Sleight of Hand: Book Three: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you needed your space. Didn’t want him shyfting over unexpectedly to check up on you.”

  “True enough,” Rayne said and took a swig from her bottle. She held it in her mouth for a second before swallowing. The beer had already turned room temperature. No air conditioning was going to make for a long summer. “God forbid he should show up and get a peek at my research.”

  “It looks like that’s all you’ve unpacked.” Patrick took a generous bite of pizza and chewed while he flipped through a stack of papers at his knee. “Why isn’t this on your laptop?” came out garbled.

  “Technology and I have a tenuous relationship.” Rayne held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “I’ve come to appreciate that my touch does more than drain the energy of Weir Sars.”

  “Techno bummer,” Patrick said. He eyed the piles. “Looks like you’re a hell farther along than me.”

  “It’s a mess, is what it is,” Rayne said. “I typed in the name Jaered gave you and it opened up this quagmire of other names that don’t make sense.”

  “What do you mean?” Patrick took a swig.

  “It was like some kind of code. When I typed it in the search engine, at least two dozen women’s names popped up. Some of them were listed as being born within a couple of years apart and others that living around the same time but a world apart.”

  “I might have failed biology,” Patrick said. “Not once, but twice, mind you, but even I know you can’t have more than one mother. Genetically speaking, of course.”

  “I’m beginning to think that Jaered gave us busy work to keep us out of his hair. At this rate, we’ll never figure out who Ian’s mother was.”

  “An idea of mine might have paid off.” Patrick shoved a cardboard box toward her then opened his mouth wide enough to catch a dripping glob of cheese from the edge of his slice. “I thought about the genetics labs in Oregon,” he hesitated, “and your father’s experiments. If we’re to believe everything Jaered told me when I was his prisoner, and that Ian’s was the first successful artificial core, maybe you weren’t the only experiment going on up there. I mean, you were—”

  “Created in those labs.” She abandoned her pizza slice on the rolling arm of the couch and joined him on the floor. The shipping label on his cardboard box was addressed to the auditorium office. The return address label was Dr. Rulin Orr’s. Rayne ran her fingertip over the QualSton logo that stirred memories she’d rather forget, but never could.

  “Did he question you wanting some of my father’s things?” Rayne asked.

  “I went through Allison. She owed us after we kept mum that Saxon was alive. By the way, she was thrilled to hear that the wolf had found a home with Ian. She wasn’t optimistic that she’d find much information, since the Pur soldiers took most everything after the raid on the compound.”

  Rayne bit her lip. From the meager size of the QualSton box, Allison’s pessimism was warranted. Patrick removed a framed picture from the box and handed it to her. It held a newspaper photo with a short article below. “Here, I needed a magnifying glass to read the caption under the picture.” He removed one from the box and passed it to her.

  She studied it. There were four rows of scientists. Each row held ten or more people. “That’s definitely my dad in the center.”

  “I asked Allison if she could find information on just the women,” Patrick said. “The photo was taken way before she started working at QualSton, but she checked the company’s records against the names in the caption.” Patrick grabbed a sheet of paper from the box. “She organized them by projects that each scientist was assigned to. One of the women worked on a genetics team.

  “Which one?” Rayne asked.

  Patrick tilted the picture and indicated a dark-haired woman standing between two towering scientists. Only the upper two-thirds of her face were visible. It piqued Rayne’s curiosity. Why stand in the back? Was she shy, self-assured enough to give her colleagues center stage, or did she want to disappear into the background? Rayne studied the image and her pulse jumped a beat when a vague memory of Rayne’s mother carrying her as a toddler through the forest crept into her thoughts. Flashlight signals through the trees. A man and a woman standing next to a car parked behind bushes. Both motioning for her mother to hurry.

  But it was the scientist’s ebony hair and familiar, dark eyes that cooled the blood in Rayne’s veins. She touched the image and peered for a long time at the woman. Could this be Ian’s mother?

  {9}

  Ian remained in the northern vortex structure to connect with the Primary while Tara went ahead to tend to Saxon.

