Chapter 6 #2
This hurt. She was being so matter-of-fact about it, so resigned to paying whatever cost the anchoring demanded. He wanted to shake her, wanted to make her see how precious she was, how much he needed her to survive this intact.
But he knew Sidney well enough to understand that arguing would only make her defensive. She’d made her choice already — had probably made it the moment she’d felt the phoenix’s distress call in the forest.
All he could do now was support her through it.
“Okay,” he said, and allowed himself a small breath, one he hoped would give him the strength he needed. “Then we prepare. We need to learn everything we can about the anchoring process and figure out how to maximize your chances of survival.”
“And you’ll be there to stabilize me,” Sidney said, calm as if they were discussing him teaching her how to water ski. “Lewis said your electromagnetic field makes my abilities more efficient.”
He hoped Lewis was right. “I’ll be there every second.” Ben laced his fingers through hers. “I’m not leaving you to face this alone.”
Their electromagnetic fields began to synchronize, that familiar resonance strengthening as they sat together in the grove. But this time, amplified by the spring’s dimensional energy, the effect was visible — a soft golden glow forming around their joined hands, spreading up their arms.
Sidney stared at the light. “Is that — ?”
“Our bioelectric fields becoming visible. The dimensional energy here is making them manifest physically.” Ben watched as the glow spread across Sidney’s skin, warm and gentle. “It’s never done this before.”
“It’s beautiful,” Sidney whispered.
The light pulsed in time with their heartbeats, synchronized perfectly. Ben could feel every flutter of Sidney’s pulse, every breath she took, every tremor in her exhausted nervous system. And he knew she was feeling the same from him — his fear and determination, his love and terror.
“Ben,” she said quietly. “If I don’t survive this — ”
“Don’t.”
“If I don’t survive,” she continued, “I need you to know something. What we have — what DAPI engineered and what we built despite their manipulation — it’s the realest thing in my life. You’re the realest thing.”
Ben pulled her closer, although he was careful not to hold her too tightly.
Her poor body was bruised all over. “You’re going to survive.
We’re going to get through this, save the phoenix, stop DAPI, and then we’re going to have a very long, very boring life where nothing tries to kill us for at least a week. ”
Sidney laughed, the sound catching in her throat. “A whole week?”
“Maybe two if we’re lucky.”
She turned her face up to his, and in the golden glow of their synchronized electromagnetic fields, she looked otherworldly. Changed already by everything she’d been through, by the connection to the phoenix.
By the choices she’d made.
Ben kissed her because he couldn’t not kiss her. Not when they might only have hours left before everything went wrong, and when the golden light surrounding them felt like a promise he desperately wanted to keep.
Sidney kissed him back with an intensity that belied her exhaustion, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair. The glow around them brightened, sparks of blue-white electricity dancing across their skin wherever they touched.
“Careful,” Ben murmured against her mouth. “Your nervous system — ”
“Is already damaged beyond repair. I might as well enjoy this.” She kissed him harder, and in that moment, Ben felt their electromagnetic fields merge completely.
This was what DAPI had wanted to study. This perfect synchronization, this amplification effect that made them stronger together than apart. But Rosenthal had been wrong about what it meant. She’d seen it as a tactical advantage, something to be weaponized and exploited.
She hadn’t understood that this was partnership. Love. Trust so complete that two people could merge their very bioelectric fields and still remain themselves.
Ben pulled back just enough to look at Sidney’s face. “I love you.”
“I know.” She smiled, and for a moment she looked less like someone facing impossible odds and more like the woman who’d met him in her pet shop weeks ago, skeptical but willing to listen. “I love you, too.”
The golden glow faded slowly as they separated, but Ben could still feel the resonance between them. It was stronger now, deeper, as if that moment of complete synchronization had forged something permanent.
The phoenix stirred in its sleep, and a pulse of corrupted fire spread through the clearing. The shadow veins in its feathers had spread further, and Ben could see them pulsing in time with the creature’s heartbeat.
Maybe fifteen hours left. Maybe a whole lot less.
His laptop chimed a low battery warning. Ben reluctantly pulled away from Sidney, who gave him an encouraging smile, and returned to the journals, scrolling through more entries while he still had power.
He found what he was looking for in an entry from 1974 — four years before Emily’s successful anchoring attempt.
Grandmother’s journals describe what she called the “cleansing paradox.” Phoenix fire, even corrupted, retains memory of what it should be. But accessing that memory requires someone who can withstand exposure to the corruption long enough to find the clean pattern underneath.
The risk is obvious. Exposure to corrupted dimensional energy can permanently damage human nervous systems. But without accessing the clean pattern, the phoenix can’t guide its own rebirth. It needs an anchor who can hold the image of clean fire while the creature burns away its corrupted form.
Grandmother attempted this once with a partially corrupted phoenix.
She survived, but barely, and her electromagnetic sensitivity was never the same.
The corruption left scars in her abilities — dead zones where she could no longer sense anything, and hyperactive zones where even minor electromagnetic activity caused her pain.
The cleansing paradox is this — to save a corrupted phoenix, one must become partially corrupted themselves. To hold the pattern of clean fire, one must touch the corruption. There is no anchoring without cost, no rebirth without sacrifice.
Ben’s hands went quiet on the keyboard. The battery warning chimed again, more insistent.
Sidney would have to expose herself to the phoenix’s corruption. Would have to let it touch her consciousness, her electromagnetic abilities, her very sense of self. And even if she survived, she might emerge permanently damaged.
