Paranormal Realities Box Set (23 page)

“You have discovered such a bridge?” Rom
pushed the chili around in his bowl.

Zen nodded and swallowed. “I have only
used it a few times so I’m not certain it has not collapsed. But if it is still
there it might be used.”

“Used how?” Senji asked.

“Used to stop the Dorcha from entering
this dimension in the first place,” Zen answered.

“Yet is it not truth such bridges cannot
be relied upon?” Rom piped in.

“What do you mean?” I asked Rom.

“The time of arrival could not be
predicted," Rom replied. "Moreover, the time of our return would be
even more mercurial.”

“He’s right,” Zen said. “The last time I
used the passage I arrived six months in the past. When I returned twelve hours
had passed, but I had only been gone for three.”

“So we couldn’t time our arrival to
coincide with the opening of the vortex.”

“No,” Zen admitted.

“And what of the other dangers.” Rom's
voice boomed. “If the travelers were to encounter themselves in the past is it
not true that the possible effect would be catastrophic.”

“Yeah,” Senji said. “I saw that on Star
Trek I think.”

“This is ridiculous.” Petra wiped at her
mouth with a napkin. “We’re taking our research from an ancient television show,
now.

Chase nodded. “I agree with Petra.
Besides, If you can’t time it and you can’t run into yourselves without ending
the world or something, then what good would it do?”

“Maybe there is something.” I said. “What
if we could somehow plant a tracking device on Juliette. If we couldn’t
actually stop the portal from opening, we could at least have a way of finding
Juliette when I go to Dorcha.”

“If we go to Dorcha.” Rom's eyes met mine
as he emphasized "we".

“When we go.” I said.

Within the hour Rom and I were on our way
to the wormhole entrance, with Zen driving and Senji tagging along for what he
described as research. After pulling the van to a stop at the curb, Zen threw
the gear into park and switched off the engine.

Calhoun Square was laid out with a double
row of sidewalks running north/south through the grass and a double row running
east/west dotted by a few benches.

Once we reached the other side of the
square and the street beyond, Zen halted.

“There it is.” Zen pointed to a derelict
Italianate stucco mansion.

The place had been empty for years,
certainly as long as I’d been alive.

“That house has a wormhole in it?” Senji
huffed.

“You were expecting a neon sign reading:
time travel enter here?” Zen asked.

“No. But isn’t this place supposed to be
haunted?"

“Yes. And it is. The two aren’t mutually
exclusive.” Zen walked up the front steps leading one story up to the entrance.
“I’ll introduce you to the ghost another day. We don’t have time right now.”

The front door had to be at least ten
feet in height, wood, and adorned with an ornate lion’s head knocker.

“How are we getting in?” I asked.

Zen took a tool from his pocket and went
to work picking the antiquated lock.

“Oh that’s how.”

I surveyed the street and square. No one
seemed to be observing our B&E. Zen had the lock clicking within seconds. I
stepped on his heel in my hurry to get through the door and out of view.

Once we were shut in, I wished I were
back in the square. The place had a creepy feel. I felt as if a million volts
of electricity crackled in the air around me, playing up and down my nerve
endings and forcing the hair on my arms to stand at attention.

“What now?” I was somewhat breathless as
if I stood at high altitude.

“Upstairs,” Zen replied switching on his
flashlight and placing his foot on the first tread. The bouncing beam of his
flashlight along the walls and into the corners revealed a number of cracks and
areas where plaster had completely fallen away. We were almost to the top of
the stairs when Zen stopped.

“The wormhole begins in the hall at the
top of the stairs.” Zen continued. “Walk down the hallway to the bedroom on the
far end and then climb out the window of the bedroom. When you want to come
back, climb into the bedroom and pass down the hall the opposite way.”

“A hallway is the wormhole.” Senji pushed
his glasses up the bridge of his nose and arched an eyebrow.

“Again I say. What were you expecting?”
Zen drawled.

“Go down the hallway and back the
opposite direction. Got it.” I glanced at Rom and he nodded.

“Look at that,” Senji said. He took hold
of Zen’s flashlight and directed it about midway down the hall. The beam
illuminated a section of ceiling that had fallen away leaving exposed beams and
jagged plaster. The remnants lay in a pile on the wood floor beneath. Cracks
radiated around the hole. As we stood there examining the damage, the crack
around a piece of ceiling widened. Another section of ceiling crashed to the
ground. We all jumped.

“The place is falling apart,” I cried.

“I told you the wormhole was unstable,”
Zen said. “But it's deteriorated a lot since I was here last.”

“How often do you come here?” Senji
asked.

“About once every couple months,” Zen
answered. “Living well when you want to live off grid costs a lot of money. I’ve
been working my stock portfolio.”

Another chunk of ceiling broke away and
smashed down below.

“If the ceiling keeps falling at this
rate, given the square footage of the hall, the whole thing will be completely
collapsed in about twenty-four hours,” Senji commented.

“Yeah,” Zen agreed. “ But you two have to
be back well before that. There’s only twenty-nine hours until the portal seals
up for the next twenty-nine plus years.” He glanced at his watch. “You should
stay there for four hours max. Time is wonky with these things. No telling how
long will have passed when you get back.”

“Great,” I groaned. “So it’s going to be
a leisurely trip.”

Zen reached into his pocket and pulled
out a folded piece of notepaper. “Here.” He handed it to me. ”I wrote myself a
note.” His smile was wry. “You might need me and I’m such a suspicious bastard
I might not help you without a letter of introduction.”

“Thanks.”

He turned to Rom. “You have the tracker?”

“Accord.” Rom patted the knapsack hanging
over one shoulder. “Much gratitude for your many services.”

