Out of Reach Page 5

  I was other.

  We were all other.

  Frantic, I began to spin about, casting my gaze to and fro, looking for something familiar to latch onto for perspective. Then, above the sea of noise, the clear voice of Uriel rang out. With an air of authority, he called to me by name. My brothers he named as well, one by one, as they rose to their feet. A new name for a new creation.

  “Kaden, my companion. Adil, who is judicious. Basel the brave. Nabil, who is noble. Zafir the victorious. Fadil of generous spirit. Arif the knowing. Halim the gentle. Aziz, full of power. Hashim, destroyer of evil. Makeen the strong. Rashid, full of integrity.”

  With incredible eloquence, he then charged us: “Fate is in your hands, to you twelve the Sylph are entrusted. You will ensure they bear the full measure of their punishment, maintaining the sealing done here today. Forevermore you will guard mankind with the means at your disposal to avert catastrophe from Sylph influence. Wanderers, forever you shall be.”

  A light breeze dries the cold sweat upon my brow as I look out over the city. That faint touch breaks hold of the waking nightmare I’ve fallen into. My knuckles are white with exertion, my grip on the banister uncomfortably tight. It takes serious effort to relax my fingers enough to let go. Straightening up to my full height, I turn and walk back inside the penthouse, slightly more somber. With the deadline weeks away and Adil unwilling to utilize Gwen, I truly don’t know what we are going to do and I fear the outcome.

  Rubbing a hand against the stubble covering my jaw, I continue to think. It’s way past time to call Zafir and give him the run down. Moving across the living room I bend down and retrieve my phone off of the couch. I notice a text message I’d missed earlier when I was outside on the balcony. The message is from Adil. Bile coats my mouth as I read his note: Do not bring the girl with you.

  Pushing a hand through my disheveled hair I dial Zafir, silently fuming.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” Z answers jokingly.

  “Wanderer business,” I reply curtly.

  Dropping the humor from his voice he asks, “What gives?”

  “Makeen and Rashid’s lead was bogus,” I tell him.

  “Shit! What are we going to do, Kade?” Z asks.

  “Adil wants to try and perform the spell ourselves.”

  “What! Has he lost his mind?”

  I hold my tongue, unwilling to speak ill of my brother but my heart agrees with Z.

  “It can’t be done. It’s an angel spell for crying out loud. We have to have angel blood to seal it ...” Mid tirade Z pauses. I can practically hear him thinking through the phone and catch snippets of his thoughts as he mutters to himself on the other end of the line.

  “We’ll take her with us, that’s what we’ll do! When do we have to be there, Kade?”

  “Now wait, I’m under strict instruction not to involve Gwen.”

  “This is horse shit! I say we take her and show them all what she can do.”

  And that’s when the elephant in the room finally sits his fat ass down on top of me.

  “That’s just it,” I concede. “She’s never shown a hint of power in the last ten years, and I don’t know what it would take to bring it out of her again.” The defeat in my voice must be audible even to Z, who backs off.

  “Z, we have to be there within two weeks. Start boxing up the spheres we’ve found for transport. I’ll be in touch.” Without allowing him a chance to respond, I end the call. Setting the phone down on the end table, I reach for my bottle of water and take a long swig. I drop into the recliner once more and stare at the backdrop picture on my phone. It’s a shot of the three of us: Gwen, Melanie, and me, taken at the beach last summer. Staring at Gwen I whisper softly, “You are extraordinary. I need you to own it.”

  Chapter 8

  Gwen

  I fling my stuff to the passenger’s side and settle into the driver seat of my car. Melanie has already left. After starting my car, I wave goodnight to Kade, who always waits to be sure Melanie and I get out of the parking lot safely. Locking my doors and engaging my seat belt, I pull out of my parking space. I wait a few seconds, giving Kade time to clear the exit before I do likewise. The outrageous rumble of his bike can easily be heard over my stereo as he races off into the night. The fact Kade prefers motorcycles to cars never ceases to make me laugh. Sure he’s strong enough to handle one and, physically, he doesn’t look out of place riding them, but it’s so contradictory to his personality. Kade, the nerdy chemist, who is about as calm and reserved as it gets, riding around on a noisy hog like a wanna be rebel. Thank God he doesn’t have a posse or any group insignia leathers; I don’t think I’d be able to keep a straight face in his presence.

