Fade to Black: Book One: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

  “We?” Zoe squeezed a dent in Rayne’s cup.

  “I can’t go by myself. If I get caught again, you’ll be my excuse.” Rayne grabbed Zoe’s sleeve and tugged. “Come on.”

  “If you’re going to get me arrested, at least make it worth bragging about,” Zoe mumbled as she followed Rayne out the door.

  {14}

  Jaered was intrigued by how much Andy resembled the Heir and wondered if people believed Andy’s claims to be the illusionist.

  Fade to Black’s sound man stopped stumbling about the Western-themed bar and sat alone with a blissful stare directed at the redhead, one table over.

  Jaered set down the empty beer bottle and approached him. “I know you from somewhere,” he said. Andy peered up at him through half-closed lids. “I’ve seen you somewhere be-fore.” Jaered sat down across from the guy.

  Andy shrugged. “You don’t look familiar, dude,” he said.

  Jaered jabbed his finger at Andy. “Now I’ve got it. You’re Ian Black.” He slapped the table. “Wow, you’re like, amazing!”

  Andy jerked forward. The fog waned in his eyes. “You got me. And here I thought I was incognito.”

  “Oh man, my girlfriend thinks you’re the hottest thing around.” Jaered glanced over his shoulder. “Hell, you probably get that a lot.”

  “Not as often as you’d think.”

  “You’re empty. The next one’s on me.” Jaered gestured to the waitress. “I’m Jaered.”

  The waitress stopped next to Jaered, and he sized her up with a glance—early twenties, part-time college student. He kept his voice light and good-natured. “Get my buddy and me another round, whatever he’s having.”

  She gave Jaered a flirtatious grin. Unlike Andy, if questioned later, she would remember him.

  He rose to greet her when she brought the drinks and then distracted her with a smile as he dropped the pill into Andy’s bottle. She lingered, and he flirted with her the few seconds it took to dissolve. When she left, Jaered handed Andy the bottle of beer.

  A couple of minutes later, the muted knock on the table signaled the meds had done their work. Andy’s forehead rested against his damp cocktail napkin.

  When their waitress crossed to the other side of the room, Jaered tossed a few bills on the table and jerked Andy out of his chair.

  The limp head would have given it away, but Jaered’s one-sided conversation and boisterous laughter did the trick. They reached Andy’s car in the unlit parking lot without earning more than a fleeting glance. Jaered propped him against the hood and hit the remote. When he went to open the back door, the sound man slipped to the ground in a heap.

  Jaered looked around, then hoisted him up and shoved him in the backseat.

  He drove to the auditorium and pulled the car next to the backstage door. He dragged Andy out of the backseat and entered the code that Eve gave him, using the guy’s index finger to punch the keys. The red dot turned green. Pitched in darkness, he brought Andy inside then kicked the door closed.

  Jaered laid the sound man on top of a crate and checked his pupils with his penlight. They remained dilated. He looked at his cell. In twenty minutes, security guards would be making their rounds.

  With his penlight beam on low, he located the short hall leading to the offices and stopped at the first door. It appeared to be a dressing room. He tried the next one, but it was locked. He shyfted inside. The cluttered desk was a sign that he’d found the right office. The picture staring back at him from the credenza confirmed it.

  He sat in the chair across from the manager’s desk and felt underneath the edge. He pushed the listening device in place and left for the next location.

  Ten minutes later, with the last of his surveillance equipment in place, Jaered headed backstage. Andy would arouse soon. The guards would find the drunken sound man wandering the building. He would have some explaining to do.

  A crimson burst came from under the drawn curtains. Jaered froze. Voices, muted and low, rose from the other side. Two Duachs were on the stage behind the velvet tapestry.

  Jaered shyfted to the backstage storeroom and stood, staring at the crate. A curse exploded in his head. The drug hadn’t been as potent as promised. Where the hell had Andy wandered off to?

  Click. The backstage door eased open to an opera of creaking hinges.

  A putrid odor clung to Andy and followed him inside. The sound man grabbed his stomach and leaned against the wall. “Not again,” he mumbled and bent over. A chunky spew rained across the floor.

