Deadly Designs (Design Series) (3 page)

Eric's suspicions rose again.

His father turned to face him, straightening to his full height. "So be it. We'll come up with some way to reward you for your actions, Eric."

Eric frowned. The words sounded right. The tone of voice definitely didn't. His father was up to something.

"And for Storey?" he asked, cautiously hoping his father would let something more slip.

"Oh, yes. Storey is getting everything that's coming to her."

Just then several things happened.

Paxton's stylus started moving in the air. Paxton raced to snatch up a useable piece of paper to write on.

His father grinned a sly, slow movement that sent shivers down Eric's spine. Then he turned and strode out of the room.

S
torey sat with her back against the dirt wall. Stumped. How could she get out of this mess? Her backpack was missing and her pockets were empty.

Panic sat on the edge of her consciousness, waiting to take over. She'd come to rely on the stylus and sketchbook so much that she found herself at a loss. Her simple codex, not like the high-tech one that Eric wore, didn't appear to be functioning either. That hadn't stopped her from pushing all the buttons several times, hoping to recreate the same musical combination Eric had used, but the instrument made no sound.

Had the Councilman switched hers for a broken codex? Or were the thick prison walls preventing the codex from functioning? It had been a hellish couple of days, leaving no time to study the wrist units. She'd figured Eric could give her some one-on-one training in a week or two. When things had calmed down.

Not great planning on her part.

And if she couldn't use her stylus to draw her way out of here, or portal her way back through the codex's abilities, she was literally stuck here with only old fashioned methods of escape. Now if only she knew what they were.

With no weapons or anything to make a weapon from, it's a good thing she had yet to see her captors. For all intents and purposes, she'd been dumped into a hole in the ground and forgotten.

A horrible thought and one she really didn't want to dwell on.

If only she had her stylus. She could only hope whoever had it was taking care of it. There were souls in there. Souls that needed care.

Wait
.

She had been able to communicate verbally with her stylus, at least while she'd been holding it. She'd still had to write the answers down, but…maybe she could scratch a message in the dirt? Their bond was strong and they would eventually be able to communicate telepathically – when her skills developed further.

It was worth a try. But what did she have to scratch in the dirt with? The tab on her jacket zipper caught her eye. Made from hard metal, it had ripped half off already. With a hard tug, she pulled the tab off. Walking back to where she'd first regained consciousness, she squatted and scratched in the ground,
Stylus, can you hear me?

Silence.

Pressing harder, she scratched again.
Stylus, I'm in trouble. Can you help?

More silence.

Damn it. Fear started an insidious slide inside her mind. She tried again, harder, almost making her fingers bleed with the attempt.
Stylus. I need help. Contact Paxton. I need Eric's help to escape.

Nothing.

What had she expected? She bowed her head.

Essentially, she'd been tossed into a hellhole and no one knew. Except…maybe the Councilman. The man was a power hungry toad. Remembering the look of satisfaction in his beady eyes as she disappeared to God knew where sent more shivers down her spine. It also had another effect.

Anger and pride rose to battle the loneliness and fear. She would not let him win.

She refused.

***

Paxton let his stylus move freely across the page. Eric crowded behind him, trying to read the message as it came through.

Storey is calling for help.

Both men gasped. Paxton quickly scratched out a question. "Where is she?"

Not here.

"We know that. Is she at her home?" Eric snapped, worry making his voice sharper than he intended.

No.

Paxton frowned. "Is she in her home dimension?"

No.

Horror rose in Eric's stomach and was matched by the horror in Paxton's eyes. "Do you know where she is?"

No.

"Then how did you know to contact us?"

Her stylus says she is trying to contact Eric.

Excitement whistled through Eric. He knew Storey would find a way to contact him. They'd rescue her yet. "Why can't her stylus bring her home?"

Silence.

With growing unease, Eric said to Paxton, "Ask if Storey has her stylus with her."

