by Sharon Hinck
Good—he hadn’t forgotten his promise. I couldn’t make sense of my trip through the portal or the sudden-healing thing, but I knew I wanted to learn to use a sword.
My parents gathered up the pizza stuff and carried it to the kitchen—out of sight but not out of earshot.
“If we hide the portal stones, Cameron and Medea won’t be able to go back,” Dad said over the crinkling of aluminum foil.
Someone slammed the fridge door shut hard enough to make the salad dressing bottles rattle. “We don’t want them running around our world. They don’t belong here.” Mom’s voice was a pitch sharper than usual.
“I know. We have to send them back. But on our terms. Without anything that would hurt the People of the Verses. And what about Jake?”
Silence crackled, and I leaned forward from my spot on the couch.
When Mom refused to answer, Dad spoke again, so quietly that I almost couldn’t hear. “We need to keep the portal available in case he’s needed there. But how will we know?”
Needed there? Did he really think . . . ?
I waited for them to head back to their bedroom, then slipped down the steps from the kitchen to the basement. Most of the basement was still unfinished—except for my corner bedroom and Dad’s workbench.
I hurried into my room and shut out the world behind me. Tonight everything looked different—the movie posters, the bookshelves, the soccer trophy. Smaller, foreign, unfamiliar.
I pulled a thumbtack from my bulletin board and scratched it across my thumb. A line of blood appeared, but in a microsecond the tiny scrape healed completely. I had assumed the healing power was some heebie-jeebie thing that Medea had given me or that had transferred from my interactions with Kieran.
But now that my head had stopped throbbing, I could piece it together. Excitement stronger than caffeine zipped around my nerve endings. My folks thought this was more than a weird effect from my travels through the portal. They thought I might be the next Restorer.
Chapter
2
Susan
Water sprayed listlessly from the hose as I offered our geraniums a little encouragement in the August heat. The warm scent of grass clippings rose frovm the lawn. I used to enjoy gardening, but today my spine felt spider legs creeping up and down each nerve—the sensation of being watched.
I turned off the hose. Without rolling it up, I hurried into the kitchen and reactivated the alarm system.
Don’t know why I bother. Cameron and Medea are long gone. And what good does a security system do when our family is struggling from the inside out?
Weeks had passed since our return through the portal. We’d tried to settle back into normal life, but I still looked over my shoulder at the grocery store and scanned the crowds at Jon and Anne’s summer soccer-league games. Karen was annoyed when we made an earlier curfew, and she kept setting off the new alarm system because she couldn’t remember to punch in the code.
Mark and Jake joined a fencing club and talked the owner into letting them stay after class to “practice.” That’s when Jake’s real training occurred. I joined them occasionally, borrowing a long sword from the wall. I no longer had Restorer power and speed, but my muscle memory still appreciated the feel of a balanced blade in my hand. Training gave my mind a break from the tight knot of worry that twisted and frayed inside of me.
I thought I was mentally ready for anything, but what actually happened was worse than all the scenarios I had imagined:
Nothing.
Mark hunted through our neighborhood and found no sign of Cameron and Medea. I jumped at every creak in the house, every rattle of a breeze at our windows. Each morning, my first thoughts revolved around protecting our family. I began to think my nerves would snap.
And still nothing happened.
The passing weeks had revealed a sad truth: We’d found our way back through the portal, but we couldn’t find our way back to normal.
I rifled through the stack of mail on the counter. A postcard from North Woods Bible Camp grabbed my attention:
Mom, I got to canoe today and we have pop every day. But Jon’s in trouble cuz his cabin threw water balloons at the counselors. I knew he wouldn’t tell you, so I did.
Love, Anne
My smile flickered, then faded as the heavy quiet of the empty house settled around me. No children hovered nearby, forcing me to pretend everything was fine. Karen had left for her band tour, and the young ones were at camp. The summer days stretched like long pale shadows. When I most needed activity, everything had slowed. I used to love these rare, empty days. Now I dreaded them.
I squeezed the bridge of my nose, my eyes tingling. I probably needed some allergy medicine. The stress of waiting for our enemies to make a move had pushed a lot of emotions close to the surface, but I refused to give in to an irrational crying jag.
On my way down the hall to the medicine cabinet, the pull-down cord for the trapdoor caught my eye. I stopped, staring at the frame that Mark had crafted in the ceiling with so much love.
For the past several weeks, I’d avoided the attic completely, but my thoughts often felt the magnetic pull of the portal. Was Kieran succeeding at teaching the Verses in Hazor? Had Nolan adapted to having a father and vice versa? How was Kendra feeling? Had the baby been born yet? With Cameron gone for now, were she and Tristan safer? Had the Council united in supporting the guardians and protecting the borders from Kahlarea?
The portal was bound up in the answers I was waiting for.
Time to stop hiding.
I yanked on the cord, releasing the ladder. The treads wobbled beneath my feet as I climbed the steps into the attic.
Rafters pressed in from the darkness. Black boxes crouched in the corners. I pulled the string for the overhead bulb and the shadows retreated, but not the dark fears in my soul. I sank into the lone chair and buried my face in my hands.
“God, none of this makes sense.”