  Jaered held his breath against the nauseating stench. Andy hadn’t seen him, not yet.

  A bright-red cloud appeared in front of Andy’s bent figure.

  Jaered tossed a wrench at the back of Andy’s skull and he collapsed onto the crate. Jaered shyfted as the image of two men took solid shape.

  One of the Duach emerged standing in Andy’s retch. “What the …” He lifted his boot to examine it, then let loose a disgruntled moan while scraping his shoes on the concrete.

  The other Duach grabbed Andy and rolled him over.

  Jaered crouched on the catwalk. The exit sign lit the men’s faces. Jaered clutched the railing. One was the Duach who had shyfted out of the alley, the other—Ning.

  “Shit, my intel was right.” The shyftor grabbed his cell from a jacket pocket. “The Heir isn’t at his compound.”

  “The Curse hasn’t dropped us.” Ning snatched the cell from the shyftor. “It’s not him, you idiot.” He bent over and peered at the unconscious Andy. “Uncanny. Visible and yet, invisible.” He straightened at the same time his voice grew terse. “You were warned to get your facts straight. You’ve delayed the siege for nothing.”

  Jaered stiffened. What siege?

  “We had to be sure. It’s not like he’s seen our faces,” the shyftor said.

  Ning struck Andy with a slap that set his head rocking. It stilled when Andy pressed his palm to his forehead and moaned. He opened his eyes.

  “Oops,” Ning said with a snicker.

  “Are you insane?” The shyftor turned his face away.

  “What the hell?” Andy tried to sit up, but Ning slammed him against the crate and held him down.

  “Stop playing around. We need to get back.” The shyftor backed up toward the door.

  Ning scoffed. “He’s seen our faces.”

  “That’s on you.” The shyftor swung the back door wider and glanced outside.

  Andy covered his face with his hands. “My head’s spinning. I didn’t see anything. Hell, take whatever you want.”

  Ning’s hand glowed crimson at the same time his fingers tightened around Andy’s neck. The helpless man struggled.

  “Stop!” The shyftor grabbed Ning’s arm and pulled him away. Andy rolled to his side, coughing.

  Ning turned on the shyftor and pressed his hand against the man’s chest. The shyftor yelped then collapsed at Ning’s feet. He dropped to his knees next to the lifeless body and inhaled deep the stench of burnt flesh. Ning turned toward Andy with eerie calm. “Go.”

  Andy rolled backward off the crate and scrambled to his feet. He took off out the door.

  Ning raised the shyftor’s cell and pressed the screen, then held it to his ear. A second later, he lifted his face. “It’s not the Heir. It’s back on schedule. I’m gonna need a ride.” Ning picked up something from the floor. It jingled. “Never mind.”

  Jaered patted his pockets and mouthed a curse.

  “I won’t be long.” Ning stuffed the cell in his jacket. He grabbed the shyftor by the arm and dragged him outside. A moment later, the SUV’s hatch slammed. Jaered steeled himself, listening. The engine didn’t turn over.

  Ning had one more mess to clean up.

  Jaered shyfted to the Dumpster behind the auditorium just as Ning disappeared around the corner of the building. He didn’t have time for this. The assassin liked to have fun before putting his prey down.

  Jaered made the call then paused at the corner of the building. Ning
’s laugh came from the far side of the property.

  The expansive parking lot had not been in Andy’s favor.

  Pop—a street lamp shattered above a high fence that bordered one side of the lot.

  Unsure of their exact location, Jaered hesitated then shyfted. He appeared beside the fence, bathed in the shadows of the broken overhead lamp. Thump. The boards rattled. He jerked back. They were on the other side.

  Sounds of a fist connecting with bone and soft flesh came, one after another. Lungs purged air in an audible gasp, and Andy collapsed. Moans came from the base of the fence. “Who are you?” he rasped.

  “The right hand of a god,” Ning said. The air lit up in a scarlet glow. “You humans are hardly worth the effort.”

  “No!” Andy wailed.

  The shrill peal of sirens blended with Andy’s screams. Jaered leaned against the fence and closed his eyes. From the noise, his report of drag racing in the city streets had brought at least three cruisers.

