Sleight of Hand: Book Three: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

  “There’s a lot, fearless leader. It’d be better if I text them to you.”

  Ian paused. “You and Pacman found a pattern to the rebels’ thefts, am I right? That’s how you traced the significance of their burglaries.”

  “Yeah, it was like getting an item that gained you access to the next level,” Pacman shouted. Xander had put it on speaker.

  A scuffle. Pacman’s voice got louder. “We applied Xander’s algorithm to figure it out.”

  “Do the same with this data,” Ian said. “Then call me back ASAP.”

  “Will do!” The call cut off.

  “What makes you think that this data is organized?” Marcus said.

  “Rayne’s research was all over the place,” Tara added.

  “Because Eve has proven that she’s calculating and manipulative.” Ian thought back to Dr. Mac. “Persuasive.” Shouts came from the village. Lights popped on, one after another. “That makes her a woman with an agenda. And we need to figure it out and catch up fast, or the pile of bodies is going to get a lot higher.”

  {42}

  Voices, loud and insistent, floated into the cabin. Patrick had no idea what Jaered and his mother were talking about, and he only half listened through the open door of the jet. If it were possible, he’d melt into the plush cushions and simply disappear. He’d have to see if that was one of his so-called powers. Still in denial about what had happened, he couldn’t fathom having abilities that he’d spent the last four years envying of Ian. The thought of them terrified him.

  He had the better part of the night to think about it and ended up convinced that Ian would reject him the second he learned of Patrick’s fate. The pit deep in his gut festered. Tara, strong yet gentle, compassionate and kind, would kill for Ian. His mother had made him their sworn enemy. Every time Patrick’s thoughts fell to Rayne, his heart sank. Gone were the hugs, the shoulder she leaned on, and the one she offered him in return. Their friendship could never be the same.

  By midnight, Patrick abandoned the idea of stealing a cell phone or bribing someone to help him escape. He had nowhere to go.

  Everyone on the island was devoted to his mother. To Eve. They bowed to her and gazed upon her with admiration. From his eavesdropping on conversations around him, her rebel force spanned the globe. If he did try and escape, how far could he get?

  He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his mother was the rebel leader. He was Weir, always had been. Born a Duach Heir.

  Patrick bolted from his seat, burst into the narrow bathroom at the back of the cabin, and puked into the toilet until there was nothing left to purge. He pulled the lever and blue chemical splattered about. A couple of drops struck his cheek. There wasn’t enough pressure to rid the toilet bowl of the emotional upheaval. He closed the lid, sat down, and grabbed a towel from the dispenser to wipe his cheek.

  A knock at the door. “Patrick, we’re going to take off soon,” his mother said, as if they were headed on vacation.

  He stood and ran water into the sink, gargled with mouthwash, and rinsed his face. He opened the door and found her sitting in her favorite spot at the back of the cabin, sipping on what appeared to be an iced tea with a sprig of mint poking out the top of her glass.

  “Did you get some rest?” she asked. “We have a long flight ahead of us.”

  Jaered stood next to the open door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to shyft him there?”

  “We have a lot to discuss,” she said.

  “Suit yourself.” He threw Patrick a cautious look, then exited the plane. A moment later, the short stairs were raised, and the pilot swung the door closed and latched it from inside.

  The engines revved to a deafening pitch, and the jet taxied. Patrick looked out the window. The runway was near the warehouse at the center of the small island. The jet rapidly picked up speed and lifted into the air. It circled around the island as dawn opened its eyes at the horizon. Colorful flashes below. Patrick pressed his face against the window. On one side of the small island, repetitive green flashes went off like sparkling fireworks. On the opposite side, red, and at the center of the island, pale, almost colorless bursts.

  “We have several shyftors among the rebels,” his mother said, gazing out her window.

  “There’s both Pur and Duach?” Patrick asked.

  “We do our best to ignore the Weir’s civil war. We choose . . . not to choose sides,” she said. “Our battle is with Aeros. We are stronger when we don’t battle ourselves.” She ran her finger down the side of her glass. “A philosophy mankind has yet to adopt.”