Eyes wide, Paxton did as requested. The answer wasn't long in coming.

No.

Both men shook their heads. Eric frowned, trying to figure out how this communication worked. "Then how did the stylus know that Storey is trying to contact us?"

Paxton's jumped in with another question first. "So Storey can communicate with her stylus, even though she's not touching it?"

With the souls in it.

Both men cried out in unison. "Soul bound."

Paxton then asked, "Then where is Storey's stylus?"

We don't know.

Eric pushed forward with the questions. "But you can communicate with it, correct?"

Yes.

"Then where is it?"

It doesn't know.

"Is it in this dimension?"

No.

"Is it in Storey's dimension?"

No.

The questioning continued until they determined that the stylus was in the same dimension as Storey, but not close to her. Close enough for her to communicate with it, but not close enough for her to see or touch it.

Eric ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, thank heavens for that. I was afraid she'd lost the stylus somehow. How long before their separation affects Storey's health?"

Paxton raised his gaze to Eric's. He frowned, intense worry developing in his eyes. "I don't know. That's why we didn't take it from her when she was first here, remember."

Eric straightened. "I thought I saw the Councilman with a stylus in his hand. I wondered at the time…but there's been so much going on, I didn't think about it any further."

"My stylus said it isn't here, remember." Paxton watched him. "But they are valuable. Priceless in fact." His voice lowered. "If he has one, I need to see it."

Eric's mind locked onto the memory of Storey creating a dummy stylus.
Could that possibly be the one his father had? Really?

Storey might have let down her guard in the celebratory atmosphere after the battle, but she was pretty cagey. She'd have kept a firm grip on her real stylus.

He closed his eyes briefly, and bit back the curses that threatened to pour from his lips. Another side effect of having Storey in his life, no matter how briefly. People in his dimension didn't swear. It was considered a grave insult and showed a complete lack of respect to the person being spoken to. Unfortunately swearing appeared to be a natural part of her upbringing.

"Eric? What's the matter?"

Eric turned to look at his mentor. Paxton had been horrified by Storey initially, but had come to respect what she'd been capable of doing. After all, it was because of her they'd won the war. So fast and so efficiently, it had been a non-war, really.

"I'm remembering something Storey did when we were on her side of the veil. Using the stylus she created a copy of it, hoping the duplicate might fool the Torans who'd planned to separate it from her."

Paxton's mouth dropped then slowly closed as he processed the concept. "Did it work?"

Not knowing exactly what 'it' referred to here, Eric clarified. "The new stylus appeared to be identical but when she tested it, it didn't work. I'm not sure if we ever asked the stylus why, but we assumed at the time it was a dud. Although Storey wondered if it didn't work because it had no souls bound to it."

Paxton's face shifted and changed with understanding, finally coming to rest with a reflection of wonder. "How could she even think to try such a thing?"

Eric grinned. "That's the joy of Storey. The way she thinks and processes problems and solutions is so different from us. It makes her ideas seem radical."

Paxton walked over to where the Councilman had been sitting. "He can't have a real one because your stylus said it wasn't here. Therefore he has to have the fake one, but
thinks
he has the real one."

The two stared at each other, letting the issues settle in.

Eric groaned. "Do we know if we can send messages back? We need to find her."

"I don't think so, because she hasn't got her stylus to receive the messages." Paxton pulled gently on his long white beard. "Although we can't underestimate her."

"Let's try to reach her anyway." Doing anything was better than doing nothing.

Paxton grabbed his writing tablet. "And let's see if we can find that empty stylus."

S
torey sat back on the dirt and wondered what else she could do. She needed her stylus. Holding her zipper pull, she started scratching again. "Stylus, can you come to me?"

Her hand jerked.

No.

Storey gasped in joy. It was here! And responding to her. Excitedly she tried to marshal her thoughts and figure out her next questions in some kind of coherent manner. "Stylus, are you being held by another person?"

No.

"Stylus, are you close to me?"

