Approaching Storm (Alternate Worlds Book 2)

by Taylor Leigh

  By the end of the day she was miserable and counting the seconds till she and the rest of the students would finally be released. Sam was thinking something along the lines of going home and having a hot bath and a good sulk.

  After school finally let out, Sam found Terrance and Nelly at her side. It was already growing dark, but Sam didn’t protest as they pulled her away from the direction home, as much as her vague plans pulled at her.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked finally, not bothering to sound enthusiastic. She had lost all of her enthusiasm after the fourth hour of classes.

  Terrance was holding her by the elbow, as if he was concerned she was going to bolt. ‘Trip downtown. If you want people to think that you’re normal, you’ve got to be familiar with all the regular spots for us.’

  Sam scowled. ‘I haven’t any Scrabian money with me.’

  Nelly shrugged. ‘You at least need to know your way about the Night District. It’s the best place to find us. I’ll pay tonight. You can make it up later.’

  Sam decided not to argue. It beat spending her hours at the house, and it had been a long time since she’d had a night to enjoy herself.

  They had been walking down; layer after layer, till loud music and bright neon lights began to demand Sam’s attention. She let out a breath as she noticed where they were leading her. Thousands of brightly coloured lights decorated every building on the street before her. People in coloured clothes walked about, leaning on each other, laughing. It was as if all of the dull sameness of Scrabia had completely been abandoned on this one street. Sam hadn’t let herself hope there could be such a place at this, and yet, here it was, blazing in mad glory.

  The smell of smoke and liquor was strong in the air. Among the throngs of people, Sam recognised a few from school. They cried to Terrance and he shouted back. It was a loud place.

  Spaced among cantinas and arcades were clubs for all ages. Terrance and Nelly were busy pointing out the ones people their age were allowed into and the ones that were easy to sneak into. Queues of people were already beginning to form at the entrances.

  One of the longest queues was at the front of a place called The Red Scorpion. A great, bright red scorpion with a dripping stinger flashed in shining lights above the name. Loud noise vibrated through the closed front doors which shook Sam’s skull. A few very sleek vehicles were parked out front of this club, obvious status statements of rich owners. A roar from an engine parted the crowd down the street and another vehicle rolled into the last spot.

  There was sudden applause at the front of one of the lines. Sam watched as a man stepped from the growling vehicle, saluting a few people in the crowd in amusement as he swaggered forward. The further he moved down the queue, the louder the cheers grew. He paused at last and gestured for two girls to step out of line. Both girls laughed and bobbed over, one slipping under each arm, expressions showing how they could hardly believe their good fortune.

  Sam knew she was staring but didn’t care. She’d never seen such a display—even at the wilder clubs she’d been to. She hadn’t imagined there were actual celebrities in a place like this. She wanted to see his face, wanted to know if perhaps she recognised him.

  As if he read her thoughts, the man turned around. As expected, he was incredibly attractive. He directed his attention across the street to where she was rooted and scanned the mob with mild interest. Along the line his eyes stopped and locked directly with Sam’s. She felt her knees give way. She hadn’t meant to stare. The man smiled: a snarky, amused smile and gave her a wink. Then, with that, he turned round and pushed past the crowd with his two girls, into the club.

  ‘Yeah, good luck getting in there,’ Terr was saying. ‘Only the most rich and famous manage that.’

  She hardly heard him. Somewhere in the mass of people, a girl was sobbing. The noise crammed its way into Sam’s skull, wracking her head with memories of the night before. Her mind began to drift away from the crowded streets to another place. Her pulse quickened at the memory of the voice. Or the dream—hallucination—whatever it had been. Perhaps she really was going mad.

  Sam swayed, feeling ill. Nelly and Terrance were busy bickering about where to go and took no notice of her. She was going to be sick. The sobs wrapped around her, tugged at her insides, back to the house on the hill.

