Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2) (8 page)

Regardless, Danata’s returned confidence bode well for him. When she saw to her affairs personally, Morphid heads—or souls, more precisely—tended to roll, souls he was always ready to catch.

They took one last turn and passed through a set of imposing double doors. As they walked into the expansive, desk-lined hall, silence fell over its occupants. The many office workers rose to their feet and stood at attention as the Regent and new High Sorcerer walked down the long, padded Persian rug that cut the area in two. To the right, floor to ceiling windows allowed a view of the north gardens. Computer monitors shone above every desk, displaying views of ledgers, security cameras, maps, accounting spreadsheets, and the like.

At the end of the hall, Vitorio stood in front of his desk. “Here are your phone messages, my Regent,” he said, offering her a small stack of notes. Danata took them without a word and crossed the threshold into her private office.

With the quick flick of a switch, the glass walls and door separating the office from the desk-lined hall tinted in seconds to a translucent gray. She sat behind her massive wooden desk, an antique piece of furniture that went well with the old castle, but stood in sharp contrast to the modern telephone, computer and other office implements meticulously arranged around the room—not that Danata used the equipment much, if at all, rather preferring her employees and underlings to perform such menial tasks..

“Look at them squirm,” Danata said, looking at her retinue through the smoky glass.

Veridan peered back through the now one-way glass. “You have not lost your touch.” He sat, unbuttoned his jacket and crossed his legs.

She smirked. “Let’s hope not,” she paused and straightened her back. “About your next assignment—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Bernard and Roanna,” Veridan interrupted. He hated being told what to do, but he hated being told twice even more.

“Forget about them. I’ll assign that task to someone else.”

“What then?” Veridan asked.

“It seems that Ashby has his wits about him, don’t you think?”

“For the most part.”

“Whatever remedies you concocted seem to have worked,” the Regent said.

Remedies. If you only knew.

She stood and pushed a button on a short cabinet adjacent to her desk. A wooden panel slid out of the way and a crystal decanter surrounded by small glasses rose to the top. She poured two drinks, handed him one and sat back down. “To a job well done,” she said, inclining her glass in his direction.

Veridan mimicked her and drank the potion in one gulp. It was of his own creation, an invigorating and stimulating brew that never dulled the senses.

She licked her lips. “Now, to our next order of business.”

“And what might that be?” Veridan set his glass on the desk.

“Boris Volkov. I need you to—” The telephone rang, cutting her short. Her top lip curled, showing her aggravation at the interruption. In spite of it, she pressed the speaker button. “What is it, Vitorio?”

“Regent,” Vitorio said in a voice rendered even more nasal by the tiny speaker. “You asked me to inform you if your son showed any signs of improvement. He bathed, got dressed and now demands to be let out of the room.”

“Is that so?” Danata’s expression betrayed her surprise. “Very good. Have two guards escort him here.” Vitorio started to say something else, but the Regent shut off the phone.

“A great job, indeed,” Danata said, lifting her glass again.

Veridan was surprised, too. He hadn’t thought the boy would get back the will to drag himself through life so soon. He would have rather Ashby had stayed in bed for another two months, mourning the loss of his beloved. That he was already up and about probably meant he was in good enough shape to become a nuisance once more.

As they waited for Ashby to arrive, Danata seemed to lose her train of thought entirely and, to cover her distraction, she picked up a stack of memos and examined them distractedly. To his annoyance, Veridan realized she was still worried about the boy. He’d hoped waking the brat up would put an end to her lack of focus, but her thoughts were still off target.

What, in Fate’s name, did he have to do to bring her back around to
his
purpose?

The Regent’s eyes switched back and forth between the messages and the one-way glass walls. When, a moment later, Ashby appeared at the end of the long hall and walked down the center isle escorted by two guards, Danata set the messages down and watched his approach.