Yes.

Yes. But not in this prison as far as she could tell. So the odds were good her captors, whoever they were, had her stylus and paper. "Stylus, has anyone attempted to use you yet?"

No.

"Do the people who separated you from me understand what you are?"

No answer.

Of course there was no answer. How would the stylus know what her captors understood and what they didn't? This wasn't getting her anywhere.

She also needed a washroom and couldn't see any such facility here. In fact, she couldn't see much at all. The lighting was unique. Cool, but definitely weird. Still, it helped to keep back the chilling fear that the darkness let in so easily.

Now if only she could get the hell away from here before her captors returned. On the heels of that thought came the next pressing fear.

What if no one ever came?

***

With Paxton continuing to send messages to Storey's stylus, and hopefully to Storey herself, Eric decided to double check she hadn't made it home first, then gotten into trouble. Just to make sure. With Paxton guarding the lab, Eric crossed into Storey's dimension.

Opening his eyes on the other side, he realized the codex had sent him back to Bankhead mine where Storey had first crossed into his world. He retraced the well-traveled route back to Storey's two-story clapboard house. Approaching from behind, he checked out the back of her house. He couldn't see any sign that the Louers had ever been here. Had it only been days since they'd tried to tear through the dimensional fabric beside Storey's portal?

The lights were off in the house. Could he port into her bedroom? His codex had taken him there several times, so in theory, it should have the destination in its memory banks.

Punching the instructions into his wrist unit, he then waited for the black mist to wrap around his legs and transport him to her room. Thankfully, the darkness covered his actions in case any of the neighbors spotted him outside. The smoke dissipated quickly. Relieved, he noted the same childish posters on the walls and everything else that made a typical Storey looking bedroom. In fact, it didn't look any different than when he'd last seen it.

Not true. There was one big difference. Storey wasn't in it.

Hearing noises in the hallway, he quickly stuffed himself into her closet, overwhelmingly packed with years' worth of clothes and stuffed animals. And sketchbooks. Would any have her sketched portals? They'd come in handy to rescue her.

The sounds approached. Damn. He hoped it was Storey.

Just then the door pushed open and heavy footsteps sounded. A male voice muttered, "Damn lights. When are they going to come back on?"

"Storey? Are you in here?" The footsteps crossed the floor to Storey's bedside. "There's no sign of her."

"Are you sure? Oh dear." Storey's mother, at least he thought it was Storey's mother, stood just inside the room, enough that she could see the empty bed herself. "Where could she be?"

"Storey has never done anything rebellious up to now so maybe we're overreacting. What's the chance she's in the den like we found her last night?"

"Oh, I hope so. She's probably fallen asleep again with her drawings."

The lighter footsteps rapidly exited the room and headed down the hallway. The heavier footsteps followed.

Eric had his answer. Storey never made it home.

Damn. That meant she'd gone missing from his dimension.

***

Storey's need to find a washroom had gone way beyond bad. When she had no other options, she had no qualms about going outdoors. But this prison was hardly outdoors. It also didn't offer toilet paper. She frowned and dug through her pockets. Tissues, three of them, lay crumpled at the bottom of her hoodie pocket. So that problem was solved, at least this time, but location wise, no. Nor did she have any idea if she was being watched. That possibility creeped her out.

She got up and wandered the large space for what had to be the umpteenth time. The light went on and off with her voice. She'd tried to order food and water the same way, with no luck. That there were no bodies gave her hope that she hadn't been dumped and left forever. Still, how long were they planning on leaving her here?

"Damn, why is there no door? There has to be a way in and out." The voice-activated lights meant someone had been here at one time. The concept of a door wasn't too outrageous.

"If there is a door, where the hell is it and why won't it open on command?"
Or had it?
Could it have opened silently? She might have missed it in the shadows. Anything was possible. With her hand in constant contact of the wall, Storey circled the room until she came to an open space.
A doorway.