Tim

  In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors.

  --William Blake

  “Through?” Anton asks. “You do realize that thing isn’t open enough for a body to pass, right?” He sets down his scorched and burned out rifles and taps the center of his chest. “Ghost might travel as a, well, ghost, but the rest of us are still carrying baggage.”

  Dante nods and draws in a breath. “Didn’t say we weren’t. But what if we left it all behind?”

  I cough. “I like Ghost, but that’s a one-way trip.” As in, we’d be lucky to make it through as so much ground chuck, much less breathing, I think. Though I don’t bother saying it aloud.

  Dante looks over at me, frowning slightly, but not hostile. “Not if it brings her back. And I’m thinking of something a little less final for us.” His breathing shifts. When he’s not speaking, his breaths are slow, deep, even. A circular cycle. Something I sense he’s done before. Many times.

  “What, project as astral beings?” Anton asks. “I know we did some wild things on the island, Dante, but there’s a big difference between shaping some loose chi and intuiting – guessing – what might be in another location and,” he spread his hands dramatically, “literal astral projection. Especially for any length of time.”

  Dante nods. “Ghost’s a friend. I’m willing to risk it. You watch my back?” His hands move together, one over the other, palms facing each other. And for a moment almost seem to be cradling an imaginary sphere in his grasp. Assuming it’s imaginary at all.

  Anton’s eyes narrow. “I’d rather come with.”

  “So would I,” I admit. As soon as I say it, I feel goosebumps, but not from nervousness. Instead, it’s like the very air around us is alive. Just a hint, a tingle. But real nonetheless.

  Or an ominously overactive imagination.

  They turn to me. And despite my Fade, I’m sure they haven’t forgotten me, though I’m not sure they know what to make of me.

  “I get it,” Dante says, looking me straight in the eyes. “You have any experience with projecting your consciousness? Tapping your internal energies? Anything like that?” The air seems to quiver with energy as he speaks.

  “Um, no.” The admission’s a bit painful. My one real Gift is my near-invisibility. Or ignorability. I’m good at tracking down information and keeping tabs on people, too, so I’m not a one-trick pony.

  More like a two-trick pony.

  “They’re easy enough to learn, but I don’t want either of you trying this for your first time. And I don’t think we have days to practice.”

  “But…” Anton objects.

  Dante raises a hand to forestall him. “Just watch my body. If I don’t come back, that’s a good hint no one else should try. If I do come back, I can give you the rundown, maybe bring back a larger force once I’ve scouted things out.”

  Anton glances around. “Even if I were willing to try, are you sure we should be doing this in the middle of everything? We’re clear targets in this wide-open space if another sniper pops up.”

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  “And what about them?” I ask, jutting my chin towards the still industriously swooping and swirling tiny Dragons, still caught up in their endless midair dance. “Are they going to object?”

  “Probably not so long as we’re not a threat to what they’re doing,” Dante assesses. “And right now we’re not damaging their wormhole. Just trying to use it for ourselves.”

  “We’ve been fighting them, though,” Anton warns.

  “And depending on how they think – or how they’re programmed – that might not matter at all, as soon as they see us a non-threat, or even an asset.”

  “Programmed?” I ask.

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” Anton remarks dryly.

  “All right,” Dante says finally, “I’m going ahead, to see what’s waiting. We can’t wait forever. Someone’s going to realize they left the door open, or someone else will see this as a threat and decide to close or contain it.” He straightens and faces the spinning blue-green ring with its heart of darkness. Dante stares into the blue and purple threads writhing in that shadow and his eyes grow distant.

  Anton steps closer to him, as if ready to catch him if he drops. The massive redheaded teen glances at me and I nod back, then look from the wormhole to our other surroundings.

  If I’m going to keep lookout, we won’t be facing surprises on my watch.

  Of course, I feel this wave of resolve at exactly the same moment I hear a thunderous drumbeat behind me. And an intruder is among us before I can even turn my head.

  The blurring form is terrifyingly fast. Somehow, without a single sonic boom, something is upon us even faster than a speeding bullet.

  And then it stumbles and falls.

