Beyond the Reflection's Edge

  E C H O E S F R O M T H E E D G E

  BEYOND THE REFLECTION’S EDGE

  BRYAN DAVIS

  ZONDERVAN

  Beyond the Reflection’s Edge

  Copyright © 2008 by Bryan Davis

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.

  EPub Edition © 2008 ISBN: 978-0-310-56697-7

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: Applied for

  ISBN 978-0-310-71554-2

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  “Dragons in Our Midst” and “Oracles of Fire” are registered trademarks of AMG Publishers.

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Copyright

  1 THE FIRST SIGN

  2 REFLECTIONS OF MIND

  3 THE MIRROR PUZZLE

  4 ECHOES FROM THE PAST

  5 PIERCING THE VEIL

  6 THE ROAD HOME

  7 A VOICE FROM BEYOND

  8 THE KEY TO THE MIRROR

  9 A NEW ALLY

  10 WARP SPEED

  11 ECHOES FROM THE EDGE OF THE UNIVERSE

  12 A HERD’S GIFT

  13 NEW FRIENDS, OLD FRIENDS

  14 FINDING FRANCESCA

  15 TICKETS TO DISASTER

  16 THE SHADOW OF DEATH

  17 NEW PERSPECTIVES

  18 A NEW KEY

  19 A NEW DUET

  20 THE BREATH OF GOD

  E-book Extra

  Other books by Bryan Davis

  About the Publisher

  Share Your Thoughts

  REVIEWS FOR BEYOND THE REFLECTION’S EDGE

  Action, intrigue, and take-home value—the very essence of a powerful story.

  — Wayne Thomas Batson, Author of The Door Within Trilogy, Isle of Swords, and Isle of Fire

  … a sci-fi thriller, packed with action & adventure, that hurtles along at top speed from beginning to end.

  — L.B. Graham, Author of The Binding of the Blade series

  Davis so starkly contrasts good and evil amid a unique interdimensional mystery the readers are left feeling that they received a glimpse of the pure love of Christ.

  — Scott Appleton, Author & Editor for Mind Flights Magazine

  … a tale of families and friends bound by love and faith in the midst of scientific discoveries that could change creation for the better … or the worse. A great read.

  — Jason Waguespack, The World of Rigel Chase: Legend of the Shaper

  A true masterpiece worthy to be played before the Great Composer himself.

  — C. Schlamp, Age 15

  This is one book where even before you read the first page you’ll need to buckle your seat belt and hang on for dear life!

  — L. A. Clark, Age 17

  … this latest story is not only Bryan Davis’ best yet, it is by far the best novel that I have read to date.

  — S. Baird, Age 19

  Full of high adventure and spiritual truth, Beyond the Reflection’s Edge had me spellbound from the first page to the last.

  — T. Sasse, Age 17

  … a beautiful, captivating story of genuine love, blended with plenty of action, adventure, and suspense. An absolute must read!

  — M. Puckett, Age 22

  Filled with unforgettable characters, intense action, and heart-wrenching moments, this book is a must read.

  — T. Bowers, Age 15

  … an amazing story of fantasy, adventure, and an unparalleled exploration that will keep you turning pages until you’re done.

  — C. Rochester, Age 16

  The detail and complexity are amazing! Everything fits together like a puzzle just waiting to be solved.

  — R. Hagan, Age 15

  … just as powerful, action-packed, and deep as Dragons in Our Midst and Oracles of Fire. I can’t wait to read the next one!

  — C. Wolters, Age 26

  A stunning tale, alternately chilling and tender … a must read!

  — J. Fulcher, Age 15

  … an action-packed, fast-moving plot that both held me captive and challenged his characters. I can’t wait to see what happens in Book Two.

  — C. Shupe, Age 27

  … a heartwarming and action-filled adventure that will keep you reading and asking for more when you are finished.

  — J. De Reus, Age 16

  On a scale of 1 – 10, this book is a definite 20!

  — L. Lee, Age 11

  When images of the mind stretch beyond what we can see with our eyes, then the portals open, allowing us to view the face of God. As I searched for portals in my dreams, my son dreamed with me and found a golden key within a mirror. Thank you, Josiah, for being a reflection of God’s image and helping me unlock another door to the beyond.

  1

  THE FIRST SIGN

  Nathan watched his tutor peer out the window. She was being paranoid again. That guy following them in the Mustang had really spooked her. “Chill out, Clara. He doesn’t know what room we’re in.”

  She slid the curtains together, casting a blanket of darkness across the motel room. “He parked near the lobby entrance. We’d better pack up and leave another way.” She clicked on a corner table lamp. The pale light seemed to deepen the wrinkles on her face and hands. “How much more time do you need?”

  Nathan sat on the bed nearer the window, a stack of pillows between his back and the wall, and tapped away at his laptop. “Just a couple of minutes.” He looked up at her and winked. “Dad’s slide rule must’ve been broken. It took almost an hour to balance the books.”

