The Dimension Weaver (Alice the Fallen Mystery Book 2)

by K. H. Pope

  After a few minutes of walking, I find a wire gate. It’s locked with a chain and a combination lock. I look around. The wide open desert is at my back and my right side. The marketplace posterior is to my left. There isn’t a soul in sight. I touch the lock, and it opens immediately. I pull the chain from around the fence and open the gate enough to slide myself in. I put the lock and the chain back.

  The houses in this neighborhood are mansions. Double front doors, smaller houses attached, dark red brick, and every vehicle parked in the driveways range from brand new hydraulic lifted trucks to state of the art luxury cars. Obviously, the who’s who of Dumas lives in this neighborhood.

  It doesn’t take much time for me to find the mayor’s house. There is a flag of Texas on each side of the double front doors. As I walk up the driveway, my attention is drawn to the pretty Porsche. I didn’t bring the flyer with me, but that car looks exactly like the one on the piece of paper. I can’t remember the numbers on the tag, but I’m sure they match. I go up to the car and glance inside. The top is down and a backpack is on the passenger seat. Quickly, I unzip it and rummage through it. I find a wallet and inside of that is a driver’s license.

  Melissa Ostberg has hair that’s half blonde and half green. It says that she’s 19 years old. I place the wallet back in the satchel, and I continue my search. She has a computer tablet. I turn it on, but it needs a password for me to access it. I put it back in her bag, and just as I’m about to zip it close, I see a black book with a strange gold shape on the book cover. I’m about to pick it up when the front door of the house opens.

  “What the hell are you doing in my car?” a girl yells as she storms over towards me. Blonde and green haired, Stinky Melissa.

  She is wearing flip flops, a short skirt, and a raggedy, oversized t-shirt. The closer she gets, the more I sense she has powers. It’s not much. From what I can tell, she doesn’t seem to know that I have a talent, also. Still, I’m not letting my guard down with this girl.

  “This is your car?” I ask as I point at it.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought it belonged to Vanessa Brenlich,” I remark.

  She stops shorts and eyes me suspiciously.

  “What are you doing with it?” I ask.

  “Who the hell are you to ask?” she says with an attitude.

  “Who gave this to you?”

  “It belongs to me,” she says.

  “You know Vanessa, don’t you?”

  Melissa crosses her arms and answers nervously, “Why are you asking?”

  “You know Geoffrey Campana. He’s your boyfriend. Who else do you know that’s missing?”

  She scratches her eyebrow with her thumb and glances back at the house. I can feel the fear building inside of her.

  “Over forty people are missing. Are they all in dimension traps?”

  “How do you know about the traps?” she asks.

  I want to grab her and shake the truth out of her, but I don’t. “Where are they?”

  “You tell me who you are first.” She looks back at the house again.

  “It doesn’t matter who I am. I just need to know where all those people are and who put them in the traps.”

  She nervously chuckles and remarks, “I didn’t do it.”

  “Then who did?”

  “You need to get out of here.”

  “I want to know the truth, right now.”

  “I’m not telling you anything.” She takes a couple of steps back and shakes her head.

  I hate to use my powers against her, but she isn’t leaving me much of a choice. I make her freeze in place. The only thing she can move is her face. She is shocked by what I’ve done to her.

  “LET ME GO!” she screams.

  I don’t want her to get any attention from the neighbors. So, I will her mouth close. She’s still trying to speak. I come around the car and stand in front of her.

  “Melissa, I have very little patience. I want answers.”

  She mumbles. Of course, I don’t understand what she’s saying.

  “Tell me the-”

  “Melissa,” a man says as he comes out of the door with a handful of papers. No doubt, it’s Mayor Freland. He stops short when he sees me. “What’s going on?”

  I carefully step away from Melissa. She’s still trying her best to yell.

  He asks, while eyeing me, “Who are you?”

  Mayor Freland steps off the porch, and that’s when I sense he’s a wizard, and he’s a formidable one. He looks at Melissa, and realizes she can’t move or talk. I keep backing away. I make it to the other side of the car.

  “What have you done to my daughter?” he says as he carefully moves towards me.

  “I didn’t hurt her,” I explain. “I just want to know about Vanessa Brenlich.”

  “Vanessa Brenlich? My daughter has nothing to do with her! Release her this instant.” He drops the papers.

  I keep my hold on Melissa as I reach the passenger door of the car. Mayor Freland finally gets to her side. I grab the book, making the backpack fall onto the cement driveway. Before he can say another word, I release my hold on her and take off running.

  Just when I think I’m about to get away, Mayor Freland appears a few feet ahead of me, and he’s ready to attack with whatever magical assault he has. No chance I’m going to let that happen. My reaction is instant. I concentrate and break three of his ribs and both arms. He lets out a blood curdling scream. He falls hard to the ground. I’m not going to check on him. Even while he’s down, I figure he can still pack a punch. I keep running.

  Before I reach the fence, I make that thing fly open. The lock and chain break like twigs. I don’t look back. There’s no need. Melissa is too afraid to come after me, and Mayor Freland is out for the count.