  Quickly, before hitting the interstate, I scroll through my iPod, looking for just the right playlist for the drive home. I want something with a little energy and simple lyrics so I can sing along. I have random eclectic taste in music and go through phases. Some weeks I listen to nothing but classic 80s and the next its top forties. Tonight I can’t decide so I put my iPod on random shuffle and let it surprise me. Now that my music dilemma is settled I can enjoy the drive home. This time of night there’s little chance of traffic so it should be pretty fun, and I love to drive. When I’m alone, the drive home only takes about twenty minutes or so. It’s closer to thirty if I’m being careful and diligently following all the traffic laws.

  My interior lights give off a friendly blue glow that totally contradicts my current mood and begins to annoy me. Reaching up, I hold down the ambiance lighting button until the color rotates from blue back to orange. Perfect, a loud angry color is just what I’m feeling right now. The ability to change the interior lighting on a whim is one of my favorite features about the Mini Cooper. The other is probably the secret storage compartment located directly above the glove box. It’s great for storing emergency items I don’t want Melanie to find, like sunglasses or lip-gloss. The Mini is also a ton of fun to drive. Having only driven four cylinder commuter cars most of my life, I never understood the driving experience. So when I started at Preston-Ward and began making a decent salary for the first time, I decided it was time to retire my old car. Several weeks of careful research were dedicated to looking at safety ratings, gas mileage, and prices. I created a list of the best all-around cars to go and check out at the dealerships. I never made it. Passing a dealership one day after work, I saw her. Gunmetal grey with black bonnet stripes, sitting sleek and glossy in the center display window, and putting off just a little bit of attitude. Normally I would say love at first sight is total crap but now I’m not so sure; it might be true when it comes to cars. It was certainly true for me and almost three years later my love affair is still going strong. And the driving experience ... let’s just say I finally understand what all the fuss is about.

  Exiting off the freeway I open the sunroof so I can enjoy the night air. I love all parts of California but San Diego, with its temperate climate and unlimited supply of sunshine, is perfect for a sun worshipper like me. In retrospect, I’m not sure how I survived living in Boston, which most definitely has four seasons. I’m happiest with one season: summer.

  Presently I’m renting a small two-bedroom house about a mile or so from the beach in La Jolla. It’s a cute little one story with wide bay windows, a large back patio, and a fat little garden gnome that guards the front porch. He’s a little cliché and very cheesy but he came with the place and just kind of fits. On my own I could never afford a place like this. Luckily I rent from family at a greatly reduced price in return for keeping up with the maintenance of the place. I absolutely adore this home. Pulling into the driveway, I park in the detached garage and follow the slate stepping stones to the porch. The scent of star jasmine fills the air and I make a quick mental note to water those pots in the morning. They are the only green things besides the grass that I’ve been able to keep alive, and I don’t want to jeopardize the health of my only gardening success.

  As I unl
ock the front door I realize I’ve forgotten to pick up the mail. Dropping my purse on the entry table I jog back down the driveway and empty the mailbox. Gauging by the numerous handfuls of junk mail I pull out, it has been a few days since I remembered to empty the thing. I pause by the trashcan next to the garage and toss the undesirable catalogs and coupon ads inside. Pushing through the front door a second time, I flip on the lights and make a beeline for the kitchen, dropping my keys and a stack of mail on the counter. I store my leftovers away in the fridge, flip off the lights, and head down the hallway toward the bedroom.

  Mere steps from my destination my foot makes contact with a soft bundle, catching long enough for me to lose my balance. My arms shoot out in a desperate attempt to catch myself and latch onto the only object in reach, the bedroom door-frame, which prevents me from falling flat on my face, but does little to cushion the impact of my body when it hits the wall.

