Dangerous Designs

by Dale Mayer [paranormal/YA]

  "Hey? Why'd you do that?"

  The teacher ended class at that moment. Storey jumped to her feet, snagging her backpack in one hand and notebook in the other before racing out of the room.

  "Wait up!"

  Eric's voice became lost in the crowd. Good. She hadn't planned on listening to it anyway.

  ***

  This was an easy job?

  A simple job, Paxton had said to him and his father. "Go find the girl. Become friends with her, and if she has the stylus – retrieve it. Preferably, without her knowing. You're close to her age, so it should be easy to gain her confidence. The important thing is to bring the stylus home. Before the girl causes irreparable harm through her ignorance."

  Eric Jordan had jumped at the opportunity, not giving his father, the Councilman, a chance to argue. Not that he would have. Eric had studied all he could, become the best Ranger he could be. Even more, he'd become an expert on the alternate dimension. Yet in all that time, he'd never been allowed to cross the veil that separated the two worlds. This was a great first assignment. How hard could it be?

  Harder than he'd thought. Storey was turning out to be an interesting female. He'd been watching her for a couple of days now. He got along well with girls. They considered him friendly, caring, comfortable to talk to. What wasn't there to like? But if that were all true, why was this one so prickly? Then again, she was an otherworlder. That could account for the difference.

  And he suspected she did have the lost instrument, making his mentor Paxton's guess correct. If her drawings were anything to go by, the stylus had started bonding already. Not good. The tool had been lost when a scientist had fallen ill on a rare research trip across the veil that divided the two dimensions. Soulbound items were special in his world. Important, coveted, and passed from one person to another only through death. They were also incredibly powerful. Not something to be left in the hands of a sixteen-year-old otherworld girl.

  He watched as Storey bolted from the classroom as if demons were chasing her. Had that been fear tightening her fine-boned features as she'd studied at her artwork?

  Why? She'd created it.

  Or had she?

  ***

  Storey ran straight home. She burst through the front door and came to a skittering stop. Her mother's Wiccan friends were meeting in the living room. Great. On the other hand, their presence gave her an excuse to hide away in her room and sort through these odd drawings. See if there was a connection in them. A message.

  And that was just stupid.

  "Storey. How nice to see you home early." Her mother, decked out in her ceremonial robes and her face covered in heavy paint, walked over. "Why don't you join us, sweetie?" She motioned toward her friends, all in full Wiccan gear. "We're going over the weekend's events."

  It was all Storey could do not to wince. Giving the others a quick smile, she brushed past her mom. "No time. I have homework."

  She raced up the stairs and into her room, slamming the door behind her. No wonder everyone thought she was odd. Look at her mother. She'd been shunned and taunted when younger. Now most of the other kids just crossed the road to avoid her. Then there were the whispers and sidelong looks. Odd how her relationship with Jeff had brought acceptance. Until he'd left.

  Life had been normal until her father had walked out a decade ago, leaving her homemaker mom struggling to make a living. Her mother had been 'finding herself' ever since. The store and a new religion had been her answer. As much as Storey hated what it had done to her life, she understood that the candle shop had put food on the table all these years. The Wiccan part, not so much. Her mother held some rank on the Council and, of course, she dressed the part, even danced outside on full moons. Storey did not want to know if the group did it naked.

  Some things were just too much information.

  She pulled her sketchbook out of her backpack, then grabbed her red binder from class. She plunked down on her bed and flipped through the pages in both books. And stopped. Yes.

  Leaning close, she studied the images. The newer one was an enlargement of the lower right hand corner of the bigger drawing, where she'd run out of paper. Odd how ancient the doorway in her pictures looked. She rarely drew anything medieval or historical looking and had no idea why she would have now. What did it mean?

  Tracing the picture with her fingertips, she tried to understand why it was so important to sketch such detail. Her fingers moved slower and slower in a repetitive and oddly mesmerizing motion. She lost herself in the movement, feeling soothed and comforted by the knowledge that, if nothing else, she'd created this.