  Clara slid her sweater sleeve up an inch and glared at her wristwatch. Nathan knew that look all too well. His tutor’s steely eyes and furrowed brow meant the Queen of Punctuality was counting the minutes. They were cutting it close, and they still had to get the reports bound at Kinko’s before they could meet his parents at the performance hall for the company’s quarterly meeting. And who could tell what delays that goon in the prowling Mustang might cause? His father had noticed the guy this morning before he left, and he looked kind of worried, but that could’ve been from the bean and onion burrito he had eaten for breakfast.

  Nathan frowned at the spreadsheet. “This formula doesn’t make sense. Dad’s trying to divide by zero.”

  “Can you call and ask him on the way? We have to hit the road.”

  Nathan pushed the laptop to the side. He knew how his father would respond. He’d just grin and say, “Dividing by zero reflects my creativity.” Nathan laughed. Dad knew a lot more about math than he ever let on; he just concentrated on spying and research and let Nathan do the number crunching.

  As Clara peered out again, he looked over her shoulder. The driver of the black Mustang was parked under a tree, sloppily eating a sandwich as he watched the front door of the motel. An intermittent shower of leaves, blown around by Chicago’s ne
ver-ending breezes, danced about on the convertible’s ragtop.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Nathan said. “He’s too obvious to be a pro.”

  “True enough. But you don’t have to be a pro to frighten an old lady.”

  As she turned toward him, he gave her the goofiest clueless stare he could conjure. “I’m not an old lady!”

  He waited for Clara’s infectious laugh that had brightened a hundred mornings in dozens of strange and lonely cities all over the world. But it didn’t come. A shadow of worry passed across her face, draining the color from her cheeks.

  He squinted at her. “Something else is bugging you.”

  For a moment, she just stared, a faraway look in her eyes. Finally, she shook her head as if casting off a dream. “Did you pack the mirror your father gave you?”

  “I think so.” He jumped up and walked over both beds before bouncing to the floor in front of the shallow closet. A towel-wrapped bundle sat on top of his suitcase at the very peak of a haphazard pile of clothes. Carefully unfolding the towel, he revealed a square, six-by-six-inch mirror with an ornate silver frame. His father had entrusted this mirror to him just yesterday, calling it a “Quattro” viewer and warning him to keep it safe.

  Nathan pondered the strange word that represented his father’s latest assignment, something about retrieving stolen data for a company that used reflective technology. Dad had been tight-lipped about the details, but he had leaked enough clues to allow for guessing.

  He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, the familiar portrait he expected, but something bright pulsed in his eyes, like the split-second flash of a camera. Clara’s face appeared just above his blond cowlick, suddenly much closer.

  He spun his head around. Strange. She was still near the window. When he turned back to the mirror, her image was no longer there.

  As she walked up behind him, her face reappeared in the glass. Nathan glanced back and forth between the mirror and Clara. The inconsistent images were just too weird.

  The opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth chimed from his computer — his custom sound for new email. Still holding the mirror, he leaped back to his computer and pulled up the message, a note from his father.

  Your mother is rehearsing with Nikolai, and that reminded me to remind you that she’s going to call you to the stage to play your duet for the shareholders. She’ll have your violin, all tuned and ready to sizzle. Since it’s the Vivaldi piece, you shouldn’t have any problem. Just don’t mention your performance to Dr. Simon. Trust me. It will all work out.

  Two words embedded in Nathan’s mind, Trust me, the same words he had heard so many times before. With all the narrow escapes his father had engineered over the years, what else could he do but trust him?

  Clara flung a pair of wadded gym socks that bounced off his chin. “Where is your tux?” she called as she searched through his crumpled clothes.

  “I hung it on the shower rod.” He patted a shiny motorcycle helmet sitting on his night table. He had hoped to ride their Harleys through town. With Clara in her new dress and him in a tux, they would’ve looked as cool as ice. But, no, they had to hitch a ride in the company limo. With their chauffeur, Mike, at the wheel, they’d be better off in a hearse. He wouldn’t do more than thirty even in a forty-five zone.

  Clara disappeared into the bathroom and returned in a flash, brushing lint from his tux. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

  “Sure.” He picked up his elastic exercise strap and karate belt and threw them into the suitcase. They were essential items. Since his dad was planning to rent an RV for a month-long trip out West, with all that driving, he had to do something to stay in shape. They’d have a whole month with no wild getaways, no running from crazed neo-Nazis, no dodging bullets from Colombian drug dealers. Sometimes those scrapes with death gave him a rush, and decking a thug or two with a well-placed karate chop was always a thrill, but … He gazed at his motorcycle helmet and let out a sigh. It was probably better to avoid trouble than to dance with it. That’s what his father always said.

  Clara peeked out the window again. “The driver just got out, and I think he saw me.”