  He leaned against the wall as the Primary’s image floated at the center of the vortex chamber. Ian swore that the leader of the Syndrion was aging before his eyes.

  “You should have known I would never send you into such a dangerous situation,” the Primary said.

  “Your insignia was on the message scroll. Nothing gave me reason for concern.”

  “They certainly knew what carrot to dangle.” The Primary stuck his hands inside his loose sleeves and the scowl on his face deepened. “This was too manipulative to be Aeros. It had to be Eve who lured you there.”

  Ian had come to the same conclusion. “Dr. Willoughsby is familiar to you?”

  “He had a hand in developing your boost. He left Weir projects soon after that to pursue his own interests. I will look into this. You have more important needs to attend to in your area.”

  Marcus’s floating image suddenly appeared a few yards from the Primary’s. “I’ve connected with Milo,” Marcus said. “He’s seen no unusual activity at the estate during your absence. I’m bringing a regiment to check things further. We should be there within the hour. Keep the estate energy jam on high.”

  “Why go to such lengths?” Ian said. “If our enemies were going to attack me, they had ample opportunity when I was halfway across the globe and vulnerable. I’d rather you leave your forces to clean up what they can. The San Francisco area needs them much more than I do.”

  “Alert me of any changes.” The Primary’s image snuffed out.

  “I don’t need reinforcements, Marcus.” Ian rubbed his chest. “I returned from Africa with my core stronger than ever. If anything, they did me a favor. I’ll assist with the cleanup after I enjoy one full night in my bed. Besides, Milo won’t rest until he rams a couple of meals down my throat.”

  “Very well. But if anything changes, I want to be the first one to hear about it,” Marcus said.

  Ian yawned and stretched. His stomach growled, and he hoped Milo had planned an ample feast for dinner.

  “Ian, I’ve been looking into the multiple burglaries that Vael and Jaered committed.” Marcus lowered his voice in spite of the Primary’s absence.

  “What’d you find?” Ian pushed away from the wall, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and slowly paced around the circular room to gain control of his temper. The topic of Jaered was a sore that wouldn’t heal.

  “Xander and Parker—” A throat forcefully cleared in the background. Marcus’s geeks were there with him. The Drion grunted. “Xander and Pacman have been researching the locations, along with what Vael and Jaered stole. It appears that the burglaries were connected.”

  Ian’s steps came to a halt. “Connected how?”

  “Each item gave them access to the next one on the list, like pieces of a puzzle,” Marcus said.

  “More like earning keys to the next level in a video game.” A flaming red head of hair appeared at the edge of Marcus’s floating image. Marcus grabbed Pacman by the neck. “You idiot! You’ll cause me to parashyft!”

  “Sweet!” Pacman said, muffled from under Marcus’s arm.

  “Can I come?” Xander’s hand waved in front of them.

  “Stand back or you’ll get us all killed!” Marcus’s agitation ceased once the boys put some distance between them and the Drion.

  “But their final burglary was steali
ng my medical records,” Ian continued.

  “That was the ultimate prize,” Pacman shouted from somewhere nearby.

  When he’d first discovered that Jaered had his medical records, Ian thought the rebels had wanted the info to create artificial Sar cores. Had he been wrong? “Marcus, you never told the Primary about Vael?”

  The muscles at Marcus’s jaw bulged. “I had hoped to track down my son and deal with his actions without the Primary’s knowledge. But it’s been several weeks since he took off with Jaered, and I’m no closer to finding him. I don’t dare use my typical resources. It could get back to the Primary. But it’s like searching for that turd in a haystack.

  {10}

  It took a few minutes for Jaered to climb the hill overlooking the Heir’s estate and join Vael. The young recruit handed off the binoculars.

  “Only Tara and Saxon returned. I haven’t seen Ian,” Vael said.

  “Where are they now?” Jaered scanned the inner compound below.

  “They went inside a few minutes ago. The wolf limped like it might be hurt.”

  Jaered lowered the binoculars and settled back against the tree. He set the rifle case on the ground and removed the weapon.

