Fade to Black: Book One: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

  “It is one that Drion Marcus is most familiar with,” Victorae continued. Marcus straightened in his chair. He threw a puzzled glance at the Primary. When Victorae dramatically cleared his throat, Ian wanted to rip it out of him. “There is a facility in the northwestern region of the United States,” he began.

  It was practically on his doorstep. Ian slumped back in his seat as his hope to be sent somewhere, anywhere, to get away and prove himself dwindled with each passing second. The old Drion went into minute detail about the region and its extensive plant and wild life. When Ian stole a glance at the Primary, the man looked pleased. Had he influenced the committees to be cautious?

  “It is primarily a Pur Weir facility that has been in existence for over a century,” Victorae raised his face from the screen.

  The urge to shyft out of there grew strong. They were sending him on a tour of a research facility, nothing more. Across the table, Sebastian’s attention was in his lap. Ian wondered if he was plotting his objections, but when Sebastian looked up, his gaze found the Primary.

  A shock wave passed through Ian, and he fought to stay calm in his seat. Had Marcus misled him? Bewildered, Ian envisioned himself a pawn, sitting on the chessboard between these two masters.

  The moment Victorae completed his presentation, the Primary stood. “All those in favor?” A sea of hands waved in the air like stalks of wheat caught in a breeze. The Primary’s gavel struck.

  Wood scraped against stone as more than two dozen chairs pushed backward at once. The Drions rose to their feet and descended upon Ian. The elders took turns addressing him with carefree attitudes and the kind of relaxed protocol one experiences when faced with a crisis that’s been averted.

  It didn’t help that they addressed him in their native languages. Ian struggled to keep his frustration in check while sorting out the six languages he spoke fluently as a child prior to moving to the States. After so many years, he found himself more than a bit rusty. Hindered by a mouthful of saliva that had turned to sawdust, Ian bowed and fumbled through.

  Off to the side, Marcus approached the Primary and Sebastian. They separated from the crowd. Ian strained to listen, but the surrounding chatter of the Drions made it impossible to eavesdrop on their hushed conversation across the room.

  Henrik pushed in with a drink in his hand and offered it to Ian. He blocked Ian’s view of the Primary and the other two men. The typically docile, jovial Henrik offered a content smile, but the look in his eyes left a scrape on Ian’s spine that bespoke allegiance to someone other than him.

  A moment later, the three Drions joined the group at the back of the line. Marcus seemed displeased. The Primary nodded, and Henrik slipped into the crowd.

  At his turn, Sebastian reached with two hands to greet Ian. Instead of bowing as the others, he held Ian’s hand firmly in his grip and maintained his intense gaze. The corners of his eyes pulled up, but there was nothing cordial about them.

  “I hope our differences up until now will not dampen our collaborations in the future,” he said.

  A violent shudder struck Ian. His stomach lurched and bile burned his throat.

  A fleeting glance at Marcus, and Sebastian’s features drew into concern. He leaned in. “I hope to spend some time with you before you leave,” he said for only Ian’s ears.

  Ian’s thoughts spun. Images in front of him blurred. Before he could ask to sit down, he collapsed at Sebastian’s feet.

  {27}

  At the sounds of choking and grunting, Rayne and Zoe looked up in unison. An unconscious soldier dropped at their feet. A stranger, dressed in black combat fatigues, held his finger to his lips before they had a chance to cry out. Rayne clasped her friend’s hand while Zoe stared at him wide eyed.

  “Get out of here while you can.” He took off through the trees.

  “Smartest thing I’ve heard all night.” Zoe rushed after him.

  “Wait, Zoe, stop.” Rayne chased after her.

  She lost sight of the frantic girl in the ebony forest and was forced to slow her pace as her head throbbed, the concussion reminding her it was still in charge. Doubled over, Rayne begged for a twinge of relief from the shuddering chills and percussive pounding. A snapping twig gave her pause. Skirting one disaster only managed to create a lost car and companion.

  Calm settled around her. She headed out and hoped it was the right direction. The longer she wandered, her confidence seeped out faster than her determination to get them both home in one piece.

  “Rayne, over here.” Zoe stood behind a trunk and beckoned to her.

  Unsure if she wanted to strangle her or hug her, Rayne compromised on a punch to the arm. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I counted on him knowing the way out.” Zoe leaned against the tree. “That and he was don’t-spare-the-calories eye candy.”

  “You were after his phone number?” Rayne battled the urge to deck her.

  “I can play the damsel in distress,” she said with a wicked smile.