  “Here we go again.” Nathan slapped the suitcase closed and zipped it up. “You got an escape plan?”

  She snatched up her own suitcase. “There’s an emergency exit down the hall. I’ll call Mike and tell him where to pick us up when we find a place that’s not so dangerous.”

  Nathan tucked the computer under his arm and grabbed the strap of his red backpack. “Yeah, like ground zero at a nuclear test site.”

  As the sweet tones of a divinely played violin faded, applause exploded from the audience. Two hundred exquisitely dressed ladies and gentlemen leaped to their feet, volleying a hailstorm of “Bravos” toward the stage. A beautiful, raven-haired woman tucked her violin under her arm and bowed gracefully.

  Her ivory face slowly reddened as the cheers rose to a climax, the scarlet hue a stark contrast to her satiny black gown. Her smile broadening, she focused her eyes on a man in the crowd, the tall gentleman standing next to Nathan — his father, Solomon Shepherd, clapping madly. His old Nikon camera bounced against his chest, dangling from a long strap.

  While his mother’s strings still sang in his ears, Nathan clapped until his hands ached. Would anyone ever match such a virtuoso performance? She bowed again, now laughing joyfully at the adulation. Nathan clapped even harder, his heart leaping into his throat as he added a loud “Brava!” His own mother, Francesca Shepherd, the greatest violinist in the world!

  When the applause finally settled and everyone took their seats, Nathan noticed a change in his mother’s countenance. She glanced around the stage, two familiar worry lines now etching her brow as her cheeks paled.

  Nathan looked at his father. On his opposite side, Dr. Simon, short and bald with owl-like eyeglasses, stared at a text message on his cell phone. Dr. Simon angled the tiny screen toward them, but it was too far away to read. He said with a hint of a British accent, “Mictar is on his way. There is no time to lose.”

  Tensing his jaw, Nathan’s father lifted a hand and displayed four fingers. His mother nodded, then stepped forward, her long dress sweeping the platform. After pulling a microphone from its stand, she cleared her throat and spoke with a trembling voice. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’m overwhelmed by your response.” She pointed her bow toward someone in Nathan’s row about a dozen seats over. “I want to thank my first music teacher, Nikolai Malenkov, for being here today. Without him I would not be playing violin, nor would I even be alive. When my mother died, he took me into his home, and he and his dear wife gave every bit of love a grieving ten-year-old could ever want.”

  The crowd clapped again. His face beaming, Dr. Malenkov nodded, spilling his familiar unkempt gray hair over his signature large ears.

  She turned toward Nathan. “I hope you have saved some warmth for our next performer, a young man who is on his way to stardom. I find no greater musical pleasure than to accompany him in our favorite duet.”

  His father leaned over and gave Nathan a one-armed hug. “Play your heart out, son, and never forget how much your mother and I love you.”

  As he returned the hug, Nathan peeked over his father’s shoulder at Dr. Simon. The shorter man pursed his lips tightly but said nothing. Nathan whispered, “What’s going on?”

  “Please welcome,” his mother continued, “my son, Nathan Shepherd.”

  Applause erupted again. His father pushed him back and gripped his shoulders firmly. A strange tremor rattled his voice. “Remember what I’ve taught you, and every thing will be fine. If you ever get into big trouble, look in the mirror I gave you and focus on the point of danger. Nothing is more important.”

  Out of time to ask more, Nathan rose and headed toward the aisle on the right. As he squeezed past Clara’s silk-covered knees, she patted his hand, her eyes glowing with pride. Her bright face, beautiful smile, and lovely white evening gown made her look half
her age.

  With his father’s strange words echoing in his mind, Nathan felt as though he were floating outside his body, watching himself climb the four steps to his mother’s level. The arched windows to his left cast filtered sunshine into his eyes as his shoes clicked along the hardwood stage.

  When he drew near, his mother took his hand and pulled him close. She whispered in his ear and laid his violin and bow in the crook of his arm. “Just take a deep breath, my love, and follow my lead. Let your heart take over your hands, and your strings will sing with the angels.” She kissed him on the cheek, then blew softly on his bow fingers, a ritual she began when he first took up the violin at the age of three. “To bless your playing,” she had said. The warmth of her breath always calmed him down.

  The audience quieted to a hush. Nathan raised the bow to the strings, his eyes locked on his mother’s. He pressed his calloused fingers against the fingerboard, peeking out of the corner of his eye to catch his dad.

  Strange. He was gone. And so was Dr. Simon.

  Nathan shivered for a moment but refocused on his mother as she laid her own bow on her strings. With a long, lovely stroke, she began, her violin singing a sweet aria that begged for another voice to join it. As if playing unbidden, Nathan’s hands flew into action, creating a river of musical ecstasy that flowed unhindered into the first stream of joy. The couplet of harmony joined in a celebration of life, part of Vivaldi’s dream of four perfectly balanced seasons played as a sacred offering to their Creator.