Sleight of Hand: Book Three: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

  Jaered threw his arms around Rayne with a crushing embrace, and her face smashed into his chest. He fell into a crouch, pulling her down with him.

  The entire vortex field was ablaze. A frigid tingling mixed with blistering heat. Unable to breathe, Rayne couldn’t cry out.

  Jaered’s horrific scream rose above a tremendous clap of thunder and carried them into oblivion.

  {23}

  A dead weight pressed upon Rayne. She reached up and tried to push Jaered off, but he didn’t budge. She managed to wiggle out from underneath him and rolled away as fast as she could. How long had they been lying there? Had she drained his core? He lay chest down on the cement floor with his face turned away from her. She didn’t dare feel for a pulse.

  “Jaered,” she whispered. No response. She raised her voice. “Jaered.” Nothing.

  The back of her hand stung. A nauseating burnt odor hung in the air. It took a full minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Jaered had shyfted them to what looked like a storage room. Wooden crates with narrow slats were arranged along one wall. Rectangular containers, made of a dark metal and the size of coffins, were stacked behind her. A lone, small square window sat just below the ceiling. Wide silver tape held a piece of cardboard in place, covering it. The door looked to be metal with massive bolts securing it to the wall. It didn’t have a knob, at least not on the inside. At the bottom, a dim orange light reached into the room. It blinked on and off.

  A moan.

  Rayne swallowed her relief and crawled over to Jaered, but an overwhelming whiff of burnt flesh stopped her cold. Bile rose in her throat, and she covered her mouth and nose with her hand. Charred and peeling skin could be seen between scraps of burnt cloth that had once been his shirt. Jaered’s entire back and upper arms had shielded her from the fiery vortex. Everything below his belt looked untouched.

  “Jaered, if you can hear me, I’m going to find help.” Rayne got to her feet but paused until the spinning in her head righted itself along with the room. When she couldn’t find a way to open the door, she climbed up the metal containers to the window and ignored the shooting pain that came from the back of her hand.

  The window didn’t have a latch or hinges, and there was no way to open it other than breaking it. Rayne peeled away an edge of the tape and gripped the corner of the cardboard. She ripped it from the window.

  Rayne froze at a brilliant red sky beyond.

  Running footsteps. From the sound of it, several people converged on the other side of the door. Someone barked an order to wait. Scraping metal. The door flung open.

  A flashing beam of amber light reached into the center of the room, far enough that Jaered’s body was caught in its path.

  The bird’s-eye view exposed the extent of his injuries. Rayne swallowed her gasp. She lay down on the uppermost container and drew her legs against her chest, trying to wedge herself deeper into the narrow space at the ceiling. Where was she? Who were these people?

  “Who is it?” a voice from outside the room asked.

  A man entered the room and knelt beside Jaered. “I can’t tell, he’s too severely burned.” Another man joined him and they lifted Jaered enough to see his face and upper chest. “Dear god, it’s the Heir!”

  Rayne’s racing pulse slammed to a halt. The Heir?

  “Get him in his boost, stat!” commanded the voice from the hallway. A handful of men dressed in simple, loose garments rushed in and encircled Jaered. They gently picked him up in unison and carried him facedown, out of the room.

  A short, stout gentleman stepped inside. His groomed, thick beard had abundant streaks of varying shades of gray. The top of his head was bald except for white patches of hair over both ears. He gave a short wave just outside the door. A dangling bulb a few feet from Rayne lit up the room, and she squinted from the glare.

  The bearded man glanced around. “I know he brought someone with him. Otherwise the alarm would not have been triggered.”

  Something was familiar about the voice. Rayne didn’t move as she tried to sort out why.

  “Really, there’s not that many places to conceal a person in here.” He looked up and stared at Rayne. She slipped out of her hiding spot and climbed down the containers. When she reached the floor, she turned toward him, but held back.

  Shock swept across his features, then disappeared just as quickly. “Did you come through unscathed?”

  The familiar morphed into recognition. “Dr. Mac?” she said, knowing it wasn’t him, couldn’t be, unless he’d grown a full beard in the past couple of hours.