  “What’s that under the barrel?” Vael asked.

  “Pressurized gas.”

  “What for?”

  “You ask too many questions.” Jaered tossed the binoculars at Vael’s feet. He stared at Vael debating how much he should tell the young recruit. Eve had left his orientation up to Jaered, and he wasn’t one for sharing. “The Heir’s probably meeting with the Primary.” He hesitated. “Maybe your dad.”

  “Dad always made more time for him than me.” Vael twisted the scope’s strap between his fingers.

  Jaered banked on the Syndrion being too spooked at the Congo events to send the Heir on another assignment. If they did, Jaered’s mission would tank. “Hopefully your dad has his hands full with the latest quake and won’t interfere.”

  “Interfere with what? You haven’t told me a goddamn thing,” Vael snapped. “It’s been weeks, Jaered. Suddenly you act like you don’t trust me, even after everything I gave up to join you and the rebels.”

  “Don’t smear me with your guilt. I couldn’t shake you off, no matter what I tried,” Jaered said. Movement in the trees. Rusty hinges. The inner compound’s gate swung open.

  Jaered grabbed Vael and they ducked down beneath the group of fallen logs. The Heir often took the path that led by Galen and Mara’s gravesites whenever he arrived at the estate. Jaered counted on today being no different. It would give him the clearest shot.

  Positioning the tip of the rifle on the log, Jaered flipped up the scope then followed the Heir’s progression down the path. At the fork, the Heir paused. Jaered held his breath. A second later, the Heir turned in the direction of the graves and Jaered breathed easier. So far, so good. Movement out of the corner of his eye. Vael lowered the binoculars. “Don’t move, you’re distracting me,” Jaered said between clenched teeth.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Not now,” Jaered hissed.

  “What are you going to do?” Vael said, his voice husky, desperate.

  “I warned you when you joined the rebels that you might not like our methods.” Jaered kept a keen eye on the Heir’s progress, but remained acutely aware of Vael beside him.

  “You can’t kill the Heir. The Prophecy. If he dies, you’ll damn Earth for sure,” Vael said.

  “We have that covered,” Jaered said. “Now shut up and let me do my job.” The Heir hesitated at the entrance to the gravesite and raised his face to the sun. Jaered prepared to take the shot but a gust of wind kicked up decaying leaves between him and his target. Jaered waited with his finger on the trigger. He applied the slightest of pressure.

  Vael grabbed the barrel, blocking Jaered’s line of site. “You can’t kill him! There’s got to be another way.” Vael pushed against the log and stood, clutching the rifle barrel as his hand took on a subtle glow.

  Jaered swung around on his hip and took out Vael’s legs before he could use his power to ruin the gun barrel. The recruit slammed against the log with a moan cut short as the wind was knocked out of him. Jaered kicked the rifle butt and it slipped out of Vael’s hand. The weapon bounced off the log and came to a rest on the ground without discharging.

  Vael threw himself on top of Jaered. Jaered grabbed him and twisted him onto his back, then straddled Vael’s chest and arms, pinning him down with sheer weight. When Vael clawed at Jaered, Jaered smashed the edge of his hand against Vael’s throat.

  The recruit’s eyes widened and he went limp while choking, gasping for air, made all the harder by Jaered sitting on his chest.

  Jaered grabbed the rifle and raised it to his face. He swept the tip in all directions until he found the Heir standing stock-still at the graves.

  “Can’t . . . kill,” Vael wheezed.

  “Watch me,” Jaered snarled, and pulled the trigger.

  {11}

  A sting at the back of his neck. Ian brushed off what felt like a sizable bee, then rubbed the spot. He turned and looked up the hill. Something, a muffled noise, had caught his attention, but the absence of movement through the trees had him second-guessing himself, and he headed for home. The vibrant colors of dusk peeked above the tree line at the horizon. They’d left Africa in the middle of the night only to appear in Northern California in late afternoon, hours earlier.

  By the time he reached the mansion’s back patio, his core felt as if it had absorbed the last heat of the day. He pressed a fist against his chest and took a deep breath.