  The tall, blonde woman who leapt in to save Ghost in the parking deck is in our midst and crumpling to the ground before I can even twitch. She topples face first and utterly limp, coming to a halt on a huge arm which shoots across her trajectory before she can impact the flagstones.

  “Lyra?” Anton asks. He holds the woman carefully but looks concerned. He moved as if ready for something like this, which is no surprise. The guy was primed to catch Dante, who, ironically, is still standing undisturbed, staring vacantly into the empty space within the wormhole.

  Our latest visitor no longer looks like the tower of strength I’d met in Reserved Parking, though. For a nearly unconscious person collapsing at our feet she looks absolutely wrung out. Not exhausted. More like she could sleep for a week before getting back to merely exhausted.

  Her eyes flutter close and her breath is ragged.

  Anton growls something and taps an earbud. “Staccato Overdrive Protocols!” he snaps into empty air, as if anyone present and conscious has any idea what he’s talking about.

  I look from the woman to an entranced Dante to the tiny dancing Dragons to the collection of unconscious Circle triggermen scattered across the square, and don’t see a single glimmer of recognition.

  I really hope he’s not talking to me.

  “We’re at the wormhole aperture,” Anton snaps, again into an utterly silent courtyard.

  And again, I hope I’m not supposed to say something. And that he hasn’t literally cracked. Until a minute ago, I was convinced Anton was probably the sanest person present.

  Worse, if he’s snapped, he still might be. It’s been that kind of a day.

  “The one in the square,” Anton goes on.

  I nod slowly, supportively. I’m not sure if this helps, but the guy is huge and can clearly see me. If this gets ugly, I’m going to want to back away slowly. Then run.

  “That’s right,” Anton continues. “He did what?” Apparently whoever’s on the other end of that communicator has some news of their own. Or his imaginary friends do. Whatever. “Just get here fast, okay? I don’t pack glycogen or whatever she needs.” He nods again, which seems pointless if he’s on a voice call. But maybe works for his hallucinated companions. “Okay, okay. I’ll look. Just get here quick, all right?”

  I eye the woman cautiously. I owe her also. Maybe not as much as Ghost, but I don’t think I would have gotten out of Temporary Parking without her, and Ghost wouldn’t have what little chance she has now, either.

  Anton glances up at me, his hands clearly full as he steadies the woman and slowly eases her to a sitting position on the ground.

  “Um, do you see pockets on her?” he asks. “She’s supposed to have some kind of supplement for emergencies.”

  I gulp. I realize she has a light jacket on, but otherwise her gray-and-silver clothes cling tightly, like a competitive runner’s outfit. There’s no space for pockets there. Much less carrying more than a spare key or credit card. She has a belt with a few spots where she might have clipped on gear, but if she did, that stuff is clearly gone. Then I notice something.

  “Wait.” I reach into the right pocket of her jacket and pull out a tiny plastic bottle for some kind of energy drink, like a hyped up 15-hour energy shot, or something. The name actually reads ‘Hype.’ “This, maybe?”

  “Great, that’s probably it,” Anton enthuses, bracing Lyra’s upper body as he crouches down behind her. “Can you pour it into her mouth, or something?”

  “What?” I ask simultaneously with, well, Lyra.

  She cracks an eye open. “Do what?” she repeats.

  “You overtapped your reserves again, Lyra,” Anton tells her. “Kerry says you should have a drink for that on you. She just wants you to rest and recover. After you’ve taken your medicine.”

  Lyra cranes her neck around to look at Anton’s earnest face, then turns away and shakes her head.

  “Man, you got big.” She looks at me and raises one trembling hand. “Let me have it, then.”

  I crack open the bottle of Hype and hand it to her. I hope it isn’t overrated. “Careful with that,” I warn as she tips her head back and drinks it in a single gulp.

  “That was careful,” she says with a shudder. “A lot more careful than just sitting here in shock. Smart move would be to get on our feet and get out of here, before we end up at ground zero for anyone trying to use or obliterate that gate.” Lyra gets her feet under herself and rises, taking her own advice. “Which could be any minute.”

  She looks over at Dante. “Uh, what happened to my cousin?”

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