Danata’s advisers stood at attention next to their work stations. As Ashby passed, they inclined their heads and greeted him, expressing their relief at his recovery, most likely. He wore a suit and looked as if he’d bathed—a vast improvement from the disheveled, wasted-away individual they’d left just a few hours ago. He was still pale, and his steps were shaky, but the determination in his features made him appear less frail than he surely felt.

Danata smiled as she appraised her son, and Veridan dared hope the brat would regain not only his health, but perhaps even some sense.

“Leave us,” Danata ordered the guards after they delivered their charge. They turned on their heels and retreated the way they had come.

Ashby stepped inside the office and shut the door behind him. His chest moved up and down visibly, revealing the effort coming here had cost him. He nodded at Veridan, a weary expression in those ever-familiar black eyes.

“It’s good to see you are recovering so quickly,” Danata said. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Ashby answered. “I am a bit weak, but I plan on a quick, full recovery. I would like to get back to my responsibilities as promptly as possible.”

The Regent clasped her hands and smiled widely. The boy recoiled, distrust pouring over him. The poor bastard couldn’t even trust a smile from his own mother.

Danata didn’t seem to notice. “That is good to hear. There are a number of stately balls and appearances that would be perfect for you. Everyone loves you, and they have missed you greatly during your . . . absence.”

Ashby exchanged a quick glance with Veridan, wearing a frown and an, “is she serious?” expression. Clearly, the boy had no interest in entertaining the populace. He wasn’t here to be Danata’s puppet again. He was here to cause trouble. Too bad.

The cracking sound of Veridan’s knuckles as he tightened his right fist caught Ashby’s attention for a moment. The boy blinked slowly, as if the mere weight of his lashes was too much to bear. His black eyes lost their focus for an instant, lending him a faraway aspect that made Veridan think of Bernard.

Shuddering visibly, Ashby inhaled and, with some effort, returned his gaze to Danata. “Of course, my Regent, in time, I will return to those duties as well. However, there is another matter I would like to attend first.”

One of Danata’s eyebrows rose. Veridan pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle a growl of frustration. Not this. Not again.

“And what, may I ask, are you referring to?” Danata’s question was pointless, as the answer was obvious. Yet still she asked, if only to put the full weight of her disapproval into each word.

Ashby cleared his throat. “You said I could ask whoever I wanted about what happened the day I brought my Companion here.”

“I did.” Danata toyed with the emerald ring, her long, pale fingers restless. Her chin quivered, a small outward sign of building anger.

“I’m glad.” Ashby nodded several times, quirking an extremely civil smile that suggested he might not be so bad at diplomacy after all. “In that case, it is my wish to see and talk to Sam.”

For a tense moment, Danata sat as still as any piece of furniture in the room. Veridan waited for the outrage, for the slap of her palm against the desk, and the categorical refusal of the boy’s request. Instead, she lowered her head, took a deep breath and spoke calmly.

“I don’t advise it, son. I would prefer you stay here, safe. A visit with her can only cause you pain and . . . humiliation. She has no regard for you. Probably never did. The girl is
damaged.
Her upbringing must have twisted something in her nature. Search your heart for the truth. You know I’m not lying.”

Veridan let his gaze wander to Ashby’s face. The boy’s eye twitched a few times as he seemed to fight to maintain his composure. This concept was not foreign to him. He had considered it already and, from the stiffness of his expression, the idea seemed to carry enough weight to worry him.

“Perhaps it will be so,” Ashby said, his voice trembling. “Still, if I’m ever to attain some peace of mind, I must . . . understand her choice, her reasons. You wouldn’t deny me that, would you,
Mother
?”

Yes, the boy doubted his Companion. But he distrusted his mother even more so. Not for a minute did Veridan buy his pretense. He wasn’t expecting the girl to explain why she had abandoned him. No, he expected more, hoped for more—namely, discovering a conspiracy from his mother, which was exactly what was afoot. Not that the boy’s assessment was any great testament to his intelligence; any fool could have figured that out. Danata had betrayed him in the worst manner imaginable. Ashby would never trust her again. Not in a million years. And that, Veridan could understand better than anyone.