  Another scream and Andy fell silent. Jaered bent over and stifled a gag at the haze of burning flesh as rising flames reached beyond the fence. Flickering streaks of light outlined the boards. Heat escaped through the openings and flames licked between the slats.

  The sound of running footsteps. Ning reached the end of the fence and ran through the empty lot, headed for the rear of the auditorium. The clamorous sirens dragged Jaered’s thoughts from the funeral pyre and he thought fast. The compound or the assassin? He shyfted into the rear of Andy’s SUV ahead of Ning—and appeared on top of a corpse.

  {15}

  Ian wasn’t sure how long Patrick had been hovering. Milo hadn’t covered his back after he’d dozed off. When Ian opened his eyes, Patrick jerked as if caught doing something he shouldn’t have. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to stare?” Ian sat up, mindful that Patrick could still see his scarred back in the gym’s mirrored wall.

  Patrick had the decency to keep his eyes averted. “I can’t imagine …” his voice trailed off into awkward silence, taking his pity with it.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Milo sent me to find out if you were awake.” Patrick grabbed a robe from the hook and handed it to him. “Ian, why would anyone torture you like that?”

  They called it The Rising. Ian closed his eyes, forcing the memory to return to that place he never went.

  “Who could have done such a thing?”

  The Syndrion. Ian sighed, the only response he would ever offer anyone.

  In the fading light of the room, Patrick waited for answers that did not come. “Dinner’s ready if you want it,” he said, and turned to go upstairs, his steps dragging.

  Ian made up his mind. “We need to talk.”

  “Hell, it’s about time.” Patrick spun around and faced him with a wide grin.

  Ian slid off the table and slipped his arms into the robe with a burdened heart. Patrick’s elation would be short-lived.

  He stalled by taking a long, hot shower as his conscience struggled against years of secrecy. By the time Ian came downstairs, Patrick’s childlike eagerness put him at ease. He tossed Ian a jacket, and they set out around the lake at the southern end of the mansion grounds. A faint glimmer of light on the water’s surface illuminated their path. Clouds had rolled in during the late afternoon, and the moon poked through the veil like a shimmering ghost.

  “I’m not sure where to begin,” Ian said.

  Patrick stopped in midstride. “How can you do what you do? What’s with you and the girls and that wireless connection you have? Why does Milo treat you like a son one minute, and then like you’re his boss the next? Why can’t you get sick like everybody else? And while you’re at it, why does a college student scare the sweat out of everyone?”

  Ian chuckled. “Is that all?”

  “Hell, I’m just getting warmed up.”

  Ian fell silent, sorting through which question to answer first. A distant swishing sound triggered the hair on his arms to stand at attention. He gripped Patrick’s shoulder and listened, praying for it to be something else.

  “What?” Patrick said.

  Spotlights shone down, sweeping the grounds around them. Ian looked up, blinded by their intense glare. He dragged Patrick out of the light and took off at a run.

  “What the hell?” Patrick shouted.

  Stealth helicopters filled the sky. Their thumping blades sent air pressure waves bouncing against the ground. The deafening suction caused Patrick to cover his ears. Ian counted five. They blocked out the moonlight as they swept in low and then hovered over the mansion before descending toward the front lawn just beyond the perimeter wall. Soldiers in combat gear leaned out of the open doors.

  “No, no, no!” Ian yelled. The alarms weren’t triggering. He pulled ahead of Patrick, frantic to warn the girls. His attention darted about, desperate to tell if they were breaching the cliffside. He didn’t have to look to know they’d approach from the east.

  Ian! The girls connected.

  Get out, use the tunnels! his thoughts shouted at them. Get Milo, don’t let him stay.

  He retraced his steps to grab Patrick and dragged him to-ward Milo’s greenhouse.

  They reached the structure, and he pulled Patrick against the building. Ian’s heart threatened to rip out of his chest. He took a second to make sure it wasn’t masking something more. From deep inside, his core pulsed steady and strong. Ian stole a breath, thankful a Duach Sar wasn’t with them—at least not close enough to trigger the Curse.

