Deadly Designs (Design Series) Read Free Page A

something. Maybe it was the power of success?
    The stylus sat quietly as both men waited for an answer from Storey.
    Eric's gaze narrowed as the moment stretched out longer and longer. "Could something be wrong?"
    "Well, anything is possible, but it's unlikely. She's done this trip dozens of times."
    "Ask your stylus if Storey's stylus is in her dimension."
    "Why? We know it is." Some of the brightness dimmed in the older man's eyes. "You really think something is wrong?"
    "If it isn't, then why hasn't she answered by now?"
    "Maybe she's sleeping."
    Eric blinked. Good answer. Why hadn't he thought of that? It was late. Storey had been on an incredible adrenaline rush, helping him and his men to save his world. Going home would have brought on a major crash and burn cycle. She might simply be asleep.
    No! His mind screamed at him. Storey would have contacted him to let him know she'd arrived safely. She knew he'd be worried about her. There's no way she wouldn't do that.
    "Please, just ask."
    Shaking his head, tufts of white hair flipping out in all directions, Paxton picked up the stylus and wrote the question.
    The answer was immediate. "No."
    Both men shouted, "No?"
    "Why not?" Paxton glared at the single word he'd written down. "She has to be."
    Eric knew his father had been up to something. But what? "Where is her stylus? Maybe it's still here."
    "Well, it shouldn't be. Not unless she's here, too." The answer came back immediately. Paxton read out the answer. "No. Storey and her stylus are not in this dimension."
    The two men stared at each other in shock.
    "We've been having problems with the gate so maybe something malfunctioned," Paxton mumbled.
    "Ask where she is, please." Eric tried to contain his impatience. Though Storey had been willing and eager to find out information through her new pen as she thought of it, Paxton clung to the old ways and asking a simple instrument for help wasn't instinctive – or natural. The styluses could communicate with each other, but Eric thought Storey's was stronger and more capable. Or maybe Storey was stronger and more capable than Paxton.
    He'd verbalized the questions before but now seemed to be only able to write down the questions. Either way, Paxton was working too slowly for Eric right now.
    Paxton slowly wrote the question on the paper as if not wanting to hear the answer. The stylus never moved.
    "See, there's no answer." Paxton sighed. "It must be a broken gate. Maybe it can't get a reading."
    "What are you doing over there?"
    Eric stiffened, a subconscious effect of his father's approach. He didn't dare look his sire in the eye, afraid that his suspicions would get the better of him. Surely his father wouldn't have willfully done anything to hurt Storey.
    Yes, he would have.
    This was the man who had once ordered her imprisonment and death. Eric's instincts screamed at him. Stay silent. Things were bad but they could get so much worse.
    Paxton opened his mouth to answer and caught Eric's glare. Slowly, as if not understanding, Paxton dropped his gaze to study the paper in front of him.
    "We were talking strategy," Eric answered calmly enough.
    His father tilted his head upward. "Why bother? The problem's been solved. It's not going to happen again, so sure, hash over your success, then let it go. I won't have anyone wasting their time on such things now that the war is over."
    "And if the war isn't over?"
    "Don't say that," the Councilman snapped at his only son. "It's over. That subject doesn't come up again, do you hear me?"
    Eric struggled to keep back the words ready to blast out of his mouth. Setting his father off wouldn't do anyone any good at this point. With a clipped nod, and a last warning look at Paxton, he walked away from the men, determined to catch Paxton alone later. He needed to focus on Storey, now.
    Keeping an eye on the happy partygoers still around, he checked his codex. How long had she been gone? One hour, not more. Too bad he didn't have a stylus