by Sue Duff
He slammed the mansion’s front door on the Primary’s retreating guards and turned the deadbolt for good measure. Given the mystery and secrecy around their skills, Ian doubted it would be a deterrent if they ever returned, but the act felt empowering.
It’d taken almost two days for the Primary to withdraw his small band of troops and give Ian and the others their lives back.
Saxon joined him at the front door. Enemy gone?
They weren’t our enemy, Ian channeled. Saxon snorted.
“Tara, get the boys and set everything up in the great room again. I want to be ready to shyft when the jam is turned off,” Ian said. She took off for the gym.
“What the hell was that all about?” Milo roared from the other room. The old caretaker had backed Dr. Mac up against the fireplace mantle and the lifelong friends were engaged in a stare down to rival any schoolyard brawl.
“You’re just pissed off that I took over your kitchen.” Dr. Mac slipped out from beneath Milo’s arm and crossed the room, settling next to Marcus.
“I’m with Milo,” Marcus growled. “My gut tells me you know more than we do.”
Dr. Mac scoffed and relocated to the rolling arm of the living room chair. “I’ve already been interrogated by the Primary and that weasel Henrick. Don’t start with me.”
“Why were you interrogated?” Marcus said.
“Perhaps because it was my responsibility to inform them of Ian’s illness.” Dr. Mac reached for his mug, took a sip, and scrunched his face at the room-temperature beverage.
“The Syndrion had a right to know,” Marcus said. “I had a right to be kept in the loop.”
“Mac thought it could be contagious,” Milo said. “That’s why we didn’t alert the Syndrion right away.”
“But it wasn’t a virus,” Marcus said. “And you still kept the events quiet.” Tara arrived with Xander and Pacman. “You’ve been protecting Rayne, all this time,” Marcus continued. “Hiding what she could do.”
Who had confessed to Marcus? When Ian looked around the room, Milo was the only one who didn’t make eye contact. What did it matter, now? Rayne was gone.
“I tried to buffer what happened, what we’d done, but from their questions, I suspect that my report didn’t correspond with someone’s.” Dr. Mac tossed a disgruntled look around the room. “I thought we all agreed to report that Patrick and Rayne weren’t even present.”
“It wasn’t me,” Tara said.
“We came after the show was over,” Pacman said.
Xander popped his gum. “We missed the fireworks.”
“Had anyone thought to include Joule in that decision?” Ian asked.
Tara raised her hand. “I did.”
“She might have slipped up, somewhere along the way.” Marcus looked at the group expectantly. “And no one mentioned Vael as we agreed?”
Everyone nodded. Dr. Mac set down his mug and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re in the Primary’s sights. People have a way of disappearing. Am I right, Marcus?” But the Drion averted his eyes without comment.
“The Primary has always wanted an excuse to get rid of Patrick and Rayne,” Ian said.
“It’s worse than that,” Dr. Mac said. “If the Primary learns that Patrick was involved—”
“—and survived the boost, and was taken by the rebels.” Marcus shook his head. “The boy is in tremendous danger.”
Ever since Vael had turned his back on the Pur, Marcus had been trying to protect his son from the same fate. If they found one, would they find the other? Could they save them both? Ian wondered if that wasn’t the real reason Marcus was a willing participant in covering up the details.
“They had no right to put Ian through the meat grinder and treat us like traitors,” Milo grumbled.
“Once the Primary had reason to be suspicious, he didn’t trust anything we reported,” Dr. Mac said. “Or anyone.”
Xander didn’t lift his face from his computer screen. “Or, the old geezer was just stalling while he tried to retrieve the data he stole.”
“And walked away when he came up empty-handed.” Pacman sucked on his licorice.
“He has a forty-eight-hour headstart,” Ian said. “Whether he was able to recover anything or not.”
“That’s like, forever.” Pacman bit off a generous slice of his stick. “We’ve got some serious catching up to do.” Clicking keys sliced into the tension that had settled on the room.
