Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Novels from Top Fantasy and Science Fiction Authors

by Gwynn White

  Andy said, “Sure.”

  Olivia managed to name all twenty-six cats. She said, “I know all their personalities. They’re all very different. I’m not getting rid of any of them.”

  Andy asked if we could see some of the cats. Olivia picked up the kitten from the couch. She said, “This one is Soot Sprite. Good name, huh?”

  I spoke for the first time since we got there. “I love the soot sprites in Miyazaki’s movies. Is that where you came up with the name?”

  Olivia said, “Yeah. From My Neighbor Totoro. I loved those sprites.”

  As we worked our way through Olivia’s house, we saw a total of twelve cats, five of which were the new kittens. Most of the older ones were scrawny-looking with matted fur.

  Andy asked where Olivia kept litter pans. She showed us into a powder room off the front hallway. The bathroom and litter boxes were clean. There were also bowls of dry food and water in there. Olivia said, “This is basically the cat room. They come and go as they please.”

  Andy asked, “Is there any kind of pecking order? Any alpha cats that keep the others from getting enough to eat?”

  Scratching her head, Olivia said, “I don’t actually know. I don’t usually watch them eat. Like I said, they’re allowed to come and go as they please. Here, I’ll show you something.”

  Leading us through mountains of collected items, Olivia led us to the back door.

  I studied the objects she’d collected. I felt like an archaeologist analyzing historical layers, although I couldn’t determine a pattern. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the collection. It reminded me of a bird’s nest: colorful ribbons and dresses and books and papers, along with a toaster oven, microwave, computer and all sorts of other things stacked into some kind of nest.

  When we got to the back door, Olivia pointed to a plastic flap at the bottom. She said, “That door gives them the freedom they want. They can go outside any time they choose.”

  Andy said, “I see. One complaint from your neighbors is that your cats are killing the birds.”

  Olivia opened her eyes wide in an expression of surprise, then asked, “Whose birds? Their birds?”

  Andy said, “No, just regular birds—wild ones, the ones normally outside.”

  Olivia said, “Yes. Well, that’s what cats do. There’s no law against that here. I checked.”

  I said, “Some of your cats are very thin. Are you concerned about that?”

  Turning around to head back toward the living room, Olivia shouted over her shoulder, “No, I’m not. They get plenty to eat.”

  When we returned to the living room, Andy said, “We can’t talk to your neighbors for you. We don’t do that. Would you like help with anything else? Would you like us to help you sort through your things, see if there are some you’d like to part with in order to give you more space in your house?”

  Olivia said, “I don’t need more space here. I don’t like open spaces. They make me feel nervous and uncomfortable. My home is where I go to feel safe. If you can’t help with the neighbors, I guess I don’t need your help.” She smiled and reached out her hand.

  Andy shook her hand first, then I did.

  As we were getting ready to walk out the front door, a mangy-looking calico cat sauntered up carrying a wriggling mouse in its teeth. Olivia laughed. “This one loves to bring me gifts.” Shooing the cat away, she said, “Come back later, Cinnamon. No mice in here!”

  When we got back to the car, I asked Andy what the next step would be for us with Olivia.

  Andy said, “There isn’t a next step. Not unless a family member or someone else specifically asks us to help, or the health department threatens to kick her out, or the bank threatens to foreclose on her house if she has a mortgage. Other than that, we don’t have the right to interfere with her life.”

  On the drive over to Max’s house, we listened to a podcast on UFOs. Andy said, “I’m trying to learn as much as I can, in case this stuff turns out be real.”

  I said, “Uh-huh. You should get informed about Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster, too, while you’re at it.”

  Andy said, “Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster aren’t taking over people’s brains and making them go crazy right now. Have you heard the reports coming out of California?”

  I said, “Yeah. I am a bit concerned, actually. It just seems so surreal. Something definitely seems to be happening out there. It could be anything affecting those people, though, maybe something in their water supply.”

  Andy said, “I can’t think of anything that normally gets into the water supply that would make you see things that aren’t there.” He smiled. “I mean, unless they’re dumping LSD into the reservoir or something.”

  I said, “Yeah, I’m sure that’s not happening. Sounds like something a movie villain would do. In real life, it would be too expensive.” I laughed.

  As we drove up to Max’s place, we stopped joking around.

  Six police cars with flashing red and blue lights had pulled into his driveway and parked on his front lawn. Wheel marks had flattened the grass and left a trail.

  A bunch of police officers had gathered in the front yard. Max’s hands were constrained in handcuffs behind his back. Maggie was there, along with two men I didn’t know. Maggie was waving her hands, talking to the officers and crying. Neighbors had lined up across the street to watch the spectacle.

  Andy parked next to the curb. As we got out of the car and stepped on the grass, a police officer placed a hand on his gun and walked toward us at a fast pace. Noticing this, Maggie came up beside him. In a shaky voice, she said, “Officer, these are my dad’s social workers. They were working with him on his hoarding issues.”