I waited for a sense of soft arms to wrap around me. I craved reassurance that I had done my best and all would be well. Instead, my words ricocheted back from the dusty boxes under the eaves. Even the old dressmaker’s mannequin jammed in the corner glared down at me.
I poured out my restless frustration. “We haven’t found them. We’re all on edge. I want to do something. Show me what to do.”
And if I ask you to wait?
I moaned. “Then You need to help me, because I don’t do patience very well.”
In the dusty quiet, I sensed the Father’s smile. Yes, I know.
I smiled too, finding some solace in His compassion. He understood me. Grace drew close and reminded me of His love. I snuggled deeper into the chair. The attic gave me a good place to practice some of that waiting that came so hard for me. I decided to stay until the chafing worry released its hold on me.
Verses drifted into the harbor of my thoughts and anchored: “Do not be anxious about anything. . . . Do not let your hearts be troubled. . . . Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts. . . . Be strong and courageous.” An armada of powerful ships, they filled the waters of my mind and blocked the encroachment of worries. I remembered how to hope.
Hours passed. The attic grew stuffy under the afternoon sun, but I wanted to stay. Needed to stay. I pulled my legs up under me and rested my cheek against the overstuffed back of the chair. An intermittent buzz and the tap of a housefly throwing itself against the tiny window came from the far end of the attic. I rubbed grit from my eyes and then let my lids drift down. I must have dozed, floating in a gentle montage of soft images. Strolls in the park, pushing my children in swings, laughing with my small group Bible study friends, sipping clavo with Tara, riding a lehkan across wide open ranges . . .
The buzz came again. Louder. Insistent. Why was that fly so agitated?
As my eyes opened reluctantly, the buzzing b
uilt to a steady vibration. An electrical crackle teased the air. My lungs struggled for breath. Wind moaned across the chimney—at least I hoped it was the wind.
The portal couldn’t be open. I didn’t know where Mark had hidden the third stone, but I was sure it wasn’t in the attic. Yet static prickled against my skin, and indistinct voices sounded from the eaves. My stomach flipped. I wanted to jump up and scramble down the ladder, but my body pulled deeper into the chair.
Was it possible to go back to Lyric . . . even with one of the stones missing? Maybe I should. I could go warn the People of the Verses about Cameron and Medea. Anything would be better than waiting for something to happen.
“Susan?” Mark’s voice rumbled from the hallway. I hadn’t heard his car pull up or the rattle of his keys as he came into the house.
“Up here.” My voice was thick, so I cleared my throat. “I’m in the attic.”
Mark’s face appeared in the opening. Worry tightened the muscles of his forehead. “What are you doing up here?”
I bristled at his accusing tone, but took a slow breath. He needed me to reassure him, not fight with him. I reached out my hand. “Just thinking . . . and praying . . . and stuff.”
He clambered the rest of the way up and wedged his body into the space next to my chair. Silver-blue eyes scanned my face as he took my hand.
My heart tightened, and I looked away.
“Are you all right?” His voice rasped.
“Yes. But . . . do you feel that?” We both sat very still. The subtle buzzing and distant voices filled the air. “Why is it doing that?” I stared into his tense face.
“I don’t know. Let’s go downstairs.” He tugged on my hand and shifted toward the trapdoor.
“Wait. Mark, we need to talk.”
“Fine. We can talk downstairs.”
I refused to budge. “When we were in Lyric, you promised that once we got home you’d tell me everything. What it was like when you came here for the first time. About the portal.”
He looked at the open trapdoor.
“Mark, please. Why haven’t you talked about it?”
He gave a heavy sigh and met my eyes. The harsh attic bulb created irregular glints on the waves of his hair. One curl curved against his temple, and I smoothed it back, letting it wrap around my finger. My hand slid down to run along his jaw. This late in the day, his skin was rough with stubble. I’d been so tense lately I hadn’t noticed the shadows under his eyes. Or maybe it was just the overhead light.
“I love you, you know.” My voice was soft.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I love you more.”
“I love you more than you love hardware stores.”
He squinted in concentration for a moment. “I love you more than you love reading a book in the bathtub.”
I giggled. “Good one.”
“So now that we’ve got that settled, could we please go downstairs and away from . . . from whatever the portal is doing now?”
“And you’ll tell me more about when you came here?”
“Yes. Didn’t I say I would?”
He hadn’t, but I decided not to argue. The moment held too much warmth and contentment to spoil it. I stood up, bending to avoid the rafters.
As if my movement had triggered it, a shrill wail burst from the rooms downstairs. I froze.
Mark recognized the sound first. “The alarm! Come on!” He scrambled down the stairs.
My heart battered against my rib cage at the same moment I heard a raised voice. I skidded around the hallway corner.
Mark stood in the living room, every muscle in his back tight and alert. I stepped closer to see why he’d frozen. Cameron stood inside our front door, looking relaxed and confident. No wonder. He had a gun in his hand.
“Turn it off,” Cameron shouted over the noise.
Mark hesitated, and I glanced around the room. Medea stood near the window, looking like a New Age psychic in a flowing dress and wild auburn curls. She stared at the lengthening shadows in our front yard, her shoulders hunched. Even in profile, I could see the tension around her eyes. She seemed to be in pain.
