Othersphere (13 page)

 

At breakfast, the others were twitchy and tense. Nobody was looking anybody in the eye. Raynard brought out a pile of scrambled eggs, and no one would pass it around. They just leaned over and around each other to scoop out their portion as if everyone else was an obstacle to get around.

Caleb's concern for Amaris was enough to keep him there, but he sat like a black cloud at the very end of the table with his own pile of home fries, bacon, and half a grapefruit. Lazar sat at the opposite end, ripping the rind off a clementine with long, hard, angry pulls, as if it needed to pay for some wrong it had done. The rest of us scattered between these light and dark bookends, with at least one empty seat between us.

Only Arnaldo seemed mostly oblivious to the strain, eating with his laptop open in front of him, wiping his hands on a napkin tucked into the neck of his T-shirt before typing a flurry of commands. His two younger brothers, Luis and Cordero, sat next to him, tossing bits of egg at each other or saying “Quit it!” in low tones, but otherwise keeping their heads down. They'd had to deal with far worse tension in their own home, but I felt bad that they were here for this.

I cleared my throat and told everyone the message my mother had dreamed.

Caleb dropped his spoon onto his plate with a clatter. “When do we go?”

“Today,” said London. Her hands gripped the edge of the table hard. “Now.”

“What about this Orgoli creature?” Lazar asked. “Do we have to worry about encountering him while we're there?”

“He's definitely still alive,” I said. “I saw him crawling out from under the house as we drove away.”

“Let's hope he'll stay busy in this world,” London said.

“Do you . . .” I wasn't quite sure how to put it. “Do you think Ximon's still in there, somewhere?”

“Maybe,” Caleb said. He looked at Morfael, who was at the head of the table, calmly crunching into an apple

“There is no way to be sure,” Morfael said. “It depends on Ximon's strength of mind. His willingness to remain.”

“He doesn't matter,” Lazar said. “Amaris is what matters. I hope she's okay.”

“Of course, she's okay!” Caleb snapped.

Lazar turned on him, getting red, then shut his mouth abruptly and said nothing. The brothers were both on edge, each dealing with their sister's absence in his own way.

Morfael swallowed another bite of apple. “I can help three or four of you through the veil if we drive down to the Lightning Tree.”

“That's interesting.” Arnaldo lifted his head up from staring at his monitor. “I've been going through the files on Ximon's computer, and it looks like whenever he was lucid, or free of influence from Othersphere, he was trying to figure out where “the creature,' as he called it, came from, and how. The veil is thinnest near his particle accelerator, but his calculations placed the creature's entrance in Burbank instead.”

“That must be where this Orgoli thing first came through the veil,” London said. “At the Lightning Tree.”

“How do we find Amaris once we go through?” Lazar asked. “Othersphere has to be as big a world as this one, but does it correspond, point to point, with our geography?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” November asked. “Speak like a normal person.”

Lazar's mouth pursed in amusement. He never seemed to mind November's rudeness. “I mean, if I went through the veil right here”—he tapped the table in front of him—“could I walk ten feet that way”—he pointed toward the kitchen—“and come out of the veil next to our fridge? Or would I pop back into this world a hundred yards, or a hundred miles away?”

“The distances are approximately the same.” Morfael said. “But doorways can be manipulated.”

“And what the hell does
that
mean?” November asked, her mouth full of egg.

Morfael let silence hang for a moment. He didn't like her swearing at him. But she didn't back down the way she usually did and just stared at him, chewing. Finally, he said, “When you create a portal, like the one Orgoli pushed Amaris through, the creator can decide to use it to move things over distance as well as between worlds.”

“Aha,” said Arnaldo. “So that stone balcony she landed on in Othersphere doesn't necessarily correspond to where that lodge is on Kyle Canyon Road.”

“Which means she could be anywhere!” Caleb said. “Even if she's still where he dropped her, and there's no guarantee of that.”

“Orgoli's dwelling is not far from the eternal storm which shadows the Lightning Tree,” Morfael said.

London was listening closely. “So his headquarters or whatever won't be far if we go through the veil at the Lightning Tree.”

“How do we know which way to go once we're through?” Caleb asked. “Can you draw us a map?”

“You or Lazar should be able to find Amaris if she is anywhere within a few hundred miles,” Arnaldo said. “From what I found in Ximon's research on Dez after they captured her, creatures from Othersphere give off a very unique signature vibration when they're here in our world. I bet you the reverse is also true.”

“So Amaris should give off a signal that's easy to distinguish when she's in Othersphere,” London said. “Got it.”

“So if Dez is from Othersphere, does everybody over there look like her?” London asked.

“There's a great variety of creatures in that world, just as there is in this,” Morfael said. “And Dez's appearance here in this world may be different from how she appears when she is there.”