  Her gut churned, fighting against this new instinct to rush back to the cries that had somehow embedded themselves into her thoughts. Nothing else about her felt significant. She tuned out everything besides the tearful pleading as her brain buzzed.

  What was happening to her since she’d landed? Where had her concentration—her common sense—gone? How had she, out of everyone on the planet, been the one to witness, to contact the dead—or some spirit, or some life form—she did not understand? Had, by some strange twist of fate, Sam been standing in just the right place at just the right time? Sam didn’t know about such things. Yet, if she had been the only one privy to stepping through some small window to a different time, a different place, hell, even a different dimension, what could she do about it? Guilt at not knowing how to proceed, what to do, gnawed at her. For all she knew, the course of action she’d taken last night, by doing nothing, had already mucked things up. The thought beat at her insides.

  All Sam knew for sure was that something was going on on this world, something strange. She was growing more convinced by the second, yet she had to do something; what that could possibly be, she didn’t know.

  But things like this never happened to her. Sam couldn’t think of any explanation, but perhaps, some things simply did not have them. All she knew was that hearing voices was never good.

  The loud, pounding noise and nauseous smells of unfamiliar food from the Night District weren’t helping with Sam’s disjointed thoughts. She hardly realised she was swaying until Nelly caught her arm.

  ‘Sam, you okay?’ Her voice came from a long way off.

  Sam scanned the tossing scene around her, trying to focus on anything real, anything substantial. The crowd moved as a colourful river, nothing catching her eye. Not at first. Over the many shapes, her eyes roved, till, as if drawn by some powerful pull, they locked on a familiar form. After all of the strange happenings so far, Sam almost wasn’t surprised to see him. However, upon spotting him in the crowd, the sight still sent a thrill through her.

  He didn’t see her, she was sure of it, the crowd was too thick, but he was clear, like a light in the dark. And he was moving fast. He was pushing towards the edge of the street, easily moving through the packed crowd, not stopping or distracted by anything in his way. He was on a mission.

  Sam let out an audible gasp. In a few moments he would be lost to her if she didn’t act now. Already the shadows of the alleyways were beginning to swallow his thin form.

  Sam turned to her friends. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow!’

  She could hear their protests, but ignored them as she dove into the street. She pushed through the throng of people, eyes glued on the archway to the alley where he had already disappeared. People shoved her about, snapping, some catcalling, she didn’t care. Sam finally hit the pavement and raced after him to the dark slice of open between the buildings.

  She stopped and stared into the gloom beyond. Bins sat overflowing, a plastered man was slumped against the wall, smoking. In this area of the city it could be suicidal going down there alone, but it was the direction he had gone, and Sam had to follow. She’d been in worse. She squared her shoulders, gripped her handheld tighter, ready to dial at the first sign of trouble, and then plunged into the dark.

  The alley was a straight line back and Sam jogged the entire way, heart thudding, eyes peeled for any doorway or sign of the man. There was absolutely nothing. It ended in a brick wall, with one turn sharply to the right. As she rounded the bend, her hopes were dashed. It ran directly into a solid, rough rock wall. The edge of the city. Sam looked up. Ahead of her was the steep slope of the mountain range that bordered the cit
y. Impossibly high to climb, impossible to get around.

  She angrily kicked a can in frustration. Where the hell had he gone? He couldn’t have just vanished into thin air! She was positive she’d seen him stride down this way and there was no place for him to go besides ending up here, and yet there was no sign of him!

  Sam wrapped her arms around herself, crushed with disappointment. The darkness of the alley suddenly felt more menacing. Her strange acquaintance wasn’t here and she was completely alone. And why was she racing after him in the first place? She knew nothing about the man. He could be a murderer for all she knew, and yet, now she was blindly, stupidly, running after him.

  Sam bit her bottom lip and broke into a quick pace back the way she’d come. She needed to get back to the light before she ended up like the hysterically sobbing girl of her imagination.

  Sam made it out of the alley without incident and then bolted for home, choking in the cool, clear air. It was all too maddening, all too confusing and she didn’t know how to cope with it. This world was too strange, too many loose threads drifted just beyond her.