  The officer said, “Fine. They can’t go inside the house or inside any buildings on the property, though, you understand? Same for you, Miss. This is a crime scene now. We need all of you to leave as soon as we take your dad to the station. We’ll be taping off the area.”

  As he turned and left, a couple of the other officers took Max by the arms and walked him to one of the police cars. Blue and red light washed over the houses and ground with a sweeping rhythm. The crowd murmured. A couple of people pointed.

  Maggie put her face in her hands and wept. The sound she made was horrible, like the howling of a wounded animal.

  I didn’t know what to say. Andy remained silent, observing her, waiting.

  Finally, Maggie wiped the tears from her face and the snot from under her nose. She looked incredibly lost and tormented. Her eyes looked haunted. She said, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

  I asked, “What happened, Maggie?”

  She said, “The police found my mother.”

  I said, “Oh, my God, Maggie. Is she OK?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I shouldn’t have said them.

  Maggie started crying again. Eventually getting herself under enough control to speak, she said, “No, she’s not OK! The police found her in a room under the barn. My dad had arranged to have the space dug out, cement poured to make walls and a floor, and a trapdoor placed on top. The police are accusing him of killing my mom. My dad says she died in her sleep and he couldn’t part with her. He’d drained her blood and set her up down there. The room was filled with roses, most of them dead. He said he brought her flowers every day. Let me go talk to my brothers…” With that, she turned and walked away.

  Out of the blue, like lightning in a storm, a sharp pain ripped through my abdomen like I’d been shot. I sank into a crouching position, clutching my stomach and moaning. As soon as I could, I stood back up. Andy walked beside me to the car and opened the door. When we got inside, he said, “You really need to get that checked. It could be appendicitis. Don’t worry about taking time off. We have a pretty generous sick day policy and fifteen extra mental health days if needed. I’m going to take a few days off next week myself. That was a rather gruesome turn of events, wouldn’t you say?”

  I shook my head yes.
I stared out the window as we drove back to the office. People were walking along the side of the road. The show was over; they were going back home, probably to gossip about whatever they thought had happened at Max’s place.

  9

  When I got home from work, I sat down at my computer and signed into the search angel forum. I had a message from Hannah!

  I got up and paced around my room for a while. Today had been so emotional, I didn’t know if I could handle anything more.

  Finally, I sat back down and opened the message.

  There it was: the information I had asked for. The message conveyed Hannah’s excitement: I have great news for you, Jade. Your biological mother, Cora Frost, is a college professor. She has a doctorate degree in Clinical Psychology and works as a college professor. She’s currently doing field research with a professor from the Anthropology Department at her school. They’re studying a cult in Roswell, New Mexico.

  She listed the name of the college, the college address and phone number, the name and location of the cult and Cora’s cell phone number.

  I typed back: My goodness, how did you ever get so much information so quickly?

  Hannah replied: I have my ways. She added a smiley emoji.

  I thanked her and asked if I owed her any kind of payment.

  She said: No. I don’t charge for my services. It makes me feel good to help people who are in the same kind of situation I was in a while back. You can donate money to an organization that helps orphans, if you’d like. I have a number of great ones on my website. Also, you can pay this experience forward by helping someone else out who’s in need of support.

  I didn’t know what to say. I typed: Thank you so much! You’re very kind. I added a couple of heart emojis and a flower bouquet one.

  Hannah sent back an animated heart sticker that beat. Then she typed: Let me add one more thing. If you decide not to go through with contacting your biological mother, that’s fine. This is a big step, one that will change your life forever. Don’t feel obligated to contact her if you don’t want to. I find information for people on their biological parents, but it’s totally up to each person to make the decision about what to do with it. I wish you well, no matter what you decide. If you want to talk anything over with me, just private message me here or use the email on my website.

  I felt comforted by that. The decision was mine and I had someone to talk to. I thanked her again. Then I copied-and-pasted all the information she’d given me into a Word document.

  I sat staring at the page for a while. Cora Frost, Ph.D. That sounded pretty good. It should be safe enough to contact a college professor. Before I lost my courage, I typed a text message to her with my cell phone: Hello. My name is Jade Whitaker. Could we meet sometime? I’ve just found out that you’re my biological mother. I’m having some health issues and would like to know something about my family genetics. I deleted I’m having some health issues. That might scare her off if she thought I wanted actual help with that.

  Then I pressed Send.

  That night, I slept fitfully and miserably. I had dreams that Cora Frost turned out to be a witch with the power of freezing spells. She agreed to meet with me. Suddenly extending her arms and hands toward me, she shot snow, frost and ice from her fingertips. She froze me solid. Then she took me to Siberia and buried me beneath the permafrost. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I woke up, gasping for air and trembling. It took me a while to calm down.

  I hopped onto my computer and played Dragon Age: Origins to take my mind off reality.

  Falling back asleep later that night, I woke up with the worst pain in my stomach I’d ever experienced in my entire life in the same spot that kept flaring up. I decided right then and there that I’d take the week off like Andy had suggested.

  In the morning, I made an appointment with our family doctor. When they heard how much pain I was in, they scheduled me for that day, late in the afternoon.