Mark walked slowly to the keypad and punched in the code.
“The police will be here soon,” he said in the sudden quiet. My ears were still ringing, and I barely heard Cameron’s chuckle.
“Call them.” He waved the gun in Mark’s direction, but Mark didn’t move. Cameron stepped closer. “You want them to die? No reason to bring others into this, is there?”
Mark was probably weighing the same options I was. Getting Cameron safely locked up might be a great solution.
Suddenly, Cameron crossed the few yards to where I hovered in the doorway and grabbed my shirt, choking me as he pulled me into the room. Cold steel pressed against my temple.
A new burst of terror hit me. I bit my lip and tasted blood.
“I’m finished being polite.” Cameron’s voice vibrated with impatience. He wasn’t as relaxed as he had appeared. “Call them now.”
Mark’s face became a blank mask, a sure barometer of the depth of his fear and rage. He stalked to the phone and called the security number. A tendon along his jaw jumped as he listened to their inevitable lecture about remembering to key in the code. He slammed the phone back into its cradle.
“Sit down.” Cameron shoved me toward the couch and used his gun to wave Mark over to me. The Lyric councilmember still wore his black hair slicked back and longer than was common in our world. Arrogant ambition radiated from him, the way it had when I first met him on a transport to Lyric. But today instead of a Council tunic, he wore dress slacks, an oxford shirt, and a tie. He could pass as a slightly eccentric dot-com executive or a broker who had tossed his suit jacket aside for a moment.
The sight of this man in my living room with a gun in his hand was so bizarre and surreal I choked back a hysterical giggle.
Mark sat down next to me and took my hand, but kept his eyes on Cameron.
“Better?” Cameron asked Medea.
She turned to him with a bewitching smile and rubbed her ears. “Yes. Let’s go.”
“I’ll tie them up first to be sure they don’t interfere.”
A dimple deepened in her cheek. “Oh, I can take care of keeping them still.”
Cameron frowned. “It’ll take too long. Save your strength.”
Interesting exchange. Even though I had helped free several people from Rhusican mind poison, I still didn’t fully understand how it worked. I did know that Medea’s power was formidable, and I prayed that they would hurry and leave. I didn’t want her eyes looking into mine or her voice getting into my head.
I waited for Mark to tell them about the missing portal stone, but he didn’t say anything. When I looked at him, he nodded toward two large duffel bags piled in the corner of the room. They weren’t ours. That’s why Mark was silent. He planned to keep Cameron and Medea from taking things from our world through the portal.
Cameron ripped cords from the new blinds and tossed them to Medea. She bound Mark’s hands behind him and then tied mine. Cameron kept his gun on us and stroked the top of the barrel with admiration. My stomach twisted harder than the knots around my wrists.
They forced us down to the basement, made us sit on the concrete floor, and tied us to an exposed plumbing pipe that ran up one wall. Once we were secured, Cameron rushed back toward the stairs, but Medea stood staring down at me with her head tilted. Her green eyes seemed to twirl. I thrust my chin out and glared back, defiance my only weapon against the terror that scraped chill fingernails down my spine. She took a step closer.
“Let’s go.” Cameron’s tone was curt. Medea sighed and dropped her interest in me like a kitten tiring of a toy.
The door at the top slammed shut, and they slid something heavy in front of it. I exhaled slowly and sagged against th
e pipe.
“Are you okay?” Mark kept his voice soft, but he tugged at the ropes.
“Mark, don’t you think it would have been better to tell them?”
He didn’t answer for a minute.
“Here’s our story,” he said at last. “We don’t know why they aren’t able to get through. We’d be happy to help them leave, but the portal is a mystery to us. Maybe it’s because they’re trying to take something that isn’t supposed to go through. Got it?”
The sick gnawing in my stomach must have made me grumpy. “They aren’t stupid.”
Mark had never fully comprehended what Cameron and Medea had done to me. At first he had been convinced that their interrogation had been a standard interview—part of Cameron’s job description. It had been hard for him to believe that any councilmember could be maliciously evil. He knew better now.
“Susan, this is important. Don’t tell them anything—no matter what happens.” Mark’s words weren’t reassuring. I grappled to regain the insights I’d found during my prayer time. Mark didn’t need me to argue or blame. Besides, I had just told God I’d rather do anything than wait. The waiting was over now.
“Okay. It’s your call.” I fidgeted until I could rest my head back against his shoulder. The position strained my arms, but it was worth it.
I longed for more comfort than that slight touch. Cameron and Medea would try to use the portal and fail. Then they’d be back.
And they’d be angry.
Chapter
3
Susan
We heard Cameron and Medea dragging their bags across the floor upstairs and the occasional mumble of distant voices.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Rhetorical question, but if I kept talking, perhaps I wouldn’t shatter from the tension. “Maybe they’ll get through with just two stones. The portal was doing something strange when I was in the attic. I know you’re worried about the clans, but the One will look out for them. They have a Restorer. Unless Kieran lost his Restorer power when Jake got his, but—” I gasped. “Mark, what time is it?”