  Ian crouched and moved around to the main door of the greenhouse with Patrick following close. He gestured for Patrick to go inside first, then slipped in after him.

  “Tell me I missed the memo.” Patrick slumped down against a vegetable flat. “Is the army using the mansion for training ops?” At Ian’s silence, Patrick peeked over the tomato flat. “I didn’t think so.”

  “Weapons,” Ian said. “I’ve got to get to the weapons.”

  “We can always throw these.” Patrick held up one of Milo’s humongous tomatoes.

  “Useless against semiautomatics,” Ian said, stealing a glance out the window.

  At the mention of guns, Patrick turned the color of moonlight. Ian froze at the sound of creaking wood. He shoved Patrick behind the fertilizer barrels.

  “Ugh!” Patrick grabbed his nose.

  “Shush,” he hissed. In the dim light the heads of lettuce looked like they were rolling away in unison as the trapdoor opened from below. Ian scooted over and shoved the flat off to the side. He reached down and grabbed Tara’s hand, pulling her out of the tunnel. She wore battle fatigues and a Kevlar vest. “Where’s Mara?”

  “Here,” rose from below.

  “Milo?”

  In spite of the shadows, the woe in Tara’s eyes was unmistakable.

  “Stubborn old fool.” Ian’s misery lasted but a second before he shoved it to the back of his thoughts and grabbed Mara.

  “What’s the plan?” Tara asked, handing Ian a vest. She helped Patrick get into the other one.

  “What did you see?”

  “We could only hear them, Ian. They breached the house before we knew what happened. We headed for the tunnel entrance in your bedroom.”

  “Milo might have escaped from the downstairs hall.”

  “They got him right away,” Tara said.

  “He was shouting. It sounded like they were dragging him through the foyer when we left.” Mara held the tip of her gun barrel near her face. She peered out the window from behind the zucchini plot.

  “Ian, why didn’t the alarms go off?”

  “I don’t know, Tara. They came by air.”

  “But the motion detectors. The house should have lit up like Christmas morning.” Mara shook her head. “Nothing reacted.”

  In the distance, flashlight beams flitted about like fireflies. They grew closer and surrounded the greenhouse. The door swung open. A soldier paused in the doorway. He gestured over his shoulder. Someone slipped in past
him.

  The first soldier remained at the threshold while the other one moved down the closest aisle and searched the greenhouse, his rifle sweeping back and forth. He reached the back of the building, in direct line with the open tunnel entrance.

  When he neared, Ian signaled to Mara. She swiped her legs, taking out the man from below.

  Ian grabbed him and stifled his shout. Mara held on tight to his legs.

  Tara leaned in with a tube from her vest pocket, snapped it apart, and stuck it under his nose. The man went limp. Any sound of the scuffle was drowned out by the fans circulating the warm, moist air. Ian signaled for the girls to make their way toward the tunnel. He nudged Patrick to follow.

  “Our sensors confirm you are all in here,” the soldier announced from the doorway. “Please, come with me before anyone else gets hurt.”

  No one moved.

  “Sire, we are here on orders of the Syndrion.”

  Ian’s core sizzled as hot as a branding iron, and he stood. The soldier fell to one knee and bowed his head. “Your Highness.”

  Patrick stared at Ian with a slack jaw.

  The soldier rose. “Drion Marcus awaits you at the eastern vortex.”

  “Where’s Milo?” Ian snapped.

  “He is with him, sire.”

  Ian stormed out of the greenhouse. A crack of lightning struck the lake. The wind whipped up around them, slamming into the windows with such force they rattled in angry protest.

  {16}

  Ian jumped out before the Jeep came to a complete stop. It took a second to spot Drion Marcus among the battalion of Pur soldiers. Battle fatigues replaced his Syndrion robes. Ian headed toward him. Every soldier dropped to one knee or lowered their eyes in reverence as he passed. A gale force wind followed at his heels and whipped through the clearing, churning up debris from the forest floor. Soldiers kept a tight grip on their equipment.

  The area bustled with activity. The men unloaded boxes from trucks while others took off in vehicles heading toward the mansion. A soldier waved a clipboard and barked orders to a few others loading gear into a truck.