“Really?” I looked at him, startled.

He simply nodded.

“So that's a ‘no,' ” November said. “If shadow walkers move between all the worlds, then where do they come from? Where are they born?”

“We are born wherever our mothers wish us to be born,” Morfael said. “In any of the infinite worlds that exist.”

I was one-quarter shadow walker. Did that mean I could visit more worlds than just Othersphere? I didn't want to bring that up in front of the others yet, so instead I asked Morfael, “How many worlds have you been to?”

Morfael regarded me, deadpan. “A lot.”

Everyone laughed at the colloquial phrase coming out of him. He was usually so formal.

“So that means Caleb, Lazar, and I need to go,” London said. “Cool. Let's pack up.”

“And Dez,” Lazar said quickly.

I felt a stab of gratitude to him. He was right, from a strategy standpoint. I should go. But I also really wanted to go, to find out whatever I could—about myself, about my biological parents. There was only one real fear that haunted me about going there.

“Why take Dez?” November arched a thin eyebrow at me. “She wasn't much use the last time out.”

I gave her a helpless look. Her words cut deep.

“Neither were you,” Lazar shot back.

November leaned across the table at him. “That's because I was too busy nearly dying.”

“Dez is from Othersphere,” Caleb said. His voice was more neutral than Lazar's. “Her connection to that world will probably be useful while we're there.”

“If it helps us get Amaris back, she's coming,” London said. Then she turned to me, looking uncertain. “You're not going to freeze up again, are you?”

“No,” I said, not trusting myself to say much. “I hope not.”

“How reassuring.” November popped a sausage into her mouth.

“I'll stay here and do some research on that powerful laser Ximon said Orgoli was interested in,” Arnaldo said. “I found some encrypted files on his laptop labeled ‘laser' that I haven't been able to open yet.”

Arnaldo had obligations in this world—taking care of his brothers—which he couldn't easily leave. Me, I had no obligations, really. Nothing to tie me here at all.

Lazar said, “November, maybe you can help him, or see if you can track Orgoli's movements here somehow. . . .”

“Nope.” November brushed biscuit crumbs off the front of her shirt. “I'm leaving soon to hang out with Siku's family before the shifter council meeting.”

The table got quiet. Everyone was staring at November.

“What shifter council meeting?” London asked.

“They didn't tell you?” November showed all her teeth in a malicious grin. “Now isn't that funny. The North American Council called a big meeting of all available shifters for tomorrow night. They're going to discuss how they can work together to wipe Ximon and the Tribunal off the face of the earth.”

CHAPTER 8

Everyone started talking at once. Luis and Cordero raised their fists and gleefully shouted, “Down with the Tribunal!” as Arnaldo shushed them. Caleb was on his feet, asking November how she'd heard, and Lazar was doing much the same from his end of the table. London called her a bitch, which only widened November's smile.

Arnaldo turned to London. “Did you know?”

London's nose ring was quivering with anger. “No! I stopped talking to my parents weeks ago. They're the only way I get information like that.” She turned to November again. “I'm a shifter, too, you verminous sneak! So's Arnaldo! We deserve to know about an all-shifter council meeting, same as anyone.”

“Same as me,” I said.

November dabbed her mouth delicately with the corner of her napkin. “You're not a shifter, Dez. So thanks for your help with the Tribunal and all, but we can take it from here.”

Blood drained from my face. My chest felt hollow. “What? I'm . . . what?”

“That doesn't matter, and you know it,” London said, leaning into November. “If it wasn't for Dez, all the shifter tribes would still be fighting each other. It's only because of her, and the rest of us, that they're even considering banding together against the Tribunal.”

“I'm a shifter!” I said, so loudly that everyone else stopped talking and looked at me. “I shift into an animal, just like the rest of you!”

“But you're not like the rest of us,” November said. Her brown eyes were slits. Behind them lurked a dark and terrible rage. “You're some creature from another world who's good at looking and sounding like a shifter. Who thinks she's smarter and stronger and knows what's best for everyone. Only you don't. Because when you're around, shit hits the fan. When you're in charge, people die. Siku died. Because of you!”

“That's not fair,” Arnaldo said.

I took a step back, reeling. “No. Let her talk. Obviously, she's been thinking like this since it happened.”

“Let me talk?” November let out a scornful laugh. “Try to stop me.”

“Don't be an idiot, 'Ember,” Caleb's voice was icy. “Siku was his own man. He knew the risks, same as the rest of us.”

“Siku wouldn't have blamed Dez,” London said. “He would blame the guy who shot him! And Ximon.”