  “Damn it,” I mutter, reaching through the bedroom door and turning on the lights. In the now illuminated hallway, I see the offending pile of clothes I tripped over. Growling I grab the bundle of clothes and throw them as hard as I can in the direction of the laundry room. Feeling somewhat vindicated, I stomp back toward the kitchen, collecting the shoe that went flying during my ordeal, while muttering curses under my breath the whole time.

  The perfect end to the perfect day, I think to myself as I hang up my clothes. After removing my shirt, I am able to make a better assessment of the damage done to my body, which becomes immediately apparent when I glance in the full-length mirror. Curses on my fair skin! There’s going to be a nasty bruise on my shoulder for sure. Frazzled and testy, I put my shoes in their designated spot on the shelf and throw my dirty clothes in the hamper at the back of the closet. I grab a tank top and sweats from the bedroom dresser and dress quickly. Pausing briefly on my way to the bathroom, I look at the treadmill. The internal struggle being waged is clearly reflected on my face. Knowing I could desperately use the endorphins brought on from a long run gets weighed against my mental exhaustion and the hallway beating I just took. Finally, my mind capitulates and I proceed into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  I try desperately not to let my mind wander to thoughts of work, but I can’t. I find myself running through the procedures we have been using to bring compound 253B to room temperature and maintain stability. Once that’s done, we can look into mass synthetic reproduction. Compound 253B seemed similar to several other compounds we had successfully synthesized this year. So, naturally, we applied the previously successful methods to 253B. Unfortunately, this compound is just different enough that it hasn’t worked. Joe and I are probably going to have to start from scratch tomorrow and find some way to attack the problem from a different angle.

  Exasperated, I lean over the sink and manage to rinse out my toothbrush before throwing the thing across the bathroom countertop in a fit of frustration. Laughing out loud at my ridiculous behavior, I head back into the bedroom thinking maybe I really should have gotten on the treadmill and ran a few miles.

  Climbing into bed, I make a big fuss about the covers, flopping around angrily until everything around me is situated exactly right. And of course, now that I’m comfortable, I remember I need to plug my cell phone into charge and set the alarm clock.

  “Fuck,” I whisper loudly. Stomping over to the dresser, I collect my cell phone and furiously plug it into its charger. Then I program my alarm for the morning, being sure it’s early enough I’ll be able to hit the snooze button a couple times before actually having to be out of bed. Lying back down after turning out the lights, I sigh, all my anger from the day completely spent at this point. Rolling onto my side, I remind myself, You are near a break through, you are near a break through, before closing my eyes and completely blacking out.

  Chapter 9

  Beep, beep, beep.

  The incessant noise of the alarm clock rouses me long enough to read the time: 0600. I roll over and hit the snooze button. Twenty minutes later, I’m out of options when the dreaded beeping begins again. Dragging myself into a sitting position, I fire off a string of curses under my breath for the indecency of having to get up before ten.

  Turning off the alarm clock, I stand up and stretch, then head to the bathroom long enough to turn on the shower before climbing back under the covers to wait for the water to warm up. Anything less than scalding isn’t worth getting undressed for.

  I know it’s pathetic, but I am absolutely no good before 9 a.m. There is no amount of hot water or caffeine that can overcome my mental funk in the mornings. And conversation is out. My family knows from years of experience I ignore all forms of communication in the morning. I had one prayer as an undergraduate student: that I wouldn’t get a chatty morning person for a roommate. God, who has an enormous sense of humor, only halfway answered my prayer. I got Melanie as a roommate. Now she most certainly is a morning person, but, being like a sister, she was well aware of my no-talking-before-9a.m. rule. If my life had an equation, it would be simple: Gwen plus time less than or equal to 8:59 a.m. equals don’t talk to me! Lucky for me I have the next hour and a half to myself.

