This fanfiction is the sequel to CHAOS IN THE CLANS, so if you have not read that story, please read that story before this one.
THE CHAOS CHRONICLES
REACHING THROUGH TIME
CHAPTER ONE
A muscular white-furred tom lay on a rock, basking in the sunshine. "This is the life—or, should I say, death?" he murmured to himself.
"Yes, Whitestorm, you should," a golden-pelted tom said as he walked into the clearing.
"Ah, Lionheart, to what do I owe the pleasure?" the tom called Whitestorm asked.
Lionheart smiled faintly.
"Not bad news, I hope? Things have been peaceful ever since the Dark Forest War."
"Well, it's news that would make Bluestar unhappy," Lionheart said wryly.
"Come on, Lionheart, tell me!"
"I was looking into the Gazing Pool, and I saw five Twolegs: two females and three males. One of them was the Annie girl."
"And what were they doing?" Whitestorm asked eagerly.
"You know those cat's I've been trying find?"
"Yes! Are you saying—"
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
There was a pause. Then Whitestorm broke the silence.
"So how are you going to get them together?"
"Two of pairs of them are already together, but they're all heading toward the same place," Lionheart said.
"Where?"
"You're not going to believe this, but in the parallel version of—"
"Of where?"
Lionheart glared at Whitestorm. "I was getting there! They're heading toward the parallel version of Barley's farm!"
My dad's brother, Uncle Tom, had always been a little on the odd side.
My first clue was when I found out he changed his last name from Eyre to Windover, instead of having Aunt Carrie change hers. My second hint: When he insisted on spelling his oldest son's name as M-A-C-K-S rather than it be M-A-X. Poor kid.
He lives on a farm that has belonged to the Windover family so long that the moor had been named after them. His only daughter is a girl named Josie. She was a lot like me, but a little more patient with little kids. (The human kind, not baby goats, though I suppose she's patient with those too.)
Five years had passed since the 'class-turning-into-cats-and-saving-the-warrior-Cl ans' incident. Surprisingly, all that was printed in the books. One of the authors had gotten cancer, so the fifth series had been postponed for a few years while she recovered. They were planning on releasing the first book in October, which was in four months from where this story starts: the middle of July.
"Deck the halls with boughs of holly! Fa la la la la, la la la la!" my three sisters roared behind where I was sitting in our minivan.
"SHUT UP!" I roared back. "Christmas isn't for six months!"
Hailey, the oldest besides me (she was 14, I was 16 at this point) stuck her tongue out at me. She hadn't changed one bit since she was 9. Still the same goofy, clueless, super-annoying Hailey.
Kelsie, like the girly-girl she was (yecch!), just sighed and put in her earphones, and pulled out her phone to text her buddies. She was the only kid in the family who had a phone, because she was the only one who needed it. And she was only 10! Well, I had a phone too, but I hardly ever used it—just to call Josie or Ryan or Sam or Kyle or someone. (Josie = cousin; Ryan = tell you later; Sam = also known as Wolfstar, friend of mine; Kyle = also known as Mothface, another friend of mine.)
Mikaylie, 8, burst into tears. The youngest in the family, she had always been the sweetest, most pampered, and most delicate. I felt a small twinge of guilt; getting yelled at by your least favorite sister probably wasn't nice. Meh. Mikaylie had never liked me, she probably would have cried if I gave her a cookie, screaming that it was poisoned.
"Annie! I expect better of you. You're sixteen, for crying out loud!" my father scolded.
"Yes, dear. Apologize to your sisters!" my mother, directed.
"Sor-ry," I muttered. Hailey rolled her eyes, Kelsie ignored me, and Mikaylie wailed even more, but I thought I saw a tiny, satisfied smirk on her face.
"We're here!" Dad announced as we pulled up into the driveway of my cousin's house. "Welcome to Windover Farm!"