  “What caused the pale lights?” Patrick asked.

  “The rebel forces didn’t originate here on Earth,” she said. “They came from Thrae.”

  Ian hadn’t told Patrick about Thrae. It had been Rayne, spilling what little she knew about its existence over margaritas one night. She said Jaered was from Thrae, and that’s why he had no colored corona like the Pur and Duach Sars on Earth.

  The rising sunlight spread across Earth’s surface like a wakeup call. Patrick spotted several small surrounding islands. “Where were we?”

  “An island near Malta. I own several, scattered here and there around the globe.” She took a sip of her tea, then settled against her seat and released more than air in one long, continuous exhale.

  “What do I call you?” He gave her a sideways glance and sat on the couch, facing her.

  “You’ve always called me Mother, Patrick.”

  “Did JoAnna Langtree ever really exist?”

  “I’ve been many people. Lived countless lives.” Her fingertips played a nail-clicking tune across the side of her glass. “JoAnna Langtree was just one of hundreds.”

  He scoffed. “Drama queen doesn’t suit you.”

  “I’m serious, Patrick. I’m more than two thousand years old.” She stared as if daring him to look away first.

  “Weir don’t live that long,” he said.

  “Do you know about the Ancients?” she asked.

  “Nemautis and the other scholars claimed that there were five. They’d found record of them in a book they were studying.”

  She got up from her seat and opened a nearby cabinet. Pressing her hand flat against the panel, it slid apart with a muted click. Patrick’s breath caught in his throat when she removed the Book of the Weir and brought it over. She sat down on the couch next to him and lifted the cover. He’d forgotten how large it was. Opened, the book covered most of her lap and spilled onto Patrick’s. Up close, the pages looked like they’d crumble if touched.

  “You stole it,” he said in disbelief, recalling her last visit and her desire to stay at the mansion with them, instead of a hotel.

  “I merely verified it was there. A band of rebels infiltrated the estate while we were at the gala that night.”

  He clenched his fists. His chest heaved. “They murdered the scholars!”

  “No,” she shook her head vehemently. “By the time they arrived, the Primary’s guards had already slaughtered the men. My team risked their lives to protect Milo and Marcus, and to secure the book.”

  “When Jaered kidnapped me a few months ago, he tried to tell me the Primary was responsible. I didn’t believe him.”

  “The Primary’s elite guards are ruthless and lethal. They keep his hands clean, and they obey only him.” She turned a page in the book with delicate care. “I am one of the Ancients, Patrick, along with my two sisters, Gwynndol and Sophenna. Johann, the man you know as the Primary, is another.”

  It occurred to Patrick that he’d never heard his mother mention extended family. “That’s four.”

  “Aeros,” she said. She turned another page. “We originally came from Thrae, a sister planet of Earth’s from another dimension. We believed ourselves to be ordinary. But then one day, during a particularly violent storm, something tragic happened.” She turned to the next page.

  There was a hand-drawn picture with a sun filling up much of the page, its rays striki
ng people like arrows finding their mark.

  “We were in an open field during harvest. There must have been a tear in the upper atmosphere because we were bombarded with solar energy. When we awoke, everyone else was burned beyond recognition. Our village destroyed, our crops, gone. The landscape, for as far as we could see, looked like it had been torched. But the five of us had survived without a mark on us.” She pointed to an entry on the opposite page, as if reciting what was written in the strange language. “Aeros and his brother Johann discovered that they could do miraculous things. It began with growing plants at will, then manipulating animals to do their bidding.”

  Patrick’s knee bobbed faster and faster. He pressed his hand down to make it stop. “I need a drink.”

  “We need breakfast.” She closed the book and returned it to the safe in the cabinet. His mother pressed a button on the wall. The attendant exited the cockpit and stood in wait.

  “Willow, we’re ready,” his mother announced.

  The tall, thin woman disappeared behind the galley wall. Clinking glass and the subtle sounds of opening and closing cabinets and drawers could be heard over the engines.

