Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2) (17 page)

Sam fought against this knowledge, against the instincts that had proposed such horrible solution. But it was useless. She had relinquished all power, and even if her actions seemed inexcusable in her mind, her Morphid self unapologetically went on with them.

Chapter 18 - Sam

For a moment, it seemed like the most natural thing to do, the
only
thing to do. While the moment lasted, Sam’s fingers danced down the length of the severed link, ending the feeble life that each thread still held. It didn’t take long to put an end to the husk of what once had been a powerful connection between two beings.

Like an expert chef handling the most expensive delicacy, Sam’s hands progressed from the vinculum’s dangling end to the top of Elizabeth’s head. With every inch her hands covered, the link grew shorter. To anyone, it might have looked as if Sam were reeling in a severed ribbon, like a fisherman bringing his line back in. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. The line wasn’t being stored away to be brought back out later. No, the line was becoming shorter, burned away by Sam’s touch, a dynamite fuse wasting away as the flame got nearer to its destination.

It all ended when Sam finally laid her hands on Elizabeth’s head and touched her wiry hair. Trembling, Sam pushed away. Her eyelids were fluttering. Flashes of white blinked before her eyes. Someone was screaming and someone else was calling her name. Sam tried to stand but stumbled backward.

“I got you.” Greg caught her and eased her down to the floor.

Sam pressed her hands against her ears to keep the awful, shrill sounds out of her head.

“What did she do?” Mateo demanded. “Elizabeth, Elizabeth! Are you all right?”

Mateo was kneeling next to the woman. She had fallen off the cot and now lay on the floor, shrieking and twisting. Her head was thrown back, her back bent in an unnatural angle.

Sam’s heart pounded at the sight. Elizabeth looked like someone possessed by a demon.

“Please, stop. You’ll hurt yourself,” Mateo pleaded and tried to hold her still. His dark eyes flashed accusingly in Sam’s direction. “What did you do to her? Make it stop.”

Sam shook her head, her thoughts a muddy whirlpool. What
had
she done? Her actions made no sense, even in her own mind. She couldn’t yet explain what’d just happened, even if her own hands had done it.

“Oh, my God,” she murmured in an eerie, guilty breath.

What did I do? What did I do?!

Sam tried to sit, a hand outstretched toward Elizabeth. Mateo gave her a murderous look that made his message very clear.
“Don’t you dare touch her again,”
his eyes said.

“Greg.” Sam looked up at him as if he could fix what she’d done.

He knelt next to her. “Are you okay?” His eyes were full of concern for her only.

Sam couldn’t answer. Her mouth was dry, her throat closing in by the second. Weakness spread through her like a long dress slipping over her head, then falling all the way down to her feet. She wanted to stay, to help Elizabeth. But she’d tried, hadn’t she? And she had failed, and now the poor woman was going crazier than she’d been before. She could even be dying.

“Hey, hey, Sam look at me,” Greg was saying. His hands came to her cheeks. He slapped her gently. She blinked. Greg was a blur and so were Mateo and Elizabeth.

The woman’s shrieks seemed to move away, stretching, stretching into the distance. Sam’s world went black. She fell into Greg who cradled her against his chest, calling her name. She heard his worried voice for what felt like a long time before all her senses left her.

Chapter 19 - Brooke

Brooke’s head was pounding, but that didn’t stop her from raising her voice to ear-piercing decibels. “You, you, you,” she repeated over and over, searching for a curse word. Perry had placed his hands on both sides of her head, had murmured something and, next thing she knew, a bucketful of messed up memories washed over her like a mudslide in a third world country. “You, you!” She pointed an accusing finger at him.

He didn’t look the least bit intimidated, but he should have. Oh, he should, because she felt like gouging his eyes out, then putting them in a blender. And, even if it would be gross and messy, she would enjoy it.

