Dangerous Designs (3 page)

"What the hell do you want with me?" she snapped in the direction of her backpack and the drawing safely secured inside. "Crap. This is too freaky, even for me."

"Storey, is that you, honey?"

Her mother knocked on the door and pushed it open, the light from the hallway lighting the few silver strands in her otherwise brown hair. "Can't you sleep?"

"Sorry if I woke you." Storey sat up, brushing her own jet black hair back off her face. "Just a bad dream."

"That's because you didn't have any dinner. I checked up on you after the meeting finished. You'd fallen asleep." Her mother's fingers twisted around a dangling lock of hair as she stepped into the room. She bit her lip. "Storey, you have to eat. You're already skinny enough."

Bone rack is what a jock had called her last month. Looking down, Storey realized they could be right. Her hip bones stuck out to match her big elbows. And her body had developed to the point where she barely missed the skinny scarecrow look. Too bad. She might have been able to make that work.

"I'm eating, Mom. They had pizza in class today, so I didn't need my lunch. Ate that on the way home." That was a lie. Still, she had more important things to worry about than food.

Relief washed over her mom's pretty face. "Oh, I'm so glad to hear that. Sometimes I worry about you."

Sometimes? Didn't she mean all the time? Was that normal for moms? Then again, there was a world of difference between normal and her mother.

"What time is it?" Storey looked out the window. Blackness stared back.

"It's just a little after midnight. Please get into your pajamas. You don't want to be sleeping in those jeans." She backed up to the open door. "If you're all right, I'll say good night. It is witching hour, after all." With a carefree grin, her mom closed the door.

Witching hour. Right. Only in her house. Sighing at her mother's antics, Storey collapsed down on her covers and fell into a light, troubled sleep.

"Storey."

She sighed. "What now, Mom?"

No answer. She sat up and glanced at the closed door. Weird. She could've sworn she'd heard someone calling her. Lying down again, she pulled her blankets over top, not bothering to get changed into her nightclothes.

"Storey."

She bolted upright.
That's it.
Who the hell was playing games with her?

"Storey."

Throwing back the blankets, Storey knelt on her bed. "Who said that?" she hissed into the early morning air. Not trusting the gloomy light, she flicked her bedside lamp on, quickly scanning the room. Empty. "I am so losing it. This is nuts."

Her gaze landed on the backpack on her floor. Her eyes widened.
Oh no.

"No, no. Hell, no." She shook her head, slowly at first then more wildly. "This can't be happening. It's a picture. Nothing more. Nothing less. I created you. I can destroy you."

That's exactly what she was going to do. She dragged the backpack onto her bed and opened it. The knot defied her first and second attempts, before she managed to pull the laces apart and yank out her sketchpad. "I don't know what's going on here, but enough is enough."

She flipped to the last page she'd been working on and grabbed it at the top left and pulled. It wouldn't tear off. She tightened her grip and tried again. It refused to budge. Scared now, she threw it on the floor and in a fit of defiance, she jumped on it.

And fell through the picture, through the floor even.

She went right through the doorway in her picture.

CHAPTER THREE

A
nd landed in complete nothingness.

Storey's knees buckled. She pitched forward, barely catching her balance, and froze. What just happened? Suffocating blackness surrounded her. No bed, no lamp, no floor even. No glimpse of the moon or the rising sun peeked through in any direction. Looking up, she searched for the broken planks of her floor or ceiling tiles from the basement. Something to prove she'd fallen through the bedroom floor.

There was nothing.

"Hello?" Silence. The first stirrings of panic slipped down her spine. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to stay calm, to understand. There was no easing of the unrelenting darkness in any direction. Somehow, she'd ended up in a pitch black, empty hole.

Her bedroom had disappeared. And this space had appeared. Her stomach threatened to spill its contents, bile climbing her throat. Her imagination couldn't help jumping from one wild scenario to the next, each worse than the one before. From thinking she'd fallen through the basement, to the idea of being caught between the floors – like, could you go in-between? She even considered that she might have tripped and fallen into a hidden store room.