  She didn’t stop running till she was at the door. Didn’t stop moving till she was in her room.

  Sam took one of the quickest showers she’d taken in her life, scrubbing wildly at her skin, trying to get the smell of the district off of her. When she finally collapsed in her bed her brain had spun itself out of questions. She simply huddled up under her blankets in the darkness and tried to keep herself calm. When her pulse finally slowed, her mind began to ease. She took a deep breath and did her best to rationalise.

  She was either going mad, or she was growing more and more entangled in some great conspiracy that seemed too bizarre to be real. Disembodied voices, the continued reappearance of the man from the shuttle, all of it centring on her for some reason she couldn’t make out. Not to mention, there was a killer out there by the name of the Traveller, and Sam couldn’t help but fret over what would happen if he found out she knew.

  So, why then was she chasing him down darkened alleyways?

  She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep that night, but she was grateful when it finally came. Happy to slip down into thoughtless nothingness.

  Chapter Four

  She’d been having dreams.

  The girl was in them, quiet, begging. Wanting Sam to come save her from whatever dark fate had—or still—awaited her. And striding through her consciousness, with shining dark eyes, was the man. The stranger. Tempting her to follow.

  In the morning she was drained and still no closer to deciding what to do about the problem. All she knew was that she had to get back to the house. She had to try to contact the voice again. Perhaps it could tell her what to do.

  It was still early as she walked towards the building, nerves twisting at her insides. Yet the open skies, with her planet so low above, did relax her. The air was relatively cool and the sun was slowly rising up over the rooftops. People were just beginning to leave their houses, headed for work and the neighbourhoods all had a quiet stillness to them that only made an appearance in the early morning. It was a much needed peace.

  When Sam reached the building she saw in disappointment she wasn’t the first one there. The construction crew were starting to unload their equipment, looking sleepy-eyed and drinking hot beverages.

  Sam stood across the street for a moment watching them, then jogged over. No-one took any notice. She shut her eyes briefly, trying to get any sense from what she’d experienced before, but with all the chatter and noise from the workers, it was impossible. She might as well have been trying to hear a whisper from across a crowded room. She studied the house for a moment, then got an idea. These men were here working all day, every day. If anyone had noticed something strange going on, wouldn’t they be them?

  She cleared her throat. ‘Hullo?’ No-one glanced her way. ‘Hey!’

  Several people turned. A burly man, with the name “Hamill” written across his shirt front, walked over. ‘Can we help you?’

  Considering her mission, the best way of getting her information was probably with a bit of a lie. ‘My name is Samantha Turner. My father is one of the owners of this building.’ She dug in her bag till she found her ID and held it up for him to see.

  Hamill eyed her faded jeans and worn trainers dubiously, but didn’t look as if he cared enough to dispute the statement. ‘All right, what do you need? Checking up on us?’

  Sam shook her head. ‘No. Not at all. I was…hoping you could answer me some questions? I know this might seem a bit mental, but have you noticed anything…strange here lately?’

  The man frowned. ‘No, I haven’t…funny…’

  Odd thing to say. ‘Why is that funny?’

  Hamill scratched the back of his neck. ‘Because that’s the second time I’ve been asked that in two days.’

  Sam felt a prickle of suspicion rise in her. ‘Really? Who else was here asking?’ She already knew the answer. She was sure of it.

  Hamill shook his head. ‘Dunno. Never seen him before. He was a rather odd man. Didn’t give his name.’

  Sam bit her lip. ‘Can you tell me what he looked like?’ Her heart was pounding. They were both after the same thing. It wasn’t a coincidence. He was the Traveller. He had to be! And he was looking for the same thing she was. And the entity—or whatever it was—did not want him to be the one to find her. She was running out of time.

  ‘Thin, brown hair. Rather tall. Had a Scottorrian accent, like you.’

  Sam nodded. ‘And he was asking about strange things?’