“Oh, I blame them.” November stood up. “I very much blame them. But I also blame the person who led us right into Ximon's trap. Siku took care of the guy who shot him before he died. That leaves Ximon and Dez.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Lazar never swore, so even a mild word like “hell” coming out of him was a shock. He normally had a high tolerance for November's shenanigans, too. But clearly she'd crossed a line. “If you're looking to get revenge on Dez, reconsider. Now.”

“Look who grew a pair in five minutes.” November smirked. “Don't worry, Loverboy. I don't have to do anything to get revenge on Dez. You're doing it for me by heading off into Othersphere with her and her ex-Loverboy. What a joke! You'll all be so busy fighting or trying to ignore each other, the monsters over there will have you for lunch.”

“November, why are you being like this?” Arnaldo said. “We're a team. You're acting like . . .”

“Like I've got half a brain for once.” November pushed her chair back and walked to the hallway where the stairs led down to the dorm rooms. “I gave you guys a chance yesterday. Even after Siku died, I followed Dez like a good little soldier right into Ximon's house. And guess what? I nearly died. No more chances, Dez. No more death for me. My bags are packed. My brother will be here in half an hour to pick me up. See ya.”

Her footfalls ran lightly down the stairs.

 

The four-hour drive to Burbank was grimly quiet. Lazar drove faster than he ever had before, while Morfael sat, all long legs and arms, in the shotgun seat. Caleb and London sat behind them, while I curled up in the way back, afraid to be up front. Afraid to let any of them see me.

“You're not like the rest of us,”
November had said. The phrase repeated in a sickening loop in my head.

As we packed up the SUV, London had told me not to take it personally. She said November was crazy with grief, or maybe just plain crazy.

Lazar had stopped me when we were alone in the hallway for a second and formally asked how I was doing. I wanted him to wrap his big strong arms around me. To tell me everything was going to be all right. That I was all right.

But he kept a discernible distance between us, and glanced away quickly when our eyes met. He, too, told me that November was acting out of pain. Then he left me alone.

It was nice of them to try to cheer me up. But I didn't believe it. November was mourning for Siku, yes. But I
had
fallen for Ximon's trap at the particle accelerator. If it wasn't for me, the group never would have gone there and Siku wouldn't have died. And yesterday November had nearly died as well, because I'd been an idiot and hadn't believed Ximon's story about being possessed.

It was hard to remember a time when I'd ever been right. A time when I'd ever felt anything but disgust and horror at myself.

Morfael gave us instructions dryly in the car: He could hold a window open to Othersphere for us for four hours only. We'd have to come back with Amaris by then or wait another twenty-four hours, when he'd try to open the window again. We left our phones in the car; they'd be useless in Othersphere without towers or satellites to keep time or transmit messages. Caleb and Lazar were wearing watches synchronized to be sure we got back in time. London chose not to wear one, since she'd probably shift as she went through the window. And I could never wear one—they stopped working within a few minutes thanks to my anti-tech-fu.

Normally, the sight of the Lightning Tree would have soothed me. I'd climbed the enormous old oak many times as a kid and visited it nearly every day after I got the back brace. I hadn't known then that the tree had a powerful shadow connected to an eternal storm in Othersphere. But I'd been drawn to it nonetheless.

Now, in the gray winter light it looked strangely ominous, skeletal. The mostly bare branches cast gnarled, snakelike shadows on the grass before us.

Huge dark clouds had gathered over the Burbank hills. Rain began to pelt down, and the few remaining kids on skateboards scattered off home. Morfael, Caleb, Lazar, London, and I were the only ones in the park. We piled out of the SUV, throwing on our backpacks, moving with urgency, as if any moment we delayed might be the one in which we lost Amaris.

Morfael followed at a slightly slower pace as we jogged forward, dead leaves crunching under our shoes. The three callers—Lazar, Caleb, and Morfael—hummed instinctively as we neared the tree, gold glinting in their irises.

I couldn't see the eternal storm in the tree's shadow. But I felt its nearness, a familiar, almost comfortable buzz under my skin. I sped up. The closer I got to the tree, the better I felt.

When I got close, I pushed off the ground to climb up, landing in a comfortable spot where the branches first split, wide as a bumpy lap. I ran my hand over the rough bark, and for a moment I could've sworn the branches swayed closer to me, as if in greeting.

Plants had always liked me. With my green thumb I could make just about anything grow, even in bad soil or the wrong climate. Something to do with my connection to Othersphere, where nature ran rampant and technology did not exist.

I leaned forward against a large branch, wrapping my arms around it, pressing my cheek to the coarse surface, like a starving person who had finally had a meal. Through my skin a nearly undetectable pulse beat. It was the beginning of the music of Othersphere.

“The tree's vibration changed when Dez climbed onto it,” Lazar said, gazing up at the bare tangle of branches.