  A tapping on the window drew her attention. The sun had gone behind a cloud. Even as she watched, rain pelted the glass, giving everything an oddly distorted look. Kind of matched her life right now. With a sigh she refocused on the large sketch.

  She stopped. Then frowned. Had the picture changed? Shifted? Bending her head, she studied it closer, then shook her head. No. It was the same. At least she thought so. Anything else was so not possible. As she went to close her books, she paused again.

  There. A new line. She studied the picture. She hadn't drawn it – or had she? Stupid, that's what this was. If she hadn't, who had? She had to have put it there. Tilting her head to look at it from another angle, she realized the line still wasn't quite right. She snatched up her pencil and thickened the left side of it, widening it on the bottom.

  There, that was much better. It felt right.

  Silly maybe, but the change made her happy.

  She switched to staring at the weird enlarged picture she'd made in class today. With the geography notes underneath, it was irritating to look at. Within minutes, she had redrawn the picture into her sketchbook properly. Now that she could see it more clearly, she realized it was an actual door of some kind. Not just a vague entranceway. Now it had defined edges. Without a latch or knob, yet the right size and shape. She laughed at her imagination. So there was a door. Now wouldn't it be great if that meant she could just open the door and walk right through?

  The last thing she did was add a flat, metal looking door handle to the right side.

  Snick.

  Storey glanced at her bedroom door. "Mom, is that you?" Her door was closed and stayed that way. More unnerved by her reaction than at the noise, Storey hopped up and checked to see if someone stood outside her room.

  The hallway was empty. Laminate floors and red and gold painted walls stared back at her, remnants of the previous owners.

  Closing her door on the horrible colors, Storey surveyed her own lemon and lavender room. So much easier on her eyes. The rain continued to hit the window, filling the room with a steady pounding. With everything as it should be, she sat back down on the bed and picked up her drawing.

  And caught her breath. She'd put the handle in as a joke.

  It was no joke now. The freaking door was open. She peered closer. At least she thought it was open. The edge of the door was now a thick black line hinting at a darkness on the other side.

  She dropped the book on her bed and bolted to the far side of the room. She chewed her nails, not taking her eyes off her picture. The open door stared back at her.

  An open door she hadn't drawn. She knew that. Still, she couldn't stop a quick glance at the pencil in her hand. Just in case. There was no way. Really? How could those couple of lines give off such an ominous vibe? With so much power? Chills rippled across her shoulders.

  Inviting her? Warning her? Freaking her out – hell yeah!

  Storey knew she wasn't that good an artist.

  Could she be having blackouts? Momentary relief bloomed at the idea. Then she reached up and touched her temple. She didn't suffer from headaches. She hadn't been injured. As far as she knew, she was healthy.

  How could the picture have changed without her or someone else changing it? And why? She studied the lines of the door. Flat, thick lined, almost needing something from her. Waiting for her to do something. But what?


  It's not like she could walk through the thing. And even if she could, it's not like she would. Who knew what lay on the other side? A half chuckle escaped. Right. Now she was losing it.

  Storey grimaced as she shoved the drawing deep inside her bag, then closed and tied up the outside straps as a deterrent. Determined, she grabbed her English reading assignment and focused on finishing her homework. When she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, she dropped the book to the floor beside her, clicked off the light and fell into a deep sleep – a sleep full of weird dreams and strange voices calling to her.

  Storey, come and get me.

  Storey come.

  We need you, Storey.

  Disturbed, she bolted upright, gasping for breath. She stared wildly around the room. Who said that? No one. She was alone – and clearly losing it. Her heart banged in her chest. A film of sweat covered her skin. She took several deep breaths and tried to calm down. Talk about nightmares. She shuddered and lay back down. It took several minutes to get her breathing under control and when she did, she started to get pissed.

  "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

  And 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 ano
ther 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."