  Patrick stood and paced, alternating between rubbing his hands and rubbing his arms. “Why aren’t you still on Thrae?”

  “You have to understand, we were so much younger then.” Eve grabbed her tea and slipped into her seat at the rear of the cabin. “Aeros adored Sophenna, always had. Johann eventually courted Gwynndol. Their offspring were the beginning of the Weir race. We must have survived because of a genetic mutation. It was passed on in their offspring. But the solar energy did something to us, the originals. We didn’t grow old, while our children and their children did.” She took a sip and grew pensive as if haunted by the past. “We couldn’t remain in our village and were forced to scatter, reinventing ourselves every couple of decades somewhere. Everything changed when Aeros discovered a pocket of intensive energy, and he learned to manipulate it.”

  “He’d found a vortex,” Patrick said. “And figured out how to shyft.”

  “Aeros and Johann mastered it over time, and then by accident, Aeros jumped dimensions. I eventually found the courage and asked Aeros to take me one day. He brought me to Earth. It was almost identical in every way to our Thrae, but the differences between plants and other creatures intrigued me.”

  “What kind of differences?” Patrick sat down and grabbed the edge of the couch when they hit some turbulence.

  “Thrae had a species much like unicorns. Earth’s version of course, were horses.”

  A nervous chuckle turned into giddiness. “And I suppose Thrae had dragons and trolls, Bigfoots and the Loch Ness Monster, too.”

  “All Earth names. On Thrae we called them by something different.” She tossed him a knowing smile, but her tone held no amusement. “Understand that their sightings here on Earth were the folly of bored, self-proclaimed gods. The poor creatures were always returned to their natural habitats. I made sure of it.”

  “What’d they do, make you Thrae’s warden?” Patrick smiled. The moniker seemed to fit his mother.

  “I chose to stay on Earth. By then my sisters and their husbands had tired of each other. They found their amusements elsewhere. But I had a whole new world to discover.”

  Discover, or command? Patrick chewed on his lip and mulled it over.

  Willow appeared carrying a small tray with the aroma of roasted coffee leading the way. She exchanged his mother’s iced tea with a china cup of the steaming brew and handed one to Patrick, along with a bottle of aspirin, then disappeared into her galley.

  He popped the painkillers, but could only take one sip at a time of the blistering liquid, and slowly worked the pills down his parched throat. His stomach gurgled for something more tangible.

  It arrived a few minutes later. Willow set the table for them both and placed the western omelets, toasted sourdough bread, and fresh-fruit cups on the table, in front of his mother.

  “Let’s eat, Patrick. You need your strength.” Eve leaned back when Willow opened the cloth napkin and draped it across his mother’s lap. When he hesitated to get up from the couch, she cut into her omelet. “I don’t bite, son.”

  “No, but you’re capable of a whole lot worse.” Patrick slowly got to his feet. Every movement taxed his exhausted muscles and the cabin swirled, taking his thoughts with it. He grabbed the seat backs and made his way to the rear of the cabin. He settled across from her, staring down at the meal, unable to draw upon the strength to cut into it. She spread jam on his toast and handed it to him. They ate in silence and for the first time in days, he had a glimpse of the familiar.

  A jolt aroused Patrick. He opened his eyes to find that he’d dozed off on the couch. His mother was on her cell at the back of the cabin, and from the tone of her voice, it wasn’t positive.

  “Check on as many of the residents as you can. Arrange for food and whatever supplies are needed. Get them there stat!” She paused as if listening. “I agree. And Xercus, go through the normal channels and take precautions. For all we know, this is a trap and he’s waiting to see who comes to their aid.” She tossed the phone down on the table and pulled a shawl across her shoulders, then gazed out the window with an iron jaw.

  “What’s wrong?” Patrick swung his legs over and sat up, rubbing his face.

  “Johann,” she hesitated, “the Primary, has left me a message.”

  “What’s with you and him, anyway?’ Patrick stood and stretched.