She wasn't even going to consider that she might have been abducted by aliens.

This couldn't be happening.

Yet it had.

She swallowed. Then swallowed again. Closing her eyes for a moment, she struggled to remember what she'd done. The last thing she remembered was throwing that damned picture on the floor and jumping on it. On it? On the opening? Therefore on the doorway. And through it?

Her eyelids popped open.

Could she have jumped through a picture of a door as if it were a real exit? She shook her head as her mind stretched and reached the impossible conclusion.

And if she had...where was she now? Where did that strange passageway lead?

Wherever the hell she was, she'd damned well better find a way out. Once she realized her eyes couldn't adjust to the all-encompassing darkness, she reached out, her arms wide, hoping to find something solid. Her fingers twitched as her mind filled with thoughts of the many unpleasant things she could encounter. Spiders being the number one yucky critter in her world.

Nothing. She'd entered a space where she alone existed. Panic brought the acid in her stomach bubbling back up. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. She brightened. Maybe when she jumped on the sketchbook, she'd fallen and hit her head. Maybe she had a concussion? That had to be it. Eagerly she checked her head for blood, at minimum some tenderness.

Her skull was as thick-headed as she was. Storey groaned. "Please, someone," she cried out. "Is anyone out there?"

Eerie echoes went on forever.

She shuddered, the blackness threatening to suffocate her. She bent over and breathed once, twice, three times until the rapids in her stomach calmed down. As she stared down where her feet should be, it hit her. The floor was solid. Stomping to prove it, she crouched down to touch the surface. Hard, cold wood or maybe even tile supported her. It gave her hope.

Someone had built it. That meant people. Somewhere.

She had to have fallen into a storage space or something, a closet even. Okay, that would mean one huge-ass closet, but it was possible. She took one deliberate step. She stretched her arms forward. Still nothing. Bending down, she touched the ground and crabbed forward, her hands making sure there was something for her to stand on before taking the next step.

She continued for another ten steps. And stood up.

Was the darkness less cloying? She sniffed the air. Still bad, musty. She put out her hands again – still nothing. Fisting her hands on her hips, she stood and contemplated the situation.
What a piss off.
Where the hell was she? And as much as she'd like to understand how she'd gotten here, the priority was getting out.

And fast.

***

"What is she doing?" Eric tilted his head to study Storey's sideways crab imitation on the monitor in front of him, a frown crinkling his forehead. He'd rushed into the lab at Paxton's panicked call, only to come to a halt in front of the wall sized screen that showed Storey inside a crossing.

"I have no idea," Paxton retorted. "She wouldn't be doing even that, if you'd kept an eye on her."

"Hey," Eric protested. "That's not fair. You didn't even think she could
do
something like this. How was I to know?"

An irritated "Harrumph," from beside him was his only answer.

"So now what?"

"We watch."

Shooting a sideways glance at Paxton, Eric struggled not to scrunch up his face in disgust. "Uhm, isn't that a little mean?"

Paxton beetled his brows. "Mean? How are we going to know what she can do if we don't watch her and find out?"

"I don't think she has any idea of what she can do. Look at her. She's afraid she's going to run out of floor and fall off."

"And she might. If she'd created that."

The younger man gave him an incredulous look. "You can't possibly think she did this on purpose?"

"Right." Paxton shook his head in his far too familiar
I taught you better than that
way.

"Honest. I've spent days watching her. She's a good artist, yes, but she creates mindlessly"

"Then how did she create a portal?"

Eric paused and chose his next words carefully. "I think it's the stylus."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think it's bonding with her."

Complete shock rendered the old man silent. "Oh my. How is that possible? Do you know for sure that she has it? You've actually seen it in her hand?" He spun around to study Storey's movements in the tunnel. "It
can't
become soulbound to her. She's not one of us."