Ian grabbed Dr. Mac’s arm. “Mac, a word, in private.” Ian hurried him through the foyer and into the kitchen, then stood guard at the archway to make sure Milo’s curiosity didn’t bring him within earshot.
Dr. Mac grabbed a fresh mug from the cupboard and helped himself to the steeping pot of coffee on the counter.
Once convinced the others had given them some space, Ian leaned against the kitchen island. “We didn’t know what we had, but the Primary took one look at it and knew it had to do with Eve.” His voice drew a razor-sharp edge. “He wasn’t the only one, was he, Doc?”
Dr. Mac returned the pot and stood, staring out the window. “When we arrived, I nearly died when I saw the information, floating in the middle of the room, for everyone to see.” He looked down at the mug in his hand. “How did you know?”
“The look on your face,” Ian said. “I caught the change in your heartbeat.” He glanced over his shoulder and verified they were still alone. “Mac, how did you know it was about Eve?”
The old doctor looked down at his feet. “I’m not wearing my slippers. The Primary came unannounced. There was no time to change into my slippers.”
Ian peered at him like he’d lost it. “What do your ragged bunny slippers have to do with anything?”
Dr. Mac faced Ian and in that instant, the man aged before Ian’s eyes. “I always wear them when I come to see you. They were a gift, you see. A reminder of a promise I made someone a very long time ago.” He walked outside and leaned against the patio railing. He stared down at his mug, but didn’t bring it to his lips.
Ian stepped out and closed the door behind him. He sat on the railing next to Dr. Mac. “Who gave you the slippers?”
“Your mother,” Dr. Mac said. “The night the Primary banned her to live on Thrae. You were only a few months old.”
“My parents were killed in a car accident,” Ian said gently, concerned that the pressure had finally taken its toll on the old doctor’s mind.
“That’s what the Primary wanted you to believe,” Dr. Mac said. “But your mother is very much alive and living a world away, just beyond our reach.”
The pulse at Ian’s neck throbbed. “Why lie to me?”
“Because he didn’t want you searching for her and learning the truth.”
Ian clenched his jaw. “Marcus?”
“Other than the Primary, I’m the only one who knows. And if he finds out I’ve told you . . .”
Ian catapulted off the railing and reached the edge of the lake with pounding steps. Dark, billowing clouds blew in overhead. A thunderclap struck the surface. Sleet fell, stinging Ian’s cheeks. Footsteps. “Why tell me this now?” Ian snarled.
“Because its time you learn the truth about who you are. What you are,” Dr. Mac said. “Patrick isn’t the only one in grave danger, Ian. If the Primary finds out that your powers are greater than presumed, he’ll come after you.”
A funnel formed over the lake and rose, spinning above the water, mimicking Ian’s fury. The water at his feet receded, feeding the funnel.
A firm hand grasped Ian’s shoulder. “My boy, you can’t reveal to anyone what I’ve confessed.”
Ian jerked his shoulder out of Dr. Mac’s grasp. “Go,” he said in a voice riddled with ice and stone. The sleet turned to hail and pummeled them both.
“I can help you find Patrick,” Dr. Mac said with a raised arm to fend off the pea-sized ice. “Ian, you can trust me.”
“I don’t know who or what to trust anymore!”
A sizzling bolt of lightning struck behind the doctor, but he didn’t flinch. “Then trust yourself,” Dr. Mac urged. “But find Patrick before the Primary, or we’re all doomed.” He returned to the house with hurried steps.
Ian spread his arms and screamed. The funnel dropped on the lake in a massive splash that sent waves in all directions, crashing against the shore. Ian turned toward the battering hail and faced his pain.
{41}
Drained and numb, the storm receded and Ian turned to find Tara standing at the edge of the patio. When he approached, she didn’t speak and together they returned to the mansion.
Milo tossed a towel at him as his soggy steps slapped across the kitchen floor. The others were gathered around the meal the old caretaker had fixed. Dr. Mac wasn’t among them. The group remained mum as Ian passed by, headed for his room.
No one else knows the truth.