  “We have opposing views about Earth.” She pursed her lips. “I believe that humankind needs the Weir’s protection. He believes Earth’s natural resources are more important.”

  “You can’t exactly have one without the other.”

  “You’d be surprised to what lengths that man goes,” she picked up her cell and ran her thumb across the screen, “to prove otherwise.”

  “You said the Ancients didn’t age.” Patrick yawned. “No offense, Mother, but you aren’t a spring chicken anymore.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched, and she put her cell down. “We enjoyed youth for centuries, but were destined to watch loved ones come and go. After the first few generations, my sisters couldn’t get pregnant any longer. I couldn’t. The five grew restless over time. Sophenna was the only one who never left her beloved Thrae. Aeros spent much of his time between Thrae and Earth, but it was Johann who eventually followed me to Earth and settled here.”

  She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Then, in the mid-twentieth century, just as we watched the Weir Sars decline on both planets and feared Thrae and Earth were at risk, a miracle happened.” Her voice grew guarded. “Sophenna became pregnant. For the first time in centuries, we saw it as a sign that Thrae, and Earth, might survive, and that the Weir would flourish and nurture the planets once again. Jaered was the first to be born of an Ancient in almost two thousand years.”

  Patrick sat up with a start.

  “A couple of years later, you.” She gave Patrick the most glowing smile he’d ever received. “But it took some doing for Gwynndol,” she paused. “For Ian.”

  Not only were Patrick and Jaered cousins, Ian, too? He slumped back and ran his fingers through his hair.

  His mother rose from her seat and leaned against the table. “But the continuation of the Weir race came at a cost. We began to age, naturally, and not just us, but Aeros and Johann, too.”

  “Are you still immortal?” Patrick asked, shocked that it rolled off his tongue like discussing the weather.

  “We haven’t the courage to test it. You see, if bearing children affected us as one, what might happen to the whole, if one of us dies?

  {43}

  Ian shyfted Saxon to Wales. The boys’ algorithm gave equal credence to two companies and had put them at the top of their newly revised list. Division of labor was prudent. Marcus and Tara had shyfted to Malta to investigate Sigrar Twal, the larger of the two companies; a shipping and export business that serviced Europe
and the Baltic region. They had shipped half a dozen Oseras to retailers over the past year.

  He hunched down in his jacket and lingered under the Dambrin Company’s sign to get his bearings. They manufactured a whiskey called Coedhir. Coedhir had a reputation for being rare and quite expensive. Only a few cases were made available each year and, from what the boys discovered, they were purchased through private auction, never through retail. The company had been in business for more than a century, yet never expanded into other products or advertised in the world-wide market.

  Ian pulled out his cell and texted Marcus as promised. Arrived. Quiet. Will keep you posted.

  The hills curved along the horizon and encircled the wide valley with emerald-green pastures and wild flowers as far as he could see. Rock outcroppings jutted here and there, appearing as patches on a speckled canvas through the midday shower. Ian set off down the dirt, puddled path, following Saxon toward the small town that supported the facility. The smell of smoke quickened his pulse, but he relaxed when he realized it came from several chimneys in the village. The chill in the air tickled the back of Ian’s neck, and he drew energy until the warmth in his core heated his limbs.

  Saxon held up at the fringe of town and rested on the ground, licking his paw. Mud discolored the wolf’s snowy coat, and when he stood at Ian’s approach, Saxon’s chest dripped with what looked like diluted chocolate paint.

  “I can’t take you anywhere,” Ian said. He grabbed Saxon by the scruff of his neck and swiped his hands along the wolf’s underbelly, conjuring the mud back to the puddle from whence it came. Saxon snorted and shook his coat, sharing the last of the muddy drops with Ian’s jacket.

  A rusty, weather-beaten truck pulled out from behind a cottage and turned in their direction. Ian stepped out of the way and gave a nod to the man, whose skin reminded him of a crinkled, brown paper sack. The man tipped his cap, then drove on with sputtering exhaust and squeaky shocks.