“What is wrong with you people?” Brooke demanded. “What do you think gives you the right to mess with my head?” An image of pre-metamorphosis Sam kept popping into her head, even though she’d pushed it away several times. Her short, pudgy friend had turned into a super model because, according to these freaks, she’d gone into stasis for two weeks—or wait, didn’t “stasis” mean to be changeless? Whatever! The thing was that she’d supposedly rolled herself into a cocoon like a freaking caterpillar, and had come out gorgeous on the other end. Not that Brooke was jealous but . . . what the hell?! That wasn’t just crazy, it was unfair.

“What my nephew did was wrong,” Roanna said, walking closer to Brooke. She had retreated to a corner of the room as far from the crazy people as she could.

“Wrong? It should be a crime. Tell him to stay the hell away from me.” Brooke shot Perry her death-will-find-you look, one she’d mastered in sixth grade.

“Just to be clear,” Perry said. “I’m not her nephew, or her subject.” He gestured toward Roanna. “I was just following orders. When Ashby bids me to do something, I’m sworn to comply.” He wore a satisfied grin that let Brooke know he’d had no scruples following Ashby’s order.

Lamest excuse of lame excuses!
Brooke gave him the finger.

“That is quite true,” Roanna said, ignoring her raised middle digit. “Ashby, my nephew, gave the order. Portos has explained everything to me. All that happened after Ashby met Sam—as wrong as it may seem—was done to protect her. Think what you or her adoptive family would have done when she went missing. The police, the authorities would have gotten involved, and that would have caused a lot of trouble. It was the only way to keep her metamorphosis a secret, to keep her safe while she went through that very delicate change.”

Brooke could only imagine what “the authorities” would do if they found a person inside a cocoon. It would be like
E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial
where those crazy scientists capture Elliott and E.T. to study the creature and its mental link with the boy, ignoring all their rights, alien and human alike.

“I guess,” Brooke mumbled reluctantly. “Still, if I had known. I could have helped.”

“You can’t blame us for that,” Perry said. “It wasn’t
our
job to tell you. I guess Sam didn’t trust you enough.”

The bastard! He was putting salt on the wound and pressing hard on it.

“Brooke, please, we’re wasting time,” Roanna said. “My daughter isn’t safe. Ashby’s mother wants to kill her. Samantha can undo so much of the damage Danata’s done, so she is too great a threat to her Regency. We need you to help us. If you know where Sam went, you have to tell us.”

Hugging her middle, Brooke walked to the bed and sat down. “You’re wasting your time. I don’t know where she is. The last time I saw her, she was in my room with Greg.”

Perry lifted an eyebrow and shifted from one foot to the other. “That doesn’t bode well for Ashby.”

“That situation isn’t important at the moment,” Roanna said.

“If you say so.” Perry rubbed his nose.

“What situation?” Brooke demanded.

“It’s complicated,” Roanna said.

“To say the least,” Perry put in.

Roanna sighed and turned to the Sorcerer. “You may go, Perry. Thank you for your help.”

He seemed about to protest, but one look from Roanna seemed to erase all traces of defiance. The woman had an air of command that was hard to ignore, even if she also seemed gentle and very patient.

To Brooke’s surprise, Perry straightened, putting his feet together like a soldier in front of his general. He bowed respectfully and left the room without a word. After his departure, Brooke looked from the door back to Roanna, intrigued by Perry’s attitude. He seemed too much of a smartass to walk out without saying something obnoxious, much less to actually leave in such a respectful, quiet way.

“You do believe me, right, Brooke? Samantha is in danger. We need your help to keep her safe,” Roanna said, voice calm, even when her eyes wavered with no small amount of desperation.

Brooke thought about the question for a moment and came to the conclusion that she did believe everything these crazy people were saying. After all, she’d seen some pretty incredible stuff the night before. The attack that had left her house in shambles had actually happened. She’d seen it with her own two eyes.

The memory of the weird, white flames made her mad all over again. She took a deep breath to contain a growl.