  He stiffened in spite of giving her a tight-lipped smile. “You are of Earth. You know my paral.” He drank her in from head to toe with sad eyes. The corners of his mouth drooped. “You’re the mirror image of her. It will be quite unnerving for the others to meet you. Don’t be surprised if you receive a great many stares. They mean no disrespect.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rayne said. She glanced over her shoulder at the red sky beyond the window. “Where the hell am I?”

  “Here, I am known as Angus,” he said. “Welcome to Thrae.”

  {24}

  Angus led Rayne down a winding, windowless corridor that gave her the impression of being in a tunnel. Walking felt odd, like she was light on her feet. The sensation was coupled with an intense, chilled tremor that had racked her body since first appearing in the room. It was difficult to catch her breath. Blisters had appeared on the back of her burnt hand, but that was nothing compared to what Jaered had endured.

  What had happened? She’d never heard of a vortex catching fire.

  The walls looked to be made of adobe, and their texture looked rough. The overhead lights were motion activated, turning on at their approach, only to turn off a few feet behind them. The air was stale, but cool.

  Angus paused at the first door they came to. “What do I call you?” he asked.

  “Rayne,” she said. “Where’s Jaered? Are you taking me to him?”

  Angus opened the door and gestured for her to go inside. She stepped into what appeared to be a simple apartment. A couch and a couple of chairs were set around a rectangular coffee table. The cushions were lumpy and worn, the material thinning from much use. A kitchen sat at the end of the long room. A handful of chairs were scattered around a table in between.

  Angus walked across the apartment and knocked on a door at the opposite side of the room. It was opened by a middle-aged woman. A breath caught in Rayne’s throat. It was the woman from the QualSton picture that Allison had shipped to Patrick. She’d grown out her thick, ebony hair since the picture was taken almost three decades ago. Full of body with a hint of curl, it cascaded below her shoulders. Although her face showed signs of middle age, her eyes were as dark as Ian’s. If this wasn’t Ian’s mother, they were closely related.

  “How bad?” Angus entered the room while Rayne hesitated in the doorway.

  “Serious, but by the miracle of his core, he’s still breathing,” she said. The woman regarded Rayne with a concerned, tight-lipped smile.

  “This is Rayne,” Angus said from over his shoulder.

  If she was shocked by Rayne’s appearance, as Angus had predicted, the woman didn’t show it. “Come.” She stepped to the side and gestured for Rayne to enter the room. “I’m Gwynn.”

  The windowless room was small with an upright dresser next to one wall. A narrow mattress leaned against another wall. Its sheets were in a pile at the floor, as if someone had pulled everything off in a hurry. A large vat, like the ones Rayne had seen in the vortex room, extended into the middle of the bedroom. They had placed Jaered inside and he floated faceup in a purple substance that reminded Rayne of the gel her mother used in her hair when she was a child. Rayne might have taken him to be slumbering peacefully in a tub, if not for the almost iridescent gel.

  Angus leaned over him and pulled out a core thermometer that wasn’t as ornate as Dr. Mac’s. He pressed it against Jaered’s bare chest, checked the results, then shoo
k it out. “It’s damn serious. His core is almost entirely drained.”

  Her head threatened to explode from the tornado of questions.

  “You were burned.” Gwynn lifted Rayne’s injured hand and gently examined it. “Angus, we need to attend to her as well.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” he said gruffly. He opened one of the dresser drawers and removed a roll of gauze, then grabbed a squirt bottle from on top.

  “Let’s go to the other room. You must be light-headed and weak,” Gwynn said. “Thrae’s gravity is not as great as Earth’s. Our oxygen levels are also different. You’ll eventually adjust, but it will take a few days.”

  Days? An overwhelming compulsion to call Ian struck and Rayne grabbed the cell phone out of her pocket. A nervous chuckle at her predicament gave way to giddiness.

  Gwynn took Rayne’s elbow and guided her to the kitchen table in the other room, then set about putting a kettle on the stove that she had to light with a match. The appliances and fixtures resembled something from the first half of the twentieth century on Earth. None of the furniture in the sparse room looked modern, but was simple, heavy, and bulky.