  “You okay?” Tara asked. She sat on a patio chair wrapping gauze around Saxon’s chest.

  “How is he?” Ian said, wiping perspiration from the back of his neck.

  “Third-degree blistering but thanks to his thick coat, the burn area wasn’t larger than a half-dollar. He can reach it, though, so Mac told me to bandage it.” Tara tied off the end and knotted it, then gathered Saxon’s snout in her cupped hands. “Now leave it alone and it’ll heal faster.

  Saxon snorted and ran off.

  “Betcha five dollars it’s not there when he returns,” Ian said.

  “Yeah, why did I bother?” Tara rolled up the gauze.

  “Is Mac here?” Ian said.

  “I got sick of my cooking,” Dr. Mac said from the open back door. He held a pitcher of tea in one hand and his old, weathered medical bag in the other.

  “When have you ever cooked?” Milo said nudging him out the door. The old caretaker had a plate of fresh fruit in his hand. “This is all the snacking anyone’s allowed or you won’t eat the meal I’ve prepared.”

  Dr. Mac set the pitcher on the patio table and handed his bag to Tara. She stowed the gauze and ointment inside. The old Weir doctor came over and threw an arm around Ian’s shoulder. “I’ve been concerned about how you’ve been holding up lately. But I have to admit, you look like your old self again.”

  “I didn’t know I could trap and control so much electricity in my core, Doc.”

  “Tara shared a little with us. Something about lifting off the ground?” Mac said.

  “It was easy once I redirected the electricity out my feet.” Ian sat on the edge of the chair and released deep breaths in a slow continuous stream. The cool, salty breeze across the back of his neck did nothing to ease the heat emanating from his chest.

  “Ian, are you all right?” Tara peered at him.

  “My core’s been depleted for so long, I’ll have to get used to it at full capacity again.” He stood. “That iced tea looks good. I think I’ll grab a glass.”

  “Grab one for me,” Tara said. “Lots of ice.”

  Ian stepped into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, removing two glasses. When he turned toward the refrigerator, his thoughts transformed into a tidal pool. One of the glasses slipped out of his hand and rolled to a stop on the counter. Ian grabbed the refrigerator handle to steady himself. He opened the free
zer and leaned against the edge, bathing in the frigid air. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. In. Out. He tried to recall the last time he’d eaten.

  “Ian?” Dr. Mac said from the patio doorway. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I just need a cold shower and to wash off the grime from the Congo.” Ian used one of the hand towels to wipe the perspiration off the back of his neck. “Would you mind getting Tara’s drink?”

  “Of course,” Dr. Mac said. He put a gentle hand on Ian’s back. “Milo told me about Rayne. I’m sorry.”

  “Rubber gloves and feathers just got us so far, Doc.”

  “I wish I could have done more for you both. I should have . . .,” his voice trailed off.

  “We can’t change fate.” Ian left and took the stairs slower than usual, using the banister for support up the winding staircase. His core might be at full capacity, he thought, but his body was weighed down by exhaustion thanks to weeks of disaster relief assignments.

  The shower’s cold setting wasn’t cold enough. Ian dialed the faucet as far to the right as possible. Steam rose from the center of his chest when the blast of frigid water slammed against him, and his thoughts turned muddy. The last thing he recalled was sliding down the wall of cool tile.

  The intense cold raised goose bumps across Ian’s skin, and he shivered beyond control. His jaw ached from teeth jack-hammering together. The scalding heat in his chest made it difficult to breathe. Frantic voices. Ian opened his eyes to find himself naked in his bathtub and submerged up to his neck in mounds of ice.

  Tara held her palm against his forehead, and with her other hand, plunged the core thermometer through the chunks of ice and pressed it to his chest. The ice cubes acted like a prism as the thermometer’s stones in its handle looked like giant precious jewels. “It’s not helping,” she announced.

  “That’s the last of it. He’s melting it faster than I can replenish it,” Milo said.

  “Then shyft and get more,” Dr. Mac said. “This is all I know to do until I can figure out what’s going on.”