Rayne was gone, perhaps Patrick as well. If Ian’s instincts were correct, Dr. Mac was one of the rebels and in league with Eve. The old doctor might have helped save Ian from the nanites, but did he have a role in infecting Ian in the first place? If the Primary lied to Ian about his parents, where did the lies start and end? Who could he trust?
Ian recalled the countless times the Primary had drilled Ian about what powers he’d discovered. He’d taken it to be frustration and the Primary’s way of pushing him to try harder. If Dr. Mac was telling the truth, Ian had been under the Primary’s microscope all these years. Was that why no one would tell him what powers to expect? What to develop?
He showered and changed into fresh clothes. When he walked back into his bedroom, a silver platter sat on his bed with Milo’s culinary comfort. Ian walked by without as much as a glance.
Agitated by the constant pressure in his core, he snapped at Milo from the balcony. “Turn off the jam!” he shouted.
Milo appeared in the foyer and waved a wooden spoon at him. “I tried. They are overriding it at Syndrion headquarters.”
Dr. Mac might have instilled doubt, but the Primary’s actions were fueling it.
Ian hurried downstairs and into the great room to study the floating data. He focused on the columns and how Xander had arranged them.
Marcus joined him. A moment later, Tara arrived with a fresh plate of food. She set it on the coffee table. “For when you’re ready.”
Ian didn’t respond, searching for what the Primary recognized earlier when he saw the data. He found the name of the car, Osera, and the company address in the third column. Ian looked at Marcus. “I can’t ask you to cross this line.”
“This isn’t just about Patrick,” the Drion said. “Eve has her claws in my son.”
Ian’s quest took them to Germany. The second they appeared, Saxon shook out his coat to stave off the frigid, long-distance shyft.
Lange Bäume’s facility sat on a cliff overlooking the Rhine River. The location boasted deep waters for shipping their cars across the globe while supporting the quaint village beside the river. The manufacturing site was small, nothing like the larger automobile conglomerates in Cologne farther down the waterway. According to the boys’ research, the privately owned company only produced custom-built luxury cars. The group arrived around three in the morning, and the sleepy town nestled next to the winding river had yet to stir.
Sparks flashed in the building’s high windows, and the sounds of grinding metal coming from inside bespoke a lucrative business that never paused.
Saxon ran ahead and the trio followed. The wolf came to a halt at what appeared to be a back door with its overhead spotlight turned off. From a distance, Ian tapped into his keen eyesight to check for security cameras and spotted one above the door, but didn’t see a light to indicate that it was on. If it was motion activated, it didn’t move in response to Saxon. Nevertheless, they approached with caution. Ian conjured the lock away with a mere touch, and they slipped into the building without incident.
A small office sat at the top of a nearby metal staircase. The lights were off, and Ian held out his hand to stop Marcus from ascending the stairs.
Marcus threw him a baffled glance.
“If the plant is operational, why isn’t there a supervisor on duty?” Ian said, just loud enough to be heard over the assembly line beyond the double-wide doors.
Tara shrugged. “Cutbacks?”
Marcus pulled out a handgun and led the way up the stairs, crouching low.
They paused before reaching the topmost step. The door to the office was ajar with splintered wood in the doorframe.
“Stay here,” Marcus said, but the metal gears and conveyor-belt skids coming from the assembly room drowned his voice. The old general nudged the door wider. A dark, congealed pool just inside the office told Ian they were too late.
He stepped up to the railing across from the office and scanned the manufacturing arena. The glaring lights of the plant highlighted what he feared most. Bodies lay scattered next to the assembly line, while others slumped against walls or lay beneath the equipment as if a few tried to dive for cover. He stopped counting bodies at two dozen.
Ian shyfted beside a pillar, dropped to one knee, and pushed back a slumped man in overalls. A blackened patch in the center of the man’s chest quickened Ian’s pulse. Memories of murdered scholars rushed to the surface, and Ian took a whiff. He closed the dead man’s lids and laid a gentle hand on his head.