  When I reach my car, I tear out of the marketplace and head for the abandoned mall store. Once I’m there, I park the truck behind it, out of sight of the main road, and I grab the book. I hate using the transfer chamber now because Ammon can track me, but I have no choice. It’s the quickest way to get out of town, especially since the police will be looking for me in full force for hurting the mayor. I’ll be back, though. I’m not done in this town yet.

  CHAPTER 27

  I make an entrance into Hilo, Hawaii, from a closet in an employee break room in the airport. It’s only 10:30 in the morning here, and the airport is empty. It’s creeping me out. I rush to get outside, where the heat hits me like a wall. It comes with an uncomfortable humidity, which is a stark contrast to the dry desert heat in Texas. The palm trees, the lush greenery, and the sorted colorful look of businesses and houses are almost an overload to my senses. This is truly a beautiful place but something is off. I’m not sure what it is.

  I cross Mamalahoa Highway easily, which doesn’t have a single truck or a car, to Hualani Street. A couple of people on Mopeds zoom by me, taking me by surprise, and they’re crouched down, going as fast as they can. Three more round the corner from Mamalahoa Highway onto Hualani, and they dash by me, too.

  Other than the diminishing noise of the Mopeds, it’s unnervingly quiet once again. No one is outside. There aren’t dogs barking, and there’s no birds flying. It’s like every breathing thing is hiding.

  When I finally get to the house I’m looking for, I take one last look around from where I’m standing at the waist-high gate. Honestly, I feel like I’m the only person on the entire island.

  I open the gate to Dr. Nathaniel Morrow’s front yard and rush up the broken stone path to the cement slab porch. I knock on the blue green screen door frame as loud as I can. It echoes throughout the neighborhood. I’m nervous. The unknown always scares me, even though I rarely admit it.

  “¿Qué puedo hacer por ti?” a woman asks from behind the screen door.

  “I’m looking for Dr. Nathaniel Morrow. It’s important that I speak to him.”

  “No visitors,” she remarks with a heavy Spanish accent.

  “Let her in, Nerea,” someone says
from behind her. “It’s okay. Let her in.”

  She opens the screen door wider. The inside of Dr. Morrow’s house is dark, but it has scented candles lit on every flat surface. The walls are made of rock, onyx in color and shiny. Native Hawaiian flowers are growing from the crevices. The ceiling is covered with vines. The floor has smooth colored pebbles set in cement. All seem to be different colors. Chairs are made of wicker with bright orange cushions.

  Dr. Murrow sits outside on the other end of the large room on the back porch with the door open. His back is to me. He has a bowl of macadamia nuts within reach and bottled beer on the other side on a cement table.

  “Join me, Fallen. I can’t remember the last time I had a visitor I wanted to see.” Still, he hasn’t turned to face me.

  Nerea goes to the kitchen area to my right, and I walk over to where he is. A chair is on the other side of the table, but I don’t take it. Dr. Morrow’s invitation to sit is a must.

  “How do you know who I am?” I ask.

  “Rumors.”

  “Do I need to worry about what you’ve heard?”

  His green eyes finally meet mine. His aged face is tanned, and he appears to be healthy. I can feel something more within him, something great that can only be attained through a long life. But his talents are barely there. I can tell he was powerful in the past. He was the type of man that witches and wizards knew better than to challenge or to cross. Now, only part of that exists within him, but he isn’t sad or upset about it. He’s enjoying himself, surrounded by the sanctity and the serenity of his Hawaiian home.

  “No,” he says casually. “Do I need to worry about you overreacting?”

  “No, Dr. Morrow. I’m only here to ask you questions.”

  “Dimension traps,” he says as he cocks an eye up at me. “Yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you’re here to ask me if I’ve made any recently, I haven’t. It’s been years, actually. I don’t like the craft. It’s dangerous and should be forbidden.”

  “Are there a lot of witches or wizards that can?” I ask.

  “Sit down, please. You’re standing over me like you’re my doctor.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Morrow,” I reply as I step around him.

  “I know you don’t want to be called Fallen. So, what is your name?”

  “Alice,” I answer as I lower myself to the chair.

  “No, your real name?”

  “Shamira.”

  “I like that better than your human one,” he comments.

  “Not really allowed to use it anymore. Part of my punishment.”

  “Aw, but that doesn’t mean it’s not yours. He gave it you, and only He can take it away.”

  “Dr. Morrow-”

  “Touched on a subject you’re not comfortable with?”

  I smile as an answer.

  “I understand. Dimension traps. You asked if there were a lot of witches and wizards that practices the craft. The answer is no. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Can you tell me what you know about them?”

  “First of all, a window to a dimension trap can be a portrait, a mirror, glass, water, or sometimes a jewel. Only the person that created it can undo it. The traps are self-sustainable. As long as there’s viable life in one, it’ll last forever, even after the creator has died.”

  “I heard differently,” I remark.

  “Then you heard wrong,” he says. “Moving on. The craft isn’t practiced any longer. It tends to drain the life, the sanity, and the magic from the conjuror. Many dimension weavers died long before their time because they made so many.”

  “So, why create them at all if they have that kind of affect?” I ask.