  The waiting room drove me crazy. The pain flickered on and off. It was low level and intermittent, but it had me on edge. A baby kept crying. An old man kept coughing. The phone kept ringing. I wanted to scream.

  Finally, the nurse came to the door and called my name. I grabbed the backpack I used as a purse and followed her into the examination room. She gave me one of those crispy, crackling pieces of paper they call a gown to put on. Ugh.

  After I’d taken everything off but my socks and put on the crunchy tablecloth with arm holes, I climbed up onto the examination table and waited. And waited.

  Finally, Dr. Rutherford knocked on the door and entered the room.

  I explained my symptoms. She asked me to lie down. I had been told to put the gown on so that it opened in front. Folding the right side of it back, she pressed on my abdomen. I didn’t mean to, but I let out a horrible scream. The pain had been unleashed. I kept moaning. I rolled over and pulled my legs up to my chin.

  Dr. Rutherford said, “Let me get an ultrasound of the area.” She sounded serious.

  A technician rolled in the ultrasound machine and waited until I could straighten my body. I begged him not to press too hard.

  He applied cold gel to the wand. I held my breath as he moved it around.

  Glancing at the monitor, I saw a weird shape, but I had no idea what it meant. Was this normal? Abnormal? If so, what was it?

  The technician gave me no clue. He looked at the screen, moved the instrument over the area, took lots of pictures, then left.

  When the doctor came back, she had a serious look on her face. She said, “Why don’t you get dressed and then meet me in my office?” She wasn’t smiling.

  I peeled off the crackly gown, got dressed and found my way to her office.

  Dr. Rutherford’s eyes were filled with concern. She said, “There’s something on your ovary, Jade.”

  The memories of my mom’s illness washed over me like a tsunami. I put my face in my hands and wept. I had cancer, I just knew it.

  Dr. Rutherford said, “I know this is scary, but we don’t know what it is. You’re young. It’s probably benign, whatever it is. I want you to see this specialist.” She handed me a slip of paper with the name and address of a gynecologic surgeon. She also gave me a prescription for pain medicine. She told me to take it as needed. I took both papers from her hand, feeling numb and in shock. She said, “We’ll call and make an appointment for you.”

  They’d never made an appointment for me before. I knew I had cancer. I just knew it.

  By the time I got home, I’d made up my mind. I was going to find my birth mother. It was now or never. I was going to fight this monster inside me with every treatment available. I wanted to know if I had a family history of cancer, if anyone had survived it and, if so, what treatment had worked for them.

  The doctor’s office called. I had an appointment with the specialist the next day.

  I texted Cora Frost again that night. It was a brief request: I’d really like to meet you. Thanks.

  The next day, I went to the specialist. Another tech, a young woman with black-framed glasses, used a fancier ultrasound that produced more detailed images. She clicked, marked places on the images, saved pictures. Then I met with the specialist, Dr. Barbara Moulton.

  I had some kind of growth. They couldn’t be sure what it was until they did surgery.

  Surgery! My life hadn’t even started. I finally had my first real job. And I was going to die.

  I asked to put the surgery off for two weeks. Dr. Moulton scheduled the surgery for me at the reception desk. She said, “The nurse will give you the instructions for how to prepare and where to show up. You’ll need someone to drive you.” With a warm look in her eyes, she said, “Try not to worry too much. At your age, whatever we find will most likely be benign. You’ll feel better after it’s removed.”

  I thanked her, took the instruction sheet from the nurse and went to my car to cry. On my way home, I knew exactly what I would do next: schedule a plane flight to Roswell. What did I h
ave to lose?

  Part III

  Paloma

  10

  I had worked hard to get to this point. Graduated first in my class from the academy. Trained four additional years to become a time traveler on both the Anthropology and Medical teams.

  I’d had all the blood work and other medical tests done. I’d pushed myself hard in physical training. I’d been on twenty BTTMs, the Brief Time Travel Missions in which we get into a pod and travel backward or forward a few seconds, later a few minutes and eventually a few hours.

  The first missions backward were very odd. There were several times in which I’d landed back at a moment when I’d made a mistake. Of course, I wanted to fix it; but I knew that doing so would violate the Law of Noninterference, so I didn’t. The law had been made by the original Time Travel Council soon after time travel was invented. No one knew if it was necessary or not, but it was made on the basis of the multiverse theory that states there are many parallel universes in which every choice we’ve ever even thought about making is a reality. If we were to actually go back in time and change something we’d done, it could have unknown consequences for everything else in that time stream. The strongest example is if a person were to go back to a time before they were born and kill their parent, would they ever be born? If they were never born, what would happen to them? Would they suddenly disappear? And what about all the people whose lives they’d touched?

  The law had been amended in 3020 after the mission of Xavier Blake and Ian Redding, two time travelers on the Anthropology team. They had gone back in time to World War I in order to study the first instance of war that had affected so many countries and people, it was viewed as a planet-wide war. They thought they had their coordinates set to an Italian city not yet involved in the fighting, but they landed instead in the middle of a battle that had never been covered in the history books or any historical papers.