  Gwynn stuffed a generous pinch of tea leaves into a metal strainer the size of a large walnut, then dropped it into the handmade, lopsided ceramic mug.

  Angus scooted a chair across from Rayne and sat down. He squirted a dollop of purple goo on her hand, but as he went to spread it with his finger, Rayne jerked her hand away. Back on Earth, Dr. Mac was a Sar. Was Angus? Would she drain him?

  He gave her a perplexed look. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Sorry,” Rayne said. “I’m just a little unnerved, by everything.” She spread the goop across the burned area. The sting vanished. Angus scraped his chair back and sat at the head of the table while she wrapped the gauze around her hand, then tucked the flap underneath. He fidgeted with the button on his sleeve cuff. “It won’t take more than a few minutes, but keep it wrapped until then.”

  “Minutes?” Rayne said.

  “Angus’s special recipe,” Gwynn said. She set a steaming cup down next to Rayne and handed one to Angus, then settled in a chair across the narrow table from her. She blew across its surface while she studied Rayne. “You must have lots of questions.”

  A grunt came from Angus. “So do we.” He wrapped his hands around his mug, but didn’t take a sip.

  “Angus, where are your manners?” Gwynn said. “It isn’t the poor girl’s fault that she ended up here.”

  “No, it’s his,” Angus thrust a finger in the direction of the bedroom. “What was he thinking?” He shot to his feet. “Aeros won’t ignore this. The Heir has gotten someone else killed!”

  Gwynn turned to Rayne. “Where was he taking you?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “To someone who could answer my questions.”

  “What caused the fire?” Angus asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve ever shyfted,” Rayne said.

  “Angus, sit down. The damage is done,” Gwynn said calmly. “The boy was either too injured to keep his concentration during the shyft, or it was deliberate.”

  “He came to the only person who could save his life.” Angus settled in the chair.

  Gwynn grabbed Angus’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m sure that’s it,” she said and gave him a pained smile.

  “Is he going to survive?” Rayne said.

  “How is your hand?” Angus asked in a tone tinged with pride.

  Rayne flexed her fingers. She didn’t feel numb, yet there wasn’t any pain. She had full use of her hand.

  “The Heir’s injuries are too great to heal as fast as your hand, but in a couple of days, he’ll be back to normal,” Gwynn said.

  “Two minutes, two hours, two days, what does it matter? It’s forbidden for the Heir to set foot on Thrae. Aeros will come for him, and god knows what else.” Angus left them and disappeared into the bedroom, slamming the door.

  “Forgive him. He’s the only doctor our colony has left. Whenever Aeros comes to Thrae, it’s Angus who has to deal with the aftermath.”

  “The aftermath of what?” Rayne said.

  “Aeros returns for one reason only.” Gwynn got to her feet and stepped up to the kitchen counter. She set her partially emptied mug in the sink. “To hunt.”

  Rayne grabbed her mug tight and relished the warmth. The lingering cold of the parashyft faded. Her thoughts were clearing, and she wondered what animals were here that would bring the Duach leader to Earth’s sister world. “Hunt what?”

  “Not what, whom.” Gwynn turned to Rayne. Weariness filled her eyes that hadn’t been there a second earlier. “He hunts us.”

  {25}

  A voice shouted Ian’s name, and it took him a few seconds to recognize that it was in his head. He opened his eyes to discover Saxon sitting erect next to him, as if standing guard over Rayne’s executioner.

  Here, the wolf channeled and added an image of Ian lying in the eastern vortex field, splattered in mud and shivering. Saxon was trying to communicate with Tara, to let her know where Ian was.

  Leave me, he channeled. I don’t want to be found. He turned his face to the puddle and succumbed to his anguish as his sorrow mixed with the rainwater and splashed into his nose and mouth with every sob. He tasted mud and bits of grass, but didn’t have the will to spit.

  “Ian!” Tara was beside him. Fingers pressed against his neck, a hand on his back. “Oh my god, you’re freezing cold.”

  Ian coughed, unable to lift his head.

  “Here!” Tara shouted and waved, then she bent close. “Ian, where is Rayne?”