The Regent placed a hand on her desk and stood. She took a few steps to the side, hiding her countenance. “I would not,” she began without turning to face them. “Perhaps it would be for the best, after all.”

Veridan’s eyebrows shot up.

She turned then, her expression firm and full of satisfaction. “Talking to her will . . .
displace
any false hopes you may harbor, as well as any misconception about that girl’s virtues. She doesn’t deserve you, and the quicker you find that out, the better.”

Well, that was harsh. Typical Danata. But what did she intend? The girl had fled, thinking Ashby dead. A meeting with her would only set them back to square one.

Then, realizing what the Regent had in mind, Veridan lowered his gaze to hide the anger that suddenly sparked inside of him. Did she not learn from her mistakes? Well, he did, and he had no intention of allowing history to repeat itself.

Surprised, Ashby stammered through his next request. “I . . . I will go with Perry, no one else.”

“As you wish. I would suggest you rest before you embark on your quest, though. You look much worse for wear, my dear. Besides, it is nighttime on that side of the world.”

Ashby took a step forward, looking ready to protest. He stood rigid for an instant, then seemed to relax. “Perhaps you’re right. Some rest would be good.” He walked to the door, but stopped before leaving. “If I find out that you’ve lied, don’t for one minute think that I could ever forgive you.”

Quicker than his convalescent state should have allowed, the boy opened the door and exited the room, leaving the Regent open-mouthed, whatever sharp retort she’d intended to offer frozen on her lips.

Veridan and Danata sat in the silence that ensued after Ashby’s departure. The urge to issue a transport spell made his fingers itch for the talisman around his neck. He wanted no more part in Danata’s narrow-minded schemes. He had his own goals and—even though they relied on the Regent’s abilities, not to mention her poor judgment—his patience was wearing thin.

“So about Boris Volkov,” Veridan said, in an attempt to get Danata back on the right track. He felt it was hopeless. Danata had a one track mind and hated to lose. No one had bested her in a long time—or so she believed. But he had to try. “What do you need me to—”

“Forget about Boris.” She poured herself another drink and sat, back straight, features twisted in her trademark stubbornness. “That girl has become a problem again. I thought we might be able to ignore her for a while, but it seems we’ll need to act now.”

“What a sad bit of déjà vu.”

“One we wouldn’t be confronting at the moment if you hadn’t failed. Repeatedly. Come now, I know you must be dying to settle that score.”

She finished her drink in one gulp and took a deep breath. Her pupils dilated, then her eyes fluttered closed. An expression of near ecstasy took over her, signaling the effects of the potion.

“I never grow tired of that.” She licked her lips and inhaled, but her pleasure was short lived and her face went slack with disappointment. “Such a pity, though, all that is good vanishes too quickly. At any rate, now that I know Ashby is safe without her, you can have another go at killing the girl.”

“Easier said than done,” Veridan put in, remembering how close to death’s doorstep the Keeper had left him. “You do realize that you’ve just removed whatever element of surprise we might have had? Your statement has just alerted the Keeper. You know well his instincts deliver a warning as soon as a threat arises.”

“An order is an order, Veridan. It must be carried out. How to do so is for you to figure out. I hope I haven’t been too indulgent by giving you the freedom to operate alone, as you see fit. They bested you in the past. I hope, by now, you have a few more trick up your sleeve.” She straightened and fixed him with her violet gaze. “Easy or not, I want her dead. And get the Keeper while you’re at it, will you?”

Veridan stood and straightened his jacket. Yes, taking revenge on the Keeper was an enticing prospect, but rash actions were Danata’s specialty, not his. Samantha’s mongrel was a variable Veridan had yet to puzzle out. The boy was impervious to magic and could wield his own deftly enough, even without an amulet. A plan to neutralize him was needed, something that required some thought.