"I think I saw it. She wouldn't let me take a close look. This," Eric waved at the monitor, "proves it. It's the only way she could open a portal."

The older man shuddered. "This is not good."

"I'm assuming the stylus is trying to come home?"

At his mentor's gasping cough, Eric turned to stare at the red splotches appearing on Paxton's face. "Are you okay?"

"No. No, I'm not," he snapped. "This is terrible. Something has to be done. She can't come here. She's one of
them
." He almost spat the last word.

And? Eric didn't see that they had a choice. The stylus had latched onto Storey and appeared to be coming home whether Paxton approved or not. In fact, according to the monitor, the two of them had almost made it.

Eric watched as Storey bent once more to the floor and crabbed her way forward. "We have to do something. This is painful to watch."

The older man pivoted. "This can't happen. That the stylus was lost in the first place is unacceptable. That one of those otherworlders should have picked it up is worse...that the stylus is accepting...even strengthening the bond is..." Paxton stopped talking, overcome by emotion. He pressed his trembling fingers against his temples.

"It might change things if we assist her, you know." Eric gestured at Storey. "Chances are, she'd appreciate the help."

A calculating look brightened Paxton's slate blue eyes. He rubbed his hands together. "Yes. Yes, that might work. She already knows you. You could cross over and let her out on
her
side of the veil."

Eric considered the logistics. "She hasn't exactly welcomed me so far. A rescue could do a lot to help that."

Paxton nodded. "She can't be allowed to find out the power of the stylus. Get it away from her."

"It might already be too late. If she's soulbound already, we can't separate them. You know that," he countered.

The old man wrung his hands as he considered the problem. "Certainly we can. We have to. The stylus is too powerful. Too dangerous. But first things first. Get her out of the crossing and retrieve the stylus."

Eric shook his head. "I'm not going to participate in anything that will cause her death."

Paxton straightened to his full height and stared down his long nose at Eric. "Then go. The longer the two are together, the harder it will be to separate them. Get the stylus now and she lives. Don't get it and she dies. Either way that stylus has to come home."

With that order, Eric adjusted his soulkey, tapped into his codex and shifted dimensions.

***

Storey was beyond pissed and had jumped completely into terror. Something had gone majorly wrong in her world. And she didn't know how to reverse it. Initially anger had held the fear in check, but now it clogged her throat and clouded her vision. She'd gone from being warm and cozy on top of her bed to lost in this dark hole, a chill settling into her bones. The thought of being stuck in this blackness forever kept shudders creeping up and down her spine. Please, let this not be the end of her world.

The world had to be out there somewhere. No direction appeared to be a better bet than any other. She couldn't just stand still forever.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

Storey spun around, excited relief blasting through her. "Help! Hello? Can someone hear me?"

"Hang on. I'm coming."

Oh thank God.
She was saved! Storey couldn't believe it. Someone must have heard her screams. She glanced down at her jeans, relieved that she wasn't in her usual sleepwear - a camisole and matching shorts. To think she'd almost changed for bed. Then again, she might not have been found at all.

The darkness in front of her lightened. Storey pivoted to see a slice of sunlight opening up behind her. The strip widened, highlighting the old worn plank floor at her feet. Weird. She dashed to the doorway, open enough just enough for her to slip through, and blinked in the bright light. The sun crested the familiar shape of her mountain top. It was morning? How long had she been in there?

She turned to look at her rescuer.

Eric.

His grin flashed, that killer look of pure bad boy. Like he'd just come off a hot night. She gulped. The goose bumps on her arms had to be from the cool mountain air.

"Hey, Storey. What the hell were you doing in there?"

"In where?"

Storey spun around and studied the door she'd just exited. It didn't look like the one in her picture. In fact, it looked like an ordinary plain old door. Wood, some kind of cut molding running around the edge and a standard issue round door knob. The door attached to a large front wall of some kind. No sign identified the purpose or location. Stripped of paint and worn, the whole thing had an abandoned look to it.