  She-wolf—fire—gone, Saxon channeled.

  Tara paused. What do you mean, gone? she channeled back.

  Saxon didn’t respond, but lay down on the burnt grass next to Ian and nudged him with his snout.

  The truck skidded to a stop, splattering clumps of mud across Ian’s bare legs and onto his briefs. Doors opened, but didn’t slam shut. “How bad?” Dr. Mac said from close by.

  “The boy’s kissin’ mud. What do you think, you old coot?” Milo barked. “He can’t even move.” Strong hands grabbed him and lifted him from the damp earth. Milo carried Ian toward the bright headlights. “I’ve gotcha boy,” the old caretaker said. “You’ll be okay, we just need to get you to your boost. That scientist gal is trying to fix it.”

  Ian’s head bobbed, and he fought to keep his eyes open. Incoherent sounds escaped when he tried to scream that it wasn’t okay. Rayne was dead. In trying to stop Jaered, he had killed her. Nothing would ever be okay again. But his confession came out as rambling moans and Milo hesitated.

  “What are you trying to say, Ian?” the old caretaker said.

  Dr. Mac crouched down next to the ground and rubbed his palm across the field. “The ground, it’s scorched.”

  “What could have burned it like that?” Tara asked.

  Milo laid Ian in the back of the truck. A moment later, Dr. Mac climbed in and pressed the core thermometer against Ian’s chest. He shuddered at the icy cold of the metal and his teeth chattered. Dr. Mac grabbed a blanket with his free hand and covered Ian. He removed the thermometer and looked at it. “Hurry, Milo!” Dr. Mac yelled. “His core is barely registering.”

  The engine turned over.

  Tara climbed in with them. “Come on, Saxon, get in,” she called out.

  “Why isn’t he coming?” Dr. Mac said.

  Tara tucked the blanket around Ian. “I don’t know. He channeled something about a fire, and Rayne being gone.” She banged against the back of the cab. “Go, Milo!”

  The truck lurched and started moving. Dr. Mac stuck his thermometer in his jacket pocket. “Tara, let Marcus know we found him and he can call off the search.” She pulled out her cell and bent over, punching in a message. “Ian, did you catch up to them?” Dr. Mac leaned close to Ian’s ear. “Did you summon a core blast?”

  Ian’s chest heaved. “Rayne.”

&nbs
p; Dr. Mac stiffened. “Oh, no,” he said under his breath.

  “What?” Tara asked, but her attention fell to her cell when a text message came through.

  “Catastrophe,” Dr. Mac whispered.

  Earth’s energy circulated throughout Ian’s body. It fed his core and carried essential nutrients to replenish what Ian had lost while burning up from the inside out. With a touch to Ian’s forehead, Dr. Mac had put him under with his Somex power, but Ian was resisting it and lay in a semiconscious state. He ached to tell them what happened—what he saw—what he’d done. But a part of him wasn’t ready to face it and welcomed the drugless sleep.

  Soon after returning to the mansion and putting Ian in the boost, Dr. Mac had told everyone what he’d figured out: that Ian had somehow conjured a core blast and had flung it at someone shyfting in the field. They feared that Rayne had been caught in the fire. Shocked, the group didn’t have it in them to leave Ian’s bedroom. Instead they worked through their grief, and the events of the past twelve hours, together.

  “How could a core blast ignite a shyft?” Tara asked.

  “Perhaps from gases trapped in the conjured energy. Many are flammable,” Dr. Mac said.

  “But there weren’t any bodies,” Milo said. “She could still be alive.”

  “If the shyft was far enough along, their bodies might be at the intended destination,” Dr. Mac said. “Or somewhere in between.”

  “She’s not dead,” Tara said, from the edge of the bed. She sniffled. “Neither is Patrick. They can’t be.”

  Ian tried to shout that Patrick wasn’t there, but it couldn’t penetrate the darkness that engulfed him. Where was Saxon? Ian reached out to the wolf to come, that he needed to channel with Tara. If Saxon had stayed at the eastern vortex, he was out of range and couldn’t hear Ian’s plea.

  “What was the girl thinking?” Milo said. “Going after two Sars by herself.”