  Hamill shrugged. ‘Had some strange contraption he was using to scan. I told him to shove off.’

  Sam scowled, mind whirling. So, was he looking for them, or was he responsible for them and was trying to get rid of the evidence? It made no sense. He was clearly a step ahead, no matter what he was up to.

  Another man walked up, a wooden box—about large enough to hold a pair of shoes—in hand. ‘Boss, I heard her say her name is Samantha Turner, do you want to give her this? Or shall I just pitch it with the rest of the rubbish?’

  Sam’s ears pricked up. She stood on her tiptoes. ‘What’s that?’

  Hamill grunted and took the box from him. He looked at it and frowned in genuine surprise. He handed it to Sam. ‘Just some of the rubbish that tends to turn up on builds like this. Not that odd, there’s all sorts of bits and bobs buried around here. People get paranoid and bury things. It’s about the only thing worth saving from the lot.’

  Sam felt an unexpected chill go through her. ‘Why does my name have anything to do with you giving it to me?’

  The man huffed his breath. ‘Well, look at the front of it, will you? Says your name right there.’ He tapped at some Scrabian writing on the front. ‘Funny. Didn’t notice that before. Odd thing. You have a relative with the same name who owned this place before you?’

  As Sam took the box from him, her stomach did a slow, sickening loop. She stared at the writing. At her name scrawled across the top of it. She had to trace her fingers along the grooved edges of the letters to make it actually there. It was not possible. And yet, there it was. Impossible. Real.

  Something sleepily stirred at the contact. The sense travelled up her fingertips, running along her skin, to her skull. She felt a fluttering against the inside of her mind, something almost…projected into her, coming from the box. It beat against her, in wild, panicked excitement like trapped butterflies. It was enough to make her almost drop it. She could almost hear the voice gasping. Sam was holding whatever had spoken to her. The idea sent an uncomfortable twist starting inside of her. There was no trapped girl. Once she opened this box, she’d finally know.

  ‘Yeah…’ she fibbed.

  Hamill said, ‘Looks like it’s been there for a while. Funny thing is; the man seemed to know it was there. He asked if we’d found anything and if he might have a look. Told him no to both but I’m not sure if he bought it. He seemed like a shrewd sort.’

  Sa
m nodded, swallowing hard, struggling to keep her bewildered excitement down. She couldn’t believe what was between her hands. How in hell could her name be on it? And what could possibly be inside it? Horrible thoughts rolled through her. Bones? Or a murder weapon? What if there was nothing at all? She couldn’t hear the voice through all the commotion, but she could feel it now, desperately trying to reach her, filled with desperation and anticipation that Sam had a hard time controlling her reaction to.

  ‘Thanks for this,’ she said. ‘If the man comes back, don’t let him know about the box. I’ll come back later and see if he’s shown up again.’

  The man shrugged indifferently and tromped back to his crew. Sam hurried down the street till she was out of sight and then sat down on a small wall around an abandoned building. The box was made of wood—something rare on Scrabia—and had a rusted metal lock on the front. On the top of the box was a coat of arms of sorts unlike anything Sam had ever seen before: A skeleton with a crown on its head and two batwings protruding from its back. In one hand it held a sceptre, in the other, a globe. Sam frowned down at the image and brushed the sand off.

  There was her name, scratched across the surface. It was different than the rest of the markings. Newer. Darker. Less elegant. A chill snaked down her spine at the sight of it.

  Something was written faintly below and it took her a good long while to work it out.

  ‘Sealed by order of King Reginald and buried by the Witch of the Realms, Arkron Terrisan, to be left till the appointed time for the Traveller, before the stars realign.’

  Sam’s jaw dropped. There is was again, the Traveller’s name! And it was written on an old, beaten box no less. She scowled again at the words. It made no sense to her. Her name, paired with his, on a box that looked a hundred years old at the least. She made a mental note to search King Reginald when she got home. Now, however, there were more pressing matters at hand.