Dead zones. Hyperactive zones. Abilities that would cause her pain instead of providing information.
“Ben?” Sidney’s voice was soft. “What did you find?”
He wanted to lie, wanted to tell her everything would be fine, that anchoring the phoenix was dangerous but survivable. But Sidney deserved the truth.
“Your great-great-grandmother attempted to anchor a partially corrupted phoenix,” he said.
“She survived, but the corruption left permanent damage to her abilities. Scars, essentially. Places where her electromagnetic sensitivity was destroyed, and other places where it became hypersensitive to the point of causing pain.”
Sidney absorbed this information without visible reaction. “How corrupted was the phoenix she tried to anchor?”
“The journals don’t say specifically. But based on the description, maybe thirty or forty percent.”
“And our phoenix is at seventy-five percent, maybe more.”
“Around there. It’s hard to tell how fast the corruption is advancing just by looking at it.”
Sidney glanced over at the sleeping creature, its contaminated fire casting twisted shadows on the trees all around them. “So I’m going to be exposed to twice as much corruption as my great-great-grandmother. And she was permanently damaged.”
“That’s the most likely outcome.” To hell with sounding calm and scholarly. His voice rough, he went on, “Sidney, I can’t ask you to do this. The cost is too high.”
“You’re not asking. I’m choosing.” She met his gaze with steady eyes, a ghost of a smile touching her full lips.
“My mother and grandmother are trapped on the other side of the portal. If I don’t anchor this phoenix, they’ll be cut off forever.
It’s not a choice — it’s the only possible decision I can make. ”
He wanted to argue, wanted to find some way to change her mind. But he knew Sidney well enough to understand that her family’s safety would always outweigh her own.
She’d already lost too much. She wouldn’t lose them, too.
His laptop screen went dark as the battery died. Ben closed it and set it down on the ground, then moved back to Sidney’s side. She leaned against him immediately, fitting into his arms like she belonged there.
“We should rest,” he said. “Both of us. We’re going to need every bit of strength we have.”
A small frown touched her graceful brows. “I’m not sure I can sleep.”
“Try anyway,” he replied. “We’ve got maybe eight hours at the most before we have to move, and you need recovery time.”
Faced with those incontrovertible facts, Sidney didn’t bother to argue. Instead, she shifted so she could lie down again, and Ben stretched out beside her, one arm around her waist. The unicorn watched them with approval, and the phoenix slept on, its corrupted fire a steady pulse in the darkness.
Ben tried to sleep but couldn’t. His mind kept turning over the information from the journals, looking for something he’d missed. Some detail that would give Sidney better odds, some technique that would reduce the risk.
He came up empty every time.
Sidney’s breathing had evened out, which suggested she’d actually managed to fall asleep.
Ben envied her that ability — to shut down in the middle of a crisis and rest. He’d always been the type to lie awake running through scenarios, calculating odds, trying to control the uncontrollable through sheer force of analysis.
It didn’t help. It never helped.
The grove was quiet except for the spring’s gentle bubbling and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. Starlight filtered through the woven branches overhead, creating patterns of light and shadow across the ground.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Ben pulled it out carefully, trying not to disturb Sidney. He’d kept it in a hardened case that had protected it from the EMP — one of the few pieces of electronics that had survived.
A text message from a number he didn’t recognize.
Ben. It’s Morse. Don’t reply. DAPI establishing perimeter around forest. Estimate 40-50 personnel.
Rosenthal arriving personally at 0800 with “enhanced containment protocols.” They’re building something at the northern facility — looks like dimensional stabilization equipment.
I think they’re planning to create an artificial portal. -RM
Ben read the message twice, a cold sensation going through him that had nothing to do with the damp chill of a Northern California night.
An artificial portal. DAPI wasn’t just trying to capture the phoenix or study its abilities. They were planning to weaponize dimensional travel itself.
If they succeeded, they could create portals anywhere. Deploy shadow creatures as weapons. Access other dimensions and whatever resources or threats they contained.
It would be the ultimate military advantage. And it would require understanding phoenix fire on a fundamental level.
That was why they’d let the phoenix suffer for weeks. They needed to understand both clean and corrupted dimensional energy. They had to document how phoenix fire interacted with reality, how it burned and transformed and bridged worlds.
They’d engineered this entire crisis as one massive experiment.
Another text arrived.
You have maybe 5 hours before they breach the grove. The dimensional energy there will mask your signatures temporarily, but Rosenthal’s bringing equipment specifically designed to detect and disrupt clean dimensional sites. Plan accordingly. -RM
Five hours. Far less time than they’d thought.
Ben looked at Sidney sleeping in his arms, at the dying phoenix, and at the unicorn standing guard, silent and watchful. Five hours to rest, prepare, and somehow help Sidney survive an anchoring process that had permanently damaged her great-great-grandmother.
He pulled Sidney closer, careful not to wake her, and stared up at the woven branches overhead. The stars wheeled slowly across the gaps in the canopy, marking time they didn’t have.
His phone vibrated one more time.
Whatever you’re planning, do it fast. Rosenthal isn’t taking prisoners this time. -RM
Ben deleted the messages and turned off his phone to conserve the battery. Then he lay there in the dark, holding the woman he loved while she slept, and tried to figure out how to save her from a choice she’d already made.
Dawn was maybe four hours away.
He had no idea if that would be enough time.