble being the first to get his face tweaked. He would die for Sam. This was nothing—even if Perry screwed up and turned him into Quasimodo.

  He stepped forward without a word.

  “It may hurt a little,” Perry said as he set to the task, all jest gone from his expression
.

  The amulet was in his hand which Greg understood was only necessary for spells that required the most power and concentration. Immediately, Greg’s face began to tingle. It was a strange sensation that made him tense all over. He closed his eyes tightly and willed himself not to panic when his mouth seemed to inflate like a balloon.

  Perry went on whispering his spell, his free hand brushing Greg’s ears, nose, and forehead at different points in the process. The tingling morphed into a dull sort of pain along his jaw and brow.

  “Holy cow!” Brooke exclaimed. “That’s just weird.” Ashby shooshed her, reminding her that Perry needed to concentrate.

  When the Sorcerer declared the job done, Greg cursed and bent over, pressing both hands to his face.

  “It freakin’ hurts.”

  Every bone in his face felt as if it was being stretched by some medieval torture device, while his fleshy bits felt as if he’d gotten sunburned in hell.

  “It will pass in a few minutes. It won’t be 100% painless, but bearable. I enlarged some of your bones and magic is stopping them from going back to normal. Just a few structural changes are enough to make anyone look very different. Your own mum wouldn’t recognize you.”

  Rubbing his face, Greg walked to the mirror and looked at himself.

  “Shit!” Even he didn’t recognize himself. His gut did a twist. Everything was bigger. His nose was thick at the nostrils. His chin jutted out. His ears drooped like an old man’s, and his forehead made him think of damn Frankenstein. He felt like a freak, though he supposed there were people with similar features. At least, he was still attractive enough to pass for a Morphid.

  Perry stood behind him, a sly smile on his face. He looked proud of his work, and he ought to be. The differences were uncanny and had Greg feeling as if he was losing his mind. He hadn’t imagined it would disturb him so much to wear someone else’s face, but it was bizarre.

  “How long did you say this will last?” He’d paid little attention to the details before. It hadn’t seemed to matter. Now, he was impatient to go back to normal.