There was no question that the prissy Sorcerer, Veridan, was after somebody, and that he had no qualms about laying waste to anything and anyone to achieve his ultra-evil goals. The question was: how could she be sure their people were any better? Brooke couldn’t help them find Sam. At least not until she knew more.

“Listen, lady, this is all news to me. Every last bit of it. The only thing I know is that you people destroyed my house and kidnapped me. You put me in a gown without my permission and have me in this room against my will. Then it turns out you’ve messed with my mind and seem to have no scruples about it. In my book, you guys are a bunch of criminals. How do you expect me to trust you?”

Brooke’s breath ran out. She inhaled quickly, before Roanna could interject, except the woman seemed to have no intention of doing so. Instead, she was carefully listening, as if taking stock of everything Brooke was rattling off.

Roanna waited for a few beats. When Brooke said nothing else, she finally spoke. “Thank you for being frank, Brooke. I like that in people. I apologize for acting so impetuously. We did so in the heat of the moment, and with Sam’s safety as our only concern. I, myself, changed your clothes. I only did so, because your costume looked extremely . . . restrictive, and I thought you would wake up more quickly, if you felt comfortable. As far as your memories go, I don’t approve of what Ashby and Perry did. But I assure you, I didn’t have anything to do with that. By no means do we intend to keep you here against your will. You are free to go anytime you want.”

Brooke blinked. “I am?”

After a definitive nod, Roanna walked to one of the armchairs by the fireplace. She pointed at a bundle of clothes piled next to a tasseled cushion.

“You may change. These clothes belong to Calisto, a young lady like you. They may be a bit long, but I think they’ll fit fine otherwise. ” She moved past the armchair with an easy grace that made Brooke feel like a clumsy elephant by comparison. “There is a small bathroom here,” she pointed to a narrow, closed door at the end of the far wall. “You can change in there. Take a bath, if you want. When you’re ready, we can take you back home. All I ask before you go is that you consider the whole story. Then decide whether or not helping us find Sam is wise.”

Roanna made a loop around the room until she reached the door through which Perry had left. “Don’t take too long, I beg.” Her lips stretched into a sad smile. “I will be back shortly. I’ll even bring something to eat. You must be hungry.” She started to leave, then abruptly stopped. “Oh . . . about your house, don’t worry. We’ll make sure it is restored to its original condition. And, if you approve, we can make your parents forget it ever happened.” With a final nod and pleading glance, Roanna left.

Brooke waited to hear the
click
of a lock. There was none. She jumped off the bed and ran to the door, bare feet padding across a round, antique rug. With trembling fingers, she reached for the knob and turned it. The door opened, swinging back in her direction without making a sound. She peered through a small crack and saw Roanna walking down a long hall, her body swaying elegantly from side to side. There were other rooms along the hall—some with open doors, others closed.

Cursing under her breath, Brooke shut the door and engaged the lock. She whirled and began pacing, following the outline of the rug and cursing in a long string of words worse than Brandon and Greg combined had ever used, which was saying a lot.

After three or four trips around the rug, she rushed to the nearest window and pushed the curtains back.

“Holy shit!”

Wherever she was, it didn’t even look like the United States. Maybe it was the crumbling stone wall around the house, the rolling prairie strewn with rocks, or the fairytale-like forest in the distance.

Are those fluffy things sheep?

It looked as if cotton balls with black legs were dispersed around the green, green grass. The little river with cute, stone was also a dead giveaway, though not as much as the freaking English accent everyone
sported.

That was more than enough to tell Brooke that she was far, far, far away from home.

But
England?!

Taking a few steps toward the armchair, Brooke made a point of feeling the hardwoods under her bare toes. The floor was faded and polished with age. The furniture was old and impractical, but in good shape. It fit right in, as if the house had been designed around it. She imagined everything had been lovingly maintained and passed down from generation to generation. It was a nice place.