  When I finally get into the shower, I linger under the hot spray long after I’ve finished washing. It’s always hard to leave the shower. Instinctively I know it will be cold in the bathroom. But, thanks to my stunt with the snooze button, I now have limited time to get ready for work, so I will myself to reach out the door and grab my towel. Swiftly drying off, I bound into the closet to get dressed. When it comes to attire, working in a lab definitely has its pros and cons. Pro: I can wear whatever I want to and from work. Con: once at work, I will have to change into attire that meets current safety standards before entering the lab.

  Translation: I spend fifty percent of my day looking like a giant marshmallow. My revenge usually comes in the form of a cute pair of pumps, jeans, and a classy top. Today is no exception. I top off my jeans with a deep green dolman sweater over an iridescent tank. Some days I will throw a little jewelry into the mix, but I can’t wear it into the lab and it’s hard to keep track of anything that small at work. Flashy sunglasses have become my staple accessory instead.

  While dressing, I take the opportunity to reassess my injuries from the previous evening’s escapade. Shrugging my shoulders, I notice the right one is a little tender and nicely bruised. Thankfully my outfit selection nicely hides the glorious purple splotch on my shoulder.

  Shoes in one hand, phone in the other, I pause for a moment in the bedroom doorframe and carefully screen the surrounding vicinity for fall hazards. Satisfied I will likely make it to the kitchen unscathed, I proceed down the hallway. The aroma of fresh coffee greets me and intensifies the closer I get to the front room. Silently I send up a prayer thanking God for the invention of the automatic coffeemaker.

  Filling a travel mug with what is sure to be the first of many caffeine hits today, I take a moment to enjoy the view of the sunrise out my kitchen window. The rosy glow extends into the kitchen while the smaller tendrils of light try to wind their way further into the living room. It makes me smile and fills me with a positive energy only the sun can. In the light of that magnificent orb I feel like I can do anything.

  A quick glance at the stove reminds me it’s 0705 and I have someplace to be.

  Grabbing a couple of granola bars and a pitcher of water, I head out the door. Not exactly the breakfast of champions but I need to eat and I hate breakfast. None of the food items associated with breakfast are worth eating in my book. I’d rather wait and waste extra calories on lunch. I stop on the porch long enough to dump the pitcher of water I’m carrying over the star jasmine.

  “There you go, babies,” I tell them before hopping in the car and heading to work.

  * * *

  Hours later I emerge with Joe from what I’ve nicknamed the command center. Technically the command center is just a conference room we’ve commandeered for the morning meeting, but naming it makes it sound cooler. Shortly after
clocking into work and way before our usual morning debriefing Joe stopped by my office asked me to collect all my project notes and meet him in the command center. I obliged and was greeted with several hours of mind-numbing work on the predicament compound 253B was posing, including a brief chemistry review thrown in by Christine, whom we Shanghaied when she made the mistake of leaving her lab for a coffee break.

  Right when we were starting to make some headway, the grumbling stomachs of our crew forced us to break for lunch. Truthfully, I would rather have toughed it out another hour or so. Now that we had reworked a few steps, I didn’t want to stop, afraid of losing our hard earned momentum. Reluctantly I agreed to reconvene after a one hour break for lunch.

  “Are you coming with us for lunch?” Joe asks me.

  “No, I already have plans,” I lie.

  “Ok then, see you in a bit,” he replies, already heading toward the elevators with Charlie. Following behind the guys, I bypass the elevators and open the door to the stairwell. It’s a short flight of stairs down to the lobby and I can probably make it to the vending machines and back before the elevator even stops to pick the guys up, I think to myself. A few minutes later, it turns out my prediction was wrong -- the guys emerge from the elevator about the same time the vending machine is spitting out my can of Coke. Waving as they pass, I head up to my office to quietly enjoy my third caffeine fix of the day.

  Kicking my clogs under the desk, I move around my office, opening the mini-blinds and letting in as much light as possible. Just this simple task helps to cheer up the stark environment of my office.

  Someday, I think, I need to let Melanie in to decorate the place—it’s so sterile.