Zen flushed a deep red and coughed. “See
you in a few hours.”

I almost said something to Zen about
calling my mom. She'd be frantic when I missed curfew, but even more frantic if
some strange man called her. I had to push down my worry. The only choice at
this point was to go forward now and explain later.

With Rom in the lead, we trudged up the
remaining steps until we stood on the threshold of the hallway. Glancing over
my shoulder, I saw Senji give a little wave as he and Zen stood on staggered
steps next to each other. Rom reached back and took my hand before stepping
forward.

The further we went in, the more the hall
resembled a funhouse. The wall on the right side of us seemed to grow in height
whereas the wall on the left side shrunk. Gradually, the effect reversed and
the left side grew tall while the right, shortened. The floor under our feet
began to pitch, roll and undulate. The hall groaned and moaned with each
violent movement.

Rom and I listed to the side as if we
were on the deck of a boat. I hoped I wouldn’t barf. I’d never been seasick
before. Rom’s hand tightened on mine as he staggered drunkenly faster toward
the door ajar ahead of us. I glanced back but could no longer see Senji or Zen.
Facing forward again, a hunk of plaster from the ceiling dropped and struck me
on the crown of my head.

Seasick and now concussed. Fantastic.

Finally we reached the door of the
bedroom. Rom pushed through as if crossing a finish line and dragged me after
him. Happily, the bedroom, bare but for a moldy old mattress on the floor,
didn't move. The most interesting thing about the bedroom however wasn’t
anything inside the room, but the sunshine streaming through the window. We’d
started down the hallway a little before midnight but if the position of the
sun was anything to go by, we emerged from the hallway around 7 a.m. But on
what date?

* * * * *

A veranda ran along one side of the
second floor and at the back of the house a spiral metal staircase afforded us
easy access to street level. We made our way into the square and I glanced at
the clear blue sky above us. I judged the temperature to be about 80 degrees.
Savannah being so temperate made it difficult to nail down a month just from
the weather. But a block away we ran across a newspaper box.

“May 17th,” I said rising after reading
the face through the glass door of the box. “At least it’s the same year. But
we’re way too early to stop the vortex from opening.”

“Is the location of your stepsister on
this date known to you?” Rom asked.

Recalling where I’d been five days ago
was impossible let alone where Juliette was four months ago.

“Let me think.” I tried to ignore the
delicious smells coming from the nearby restaurant. My stomach wasn’t as
cooperative as it gurgled loudly. “It’s Tuesday so she’s probably at school.
But so am I.”

“We must take the chance. The sooner we
return to the present the easier I rest.”

“Accord,” I said with a smile,
deliberately adopting his word. My stomach gurgled again this time more loudly.
“But maybe we should go to my house first depending on the time." I
glanced in through the plate glass window of the restaurant and observed a
clock, which told me 8 a.m.

A flash of white blond hair caught my eye
reflected in the window as a figure moved in a flash along the sidewalk
opposite the restaurant.

“Did you see that?” I whirled, my eyes
darting to where the figure had streaked, but I saw nothing. Running, I headed
in the direction I’d seen the figure go.

“Kizzy. What do you do?”

“The ghoul,” I yelled over my shoulder as
I ran. “The one the prince called Namia. I just saw her.”

“How is this possible?” Rom came along
side me, his face colored with a dull red flush.

“I don’t know. It just is.” I stopped at
the corner to scan both directions. Still nothing. It was like the ghoul had
just vanished at this very spot. Did she dart into a hiding place I wasn’t
seeing?

Rom leaned over and placed his hands on
his knees, breathing heavily out and sucking strongly in.

“I am weary of this,” Rom snarled.
“Tearing here, hurtling there.” Rom straightened slowly, his face ablaze with
rage.

I stood there stunned, unable to react to
the sudden change in Rom.

“Always we move at your dictate,"
Rom shouted. "Always the result is a fool’s errand.”

Finally, I came out of my stupor. “I
suppose I’m the fool then.”

His brows converged angrily and Rom
seized me by the wrist in a grip I was sure would leave bruises.

“Am I not a man?” he shouted. “Am I not a
warrior? I take no orders from a woman. No, not yet a woman. A girl.”

Jerking me against his hard length, Rom’s
strong arms wrapped around me like iron bands. With one hand he took hold of
the back of my head, his fingers knotting in my hair.

“A girl is not meant to be served, she is
meant to serve,” he said in a furious whisper, tugging my hair until tears
sprang to my eyes.

He forced my head closer and then his
mouth devoured mine in a hungry punishment I wouldn’t call a kiss. Trying to
push him away proved futile. So my hands went to his face to try to do damage
there. When I touched his skin I found him blazing with fever under my
fingertips.
The
ghoul bite
, I thought. The hand that had been tangled in my hair went to my
neck and gripped with amazing power. Ceasing to fight, I went limp in his arms.
Slowly and tentatively I tried returning the kiss to his marauding mouth.

As my hands gently stroked his face, his
hair, his back, I felt the rage seep from Rom until the kiss softened. His lips
pulled away and he rested his forehead against mine, panting as if he’d run a
race.

“Apologies,” he murmured. “I know not
what—”

“It’s okay,” I murmured.

“If I had harmed you, I…”

“You didn’t.” I kissed his cheek and then
stepped back. At one time I would have said I knew he couldn’t hurt me because
he cared too much about me, but after my father on the bridge I knew better.
Crazy trumped love or caring.

“Kizzy?” My father’s voice came from
behind me.

I’d forgotten he liked getting breakfast
at that restaurant before going home when he was on the night shift at the
factory where he worked manufacturing private jets. Should I brazen it out and
try to deny my identity? I wasn’t sure if I was a good enough actress for that.