“The storm always subsides a bit when she's near,” Caleb said.

“It knows her well,” Morfael said.

“It does?” I hadn't known that.

“Line up before the tree,” Morfael said in a voice that cut through the rain and the wind. Thunder crackled in the distance. I dropped down off the tree as the others arranged themselves.

London removed her shoes and socks and handed me her coat, getting ready to shift. “I wish November was here,” she said. “Like the old days.”

“Me, too.” I stuffed her coat into my backpack, guilt stabbing at me again. My earlier reluctance had vanished once I'd touched the Lightning Tree. I couldn't wait to get into Othersphere, to take action, maybe to forget for a little while just how wrong I had been about everything.

“I'm going to miss Arnaldo and his eyes in the sky.” Caleb looked up at the branches of the tree.

“We'll need to stay sharp,” Lazar said. “Watch where every footstep lands. You never know what you might be walking into.”

“Will I be forced to shift when I pass through, too?” I asked Morfael, raising my voice over the rain, which was now pounding down.

Morfael's moonstone eyes still glowed with gold. “You will stay in a similar form. But you will find more variation is possible in all your forms.”

I frowned. “Similar form?”

“Yes,” Morfael said. “You may not recognize yourself. As a shadow walker, your form will be closest to that which the world demands. But as an Amba, you'll feel the greatest attraction to your tiger form. Use it wisely.”

“Shadow walker?” Lazar stared at me, unsettled.

Caleb was nodding. “That makes total sense.”

London couldn't have cared less. “Let's go!”

Lazar had taken the brown rope from Cherry Drive out of London's backpack. He wrapped the rope around his right arm, holding it in his right hand and held it out to London. She measured out a span of it. Then the air warped around her, and where she had been stood a huge, silver-gray wolf with electric blue eyes. Her pants puddled under her back paws. Her shirt ripped, hanging on her front legs. She took it in her teeth and yanked it free. Then she took the rope in her mouth and offered it to Caleb, who wrapped it around his left hand. I stood next to Lazar, my hand on the haft of the Shadow Blade, completing the semicircle around the knotty trunk of the Lightning Tree.

Morfael stood behind us. “Don't forget, you must return within four hours, or you will not be able to reenter this world.”

Caleb checked his wristwatch. “Four hours. Does time move at the same rate over there?”

Morfael half smiled. “Close enough. If you're left in Othersphere, wait twenty-four hours. Then return to this spot, and I'll try to open the portal again.”

“We'll try not to miss the four-hour mark,” I said. Surviving there that long would probably be challenge enough.

“Unless we haven't found Amaris by then,” Lazar said.

“We'll find her,” Caleb said. “No matter how long it takes.”

London gave a short bark of agreement.

“Enter as soon as the portal appears. Waste no time,” said Morfael. “Take care of each other.”

I looked down the line at Caleb, London, and Lazar, united by the rope, and swore to myself I would not let them down. Not this time.

They were doing much the same, exchanging glances, taking a deep breath. Lazar turned to me, his brown eyes alight with tension and excitement. He smiled, and held out his left hand.

I took it gratefully, pushing worries about Caleb from my mind. Lazar's hand was warm, thrumming with a tremor I hadn't felt before, and I wondered if it came from the rope in his other hand.

Then Morfael unleashed a deep note from the back of his throat that nearly knocked me over. The force behind it was palpable. It didn't waver, growing louder, and I half expected an ocean liner to come steaming up behind us. In my peripheral vision, I saw him point his staff at the tree.

The note changed. A question was being asked. Before me, the tree seemed to waver, like an old film jumping in a projector, and I glimpsed a vast bank of black and gray clouds, churning with rain and lightning.

Then the tree was back. But it was taller, darker. Its branches extended like crooked fingers, reaching for me.

Morfael's note changed again, running up the scale, and then down to an impossible deepness, something beyond my hearing, but lodged in my bones.

The air in front of us split, the crack widening, growing taller. Blackness roiled on the other side of the fissure, a cloud bank vaster and darker than anything our world had seen. Rain that was not from this world joined the rain falling from our sky. New wind whipped my hair.

I was smiling.

The window extended, and the cloud bank in Othersphere now blotted out the one above. It also hung low, nearly obscuring the sodden, vivid green, knee-high grass at our feet, lashed by the gusts like my hair.

The portal was as wide across as the four of us now, and taller than Caleb. Lazar was braced, jaw set, determined, pushing down his fear. London's ears were up, her tail high. Her eyes glowed.

Caleb was grinning like a kid. He shielded his eyes with his free hand against the rain and our eyes met.

“Ready?” he asked.

London yipped.

Lazar nodded.

“Let's go!”

As one we stepped across the line that separated our world from the other.