  “We used to make them to detain criminals.”

  “I have two so far that I’ve found. They were recently made within the last month, and there could be more, possibly up to fifty. Someone or a group of people are still making them.”

  “You have someone in mind?” he asks curiously.

  “I believe a police chief in Dumas, Texas, made them. His name is Ryan Lacey.”

  “Never heard of him,” Dr. Morrow says, shaking his head. “Are you sure you found two dimension traps?”

  “Yes, I’m absolutely sure. I have pictures to prove it back in the states.”

  “Well, okay, the craft is still being taught and practiced, but I don’t know by who.”

  “Dr. Morrow, think about it. Isn’t there someone that comes to mind?”

  “The only one I knew of was a gentleman by the name of Folly Whitcomb. He lived in Texas. He was truly a gifted wizard, very powerful.”

  “Is he still there?” I ask.

  “He’s been dead for twenty years.”

  “Dr. Morrow,” I remark with a huff. “I’m talking about recently.”

  “Sorry, Shamira.”

  “What about the other dimension weavers that’s still alive in New Zealand? You know, they could have made them.”

  “No, Shamira.”

  “Or they may know who did?”

  “Shamira, they wouldn’t know. The craft has taken their minds, their spirits, their lives, and if you question them, you won’t get anywhere. They are utterly gone. They are shells of what they used to be.”

  I hate it when I hit a wall. Then just like that, I consider Dr. Morrow. He can make dimension traps. I ask, “Why haven’t you lost your mind?”

  “Because I only made ten back in the early 2000’s. The sickness I felt after each one was too much, and I had to stop.”

  “Have you trained anyone?” I reply.

  “Never. It’s a cursed craft that should have never been taught in the first place.”

  “Can you break the traps? If I bring them to you-”

  “I can’t undo someone else’s dimension traps, Shamira. I told you this already.”

  “What about that Folly Whitcomb? Is it possible he could have taken on an apprentice?”

  “Whitcomb was an oddball and a recluse. I highly doubt it”

  “Well,” I say, giving up. “I guess that’s it. I don’t think I have anything else to ask you. Thank you for your time.”

  “Of course, Shamira.”

  “Are you sure you can’t think of anyone who made them?” I ask.

  “I haven’t been in the circle of wizards in years. I couldn’t begin to tell you who has learned to make them.”

  What a wasted trip.

  “You be careful on your travels, Shamira. There is great danger afoot, and it’s best to find safety, if it still exists.”

  “I did notice there wasn’t anyone on the streets. It’s really quiet out there.”

  “The Fellowship has everyone afraid to go out. No one knows what they will do next. There’s been warnings, but no one can pinpoint when or where or what will happen.”

  “Will you and your housekeeper be alright staying here?”

  “This is my sanctuary, Shamira. No one dares cross it without my permission.”

  I can believe that. I ask politely, “Well, may I go back inside your house? I have to get to a transfer chamber, and I don’t want to go back to the airport.”

  “Of course, and when you see the great Ammon Seth, give him my warmest regards.”

  I’m not surprised they know one another. I smile and say, “I will. Thank you again for your time.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Upon entering Tip’s house, I find him staring at a man I’ve never seen before in the living room. Great! Someone else has found me, and it’s another wizard. He’s standing at the door casually holding his hat. I get the impression he’s not really here to start trouble, but he’s not really on my side, either. I just hope I won’t be breaking anymore bones.

  This smooth russet colored gentleman has a buzz cut, clear brown eyes, a four o’clock shadow, and a subtle smile that’s not really a smile. He stands taller than me and Tip, and he has broad shoulders with a solid build. He’s wearing a very nice black trench coat that reminds me of old America
n government men and gangsters. This man is very sharp and debonair, but he’s too pent up to realize it.

  “Alice,” he says in a serious tone.

  “And you are?” I ask.

  “Inspector Iven Renald from the Magi Elite Missing Persons Unit,” he answers.

  “Magi Elite, great. What do you want?”

  “Senator Seth said that you had dimension traps. I’m here to collect them.”

  “I don’t have them,” I say as I place the book on the sofa beside Tip.

  “I believe that you do.”

  “Believe whatever you want, Inspector Renald.”

  He glances at the items on the coffee table that I left behind and asks, “What is all that paperwork and the book?”

  “My homework,” I remark, while blocking his view.

  “President Oliver told you to back off.”

  “I don’t care what he said.”

  Inspector Renald is perturbed. I look him right in the eyes, waiting for his next meaningless command.

  “Alice, you got the Magi’s attention. I’m working this case now. I want everything you have discovered so far.”

  “No.”

  “You do not want to play games with me. I have the backing of the Magi Elite.”

  “And what does that supposed to mean to me? I’m not under their control. I don’t follow their rules.”

  “Just hand over everything you’ve collected.” Inspector Renald is calm, way too calm.

  “No.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one that wanted the Magi involved? Your request has been answered. Here I am, ready to step in and take over. Give me what I want so that I may find the people responsible.”

  “And what kind of punishment will the Magi handout?”

  “Whatever the law allows,” he answers.