The factory noise masked Tara’s approach, and he wasn’t aware that she stood over him until he looked up. Her expression gave him pause. “This is fresh blood.”
“Who could have done this?” she said.
Ian stood and stepped around her to locate Marcus. The general was checking for a pulse at a victim’s throat on the other side of the conveyor belt. “Someone with core blast powers,” Ian said.
Marcus joined them. “This is what happened at the mansion a couple months ago, when the scholars were slaughtered. I didn’t smell sulfur then, and I don’t now. A Duach didn’t do this.”
Tara raised her gun and looked around. “Ning told me that it was the Primary’s guard that night at the mansion.”
Ian and Marcus exchanged stunned glances. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Marcus said.
“Because he was a Duach psychopath, and I thought he was playing with my head.” She lowered her gun. “But when they were guarding us, those guys gave me the creeps.”
“We knew we’d be playing catch-up, but I wasn’t expecting . . .” Marcus’s gaze fell to the man at Ian’s feet. “This.”
“It could be Eve, covering her tracks,” Ian said. Even now, it was so much easier to believe the faceless rebel leader capable of such atrocities, rather than the man who had watched over and protected him all his life.
“There’d be no reason for Eve to torture her own man,” Marcus said and tilted his head in the direction of the upstairs office. “But the poor bastard didn’t know anything.”
“How could you tell?” Tara asked.
Marcus’s jaw clenched. “There’s not much left.”
“So many people,” Tara said.
“It’s a message,” Marcus growled. “One that even the most callous can’t ignore.”
Ian watched the grinding mechanical arms overhead, reaching for auto parts that weren’t there. The whine of drills as they stretched into empty space along the ghostly conveyor belt sent a chill up his spine.
Smoke touched Ian’s senses. He scanned their surroundings. “Marcus, we need to find the fire!”
The general took a whiff and his eyes widened. “Ian, we need to get out of here.”
“Their families deserve more than ashes.”
“Let the fire cover this up.” Marcus grabbed his arm. “These are core blasts. It could expose the Weir.”
Ian pulled his arm out of the general’s grasp. “It’s time the Weir stop thinking of ourselves and start putting others first.” He ran upstairs and followed a row of rooms until he located the security office. The two murdered guards were slumped
in front of still-active monitors.
Flames licked at the lower frame of what appeared to be a storage room. When Ian compared the monitor’s number to a building schematic on the wall, he located the room at the back end of the facility. He stared at the screen, got a clear enough image through the rising smoke, and shyfted.
Ian appeared in front of the stacked boxes of supplies. He threw his arm up to shield his eyes and face while heat from the flames melted the plastic shrink wrap behind him. He found a fire extinguisher on the wall, pulled the pin, and pointed the nozzle at the fiery base. The flames closest to the ground extinguished, but what had caught on the column of wooden crates snaked its way higher. He fought the flames until the extinguisher sputtered with its last foamy breath and had nothing left to give.
The expansive room turned opaque as smoke obliterated everything beyond an arm’s length. Ian choked and gasped, then dropped to the concrete floor, sucking in as much oxygen as he could before trying again.
Strong hands grabbed him and shyfted him beside the river. “We have to save them,” Ian sputtered.
“Ian, you tried!” Marcus held on tight. “But I can’t let you sacrifice yourself for a heap of corpses.”
He stumbled to his feet and reached toward the river, conjuring a massive funnel cloud with raging, intense wind. He lifted his hands and the swirling mass carried up the bank. He tossed it at the facility and it sputtered against the outer walls, but only a fraction of it penetrated the few open windows.
Saxon ran up and knocked Ian to the ground, then licked the soot on his face as if thanking him for his failed heroics. Ian watched as the flames reached high above the building, and their wicked dance taunted him until the pounding in his head eased.
Tara reached out and helped Ian to his feet. Marcus made to gather them together for a shyft, but Ian broke away and pulled out his cell.
“What are you doing?” Marcus said.
Xander picked up before Ian could respond. “Xander, we were too late. I need you to tell me the rest of the companies and their locations.”