Chapter 46 - Ashby

Ashby’s watch read 10:45 P.M. It wasn’t an optimal time for this, but he couldn’t wait. Bypassing the building’s main entrance to knock directly on M. Espina’s front door, whoever he was, wasn’t optimal either. Yet, here he was.

He looked back over his shoulder. Everyone was watching impatiently off to the side, except Brooke, of course. She had insisted her presence would keep Sam’s freak out to a minimum.

“Are you certain this is the right place?” he murmured.

“Yes!” Perry and Joao stage-whispered at the same time.

Joao had gotten the address from one of his owls—as absurd as that sounded—and Perry had transported them straight into the building.

Brooke lifted a hand to knock, but he held her back.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“No. I’ll do it.”

They slapped at each other’s hands like preschoolers fighting over a toy.

“Guys!” Calisto chided, shaking her head.

Ashby straightened his jacket and inclined his head, inviting Brooke to knock. She gave a satisfied raised eyebrow, making him regret acting like a gentleman. She knocked twice.

He stared at the door as if he were at the threshold between two different dimensions.

One without Sam and one with her.

No response.

Brooke knocked again, harder this time.

After a moment, sounds came from inside: rustling, stomping, a thwack followed by a curse, and finally, silence.

Ashby lifted his chin to ensure whoever was on the other side of the peephole could see his face clearly. They waited for several beats until he was convinced they weren’t going to get into the apartment by conventional means. Just as he was about to ask Perry to force the entrance, there was a click and the door opened.

He pushed Brooke aside and stepped forward.

“Hey,” she protested, but had the decency to stay back. This moment was his.

A middle-aged Morphid stood on the other side. He had thinning blond hair and eyes as dark as night that gazed at Ashby in a very strange manner.

Ashby cleared his throat. “Good evening. I apologize for my presence here at this hour, but my business couldn’t wait.”

The man’s mouth parted, yet he said nothing. The unrelenting strangeness in his expression made Ashby fidget self-consciously. He was staring at Ashby as if he were some kind of ghost.

He must recognize me, Ashby thought. He was supposed to be the next Regent, after all. People sometimes recognized him, even if his mother had tried to keep him from the public eye. Morphids also had paparazzi who made money by providing information to any who would purchase it.

Now that he thought about it, the man looked vaguely familiar. Maybe someone he’d met at a function of some kind? It seemed unlikely. For an instant, he thought of asking, “have we met?” But that would have been too weird. No, introducing himself was the best option.

“My name is Ashby Rothblade. I am looking for Samantha Gibson. Is she here?”

Behind the man, something stirred under a blanket on the sofa. Another person? A pet? Sam, even? His heart took a tumble at the thought of her huddled in this stranger’s living room.

“They . . . they said you were dead,” the man spoke in a slight Spanish accent.

At the words, Ashby’s eyes snapped back to the man, and a slew of questions rushed through his head.

Who had said he was dead? Who was this man? And why did he look so relieved to find Ashby very much alive?

“Why would I be dead? Who told you that?” Ashby asked, feeling vaguely threatened by this fabrication of his death.

“Greg and Sam said your mother . . . but why would they lie?” His gaze danced from side to side, growing darker by the second. After a moment pondering, his expression hardened and he took a step back. “Yes, she’s here,” he said, then turned his head to one side and yelled in an angry voice.

“Sam, you have a visitor!”