Darkest Designs by Dale Mayer Page A

do it here. They’ve always done the stylus transfers from In-between.”
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    Not easier. But possible.
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    â€œActually, they don’t think the transfer can happen at all unless we do it here.”
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    â€œSo that’s next?” His arm fell away, and he took several steps back. “Are you sure?”
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    â€œYes.”
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    She took a deep breath. “Okay, Stylus. What do we need to do?”
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    You don’t need to do anything. Except remain calm.
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    Calm. That so wasn’t easy. “Okay. I’m calm. Go ahead.”
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    We need you to empty your mind. Just relax.
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    Empty my mind? How is that possible? she replied mentally, not wanting to worry Eric.
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    It will be easier for you if you are not trying to follow the process consciously.
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    Easier how?
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    There won’t be a headache.
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    As soon as he mentioned the word, pain struck her on the back of the neck. She collapsed to her knees and held her head in her hands. “Ohhh,” she moaned. “My head. It feels like it’s going to explode.”
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    Eric dropped beside her. He held her close. “Is this from the transfer?”
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    She writhed in place as the headache built higher, pounded louder, heavier.
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    She buried her face against Eric’s shoulder shuddering in pain. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I think so.”
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    â€œJesus.” He leaned his cheek on the top of her head. “How long will this take?”
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    â€œNo idea.” Then she couldn’t speak at all. A small cry escaped her lips. The pressure built and built until she couldn’t stand to be touched. She fell back, away from Eric. “Don’t…”
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    â€œStorey,” he came closer, his hands out in front of him. “Please, tell me. What can I do to help?”
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    â€œDon’t touch. My nerves. Sensitized.” She gasped loudly. “So much pain.”
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    â€œHow long? Stylus? How much longer?” Eric shouted. “It’s too much. She can’t take this.”
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    She groaned and swayed back and forth still on her knees. “Oh my God. It’s getting worse.”
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    She collapsed to the ground and curled into a tight fetal position.
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    ***
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    Eric had never felt so helpless. He reached out to touch Storey, then let his hands drop away. If he couldn’t help her and couldn’t talk to the stylus through her, he still had Paxton. He lifted his codex and sent a message to Paxton, first checking to see about Dillon, then checking to see if he could get answers on Storey.
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    The wait for a response seemed interminable. When it came, he jumped to read the message. No idea on Dillon. According to the coordinates, he has arrived. There is mass there. I can see it on the monitor.
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    â€œWell, thank heavens for something.”
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    His codex flashed again. The transfer is in progress.
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    â€œIt’s killing Storey,” he responded to the empty air. “She’s in terrible pain.” There was no point in telling Paxton that. Neither of them could do anything to help. But he might know how long this was going to take. At least it was worth asking. But Paxton’s response was no help. He had no idea.
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    â€œDamn.”
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    Right about now, it would help to communicate with a stylus himself. He asked Paxton to check with his stylus.
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    Paxton wrote back: I can’t communicate with my stylus at this moment. They need everyone right now for this transfer. I don’t understand it, but there is a horrific hum to the air.
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    So it was a group effort.
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    According to Storey’s stylus, they were trying to save a revered leader. Eric had no idea how they could have a leader amongst them. The thought that they could gather together, have a hierarchy, a society of styluses, really blew his mind.
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    He knew Storey would tell him off