  “And if that didn’t work?” Rayne said.

  “I’d knock him over the head with a rock and drag him back Cro-Magnon style.” A look of glee sparked in her eyes. “He would have fit in your trunk.”

  “That’s the Zoe I know.” Rayne glanced about. “Damn it, I’ve gotten turned around.”

  “I think he was headed this way,” Zoe said.

  They didn’t go far when Rayne’s foot snagged on something. She landed on the forest floor on all fours. A pain shot out of her palm and she discovered a large, protruding sliver. “Oh great, just what I need.”

  Zoe crouched and examined it. She pulled it out carefully. “You’ll live.”

  “I’m sorry I got you into this, Zoe.”

  “Hanging with you isn’t for the meek.” Zoe stood and brushed her hands on her pants, then helped Rayne to her feet.

  A truck’s engine rolled over. They froze in unison. “The soldiers,” Rayne whispered.

  “I’m betting it’s our rescuer. Maybe we can hitch a ride.” Zoe rushed off in the direction of the sound.

  “Wait!” Rayne sprinted after her with murderous intent. Winded by the time she reached the bend in the road, her steps slowed. The SUV sat idling like it was waiting. Zoe ran up to the driver’s side and spoke to him. He passed something to her, and she stepped away. The vehicle spun around, dredging up the forest floor; then it took off down the dirt path. Zoe stood, bathed in their rescuer’s crimson taillights. “Thanks for nothing,” she shouted to his retreating bumper.

  “What was that all about?” Rayne asked.

  “No-go on the ride, but he said to give this to you, that it belonged to you.” Zoe held up a notebook.

  Rayne snatched it out of her hands and stared at it in disbelief, every inch of her paralyzed but her thoughts. It wasn’t among the things that she had cleaned out last summer. What’s it doing here? Why did a stranger have it? She opened it and looked at the script. Memories drew tearful streams down both cheeks. She ran a finger across the handwritten name on the inside cover, then slammed the book shut. Her head swirled.

  “Rayne, what is it?”

  Anguish swept in and drowned her in immeasurable sorrow. She choked on words struggling to break free. “It’s … my mother’s.” Rayne cradled it against her chest, sobbing.

  {28}

  Dr. Angus MacBride blinked with enlarged eyes behind the thick lenses. He leaned forward to examine Ian.

  Patrick watched the odd man from the sidelines. The stout doctor sported tufts of white hair over his ears with an otherwise shiny, bald head. His British accent was thick and full of gravel. Patrick couldn’t help but stare at the soiled pink bunny slippers the man wore with his tweed suit. He kept stealing glances, curious at what the doctor’s socks might look like.

  The relief at discovering he wouldn’t be imprisoned by the conversationalists-from-hell took a backseat to Ian’s spell. At least that’s how everyone referred to it. Patrick didn’t buy it for a minute. “Could h
e have been poisoned?”

  “What a preposterous notion.” The man tossed Patrick an impatient glance. “Who are you?”

  “He’s my friend Patrick, Dr. Mac,” Ian said.

  Dr. Mac grunted. “The one who talks funny.” He removed his headgear. The mirrors and lenses jutted out on the tips of metal arms like out-of-control spider legs.

  “I don’t talk funny.” Patrick leaned back to avoid getting hit with one as it swung by. He swore it reached out to snag him.

  “What Americans call English compares to used bathwater.” Dr. Mac held the contraption in the palm of his hand and with a tap, the legs and lenses retracted into a compact, circular metal container. The doctor dropped it in an oversized, weathered bag. “Take off your shirt, Ian.” He grabbed something from his inside pocket. When Ian bared his chest, Dr. Mac froze. His voice grew terse. “You’ve been in contact with a Duach Sar.”

  Ian looked about to deny it, but hesitated. “How did you know?”

  He touched the edges of the triangle on Ian’s chest. “The pigment is darker. That only happens when the Curse is triggered.”

  “When?” Patrick said.

  Ian bit his lip. “The other night in the alley.”

  “Does the Primary know?” Dr. Mac peered at Ian as if he’d know it if a lie passed his lips. Ian nodded. Dr. Mac grunted and held up what looked like a short metal ruler with a gilded handle. He pressed its tip against Ian’s chest and it turned bright green at the lower edge. The light flowed upward. The device chimed when it stopped just below the tip. “Your core is strong,” he said and shook the device out like a thermometer, then stuck it back in his pocket. “There were no ill effects. You’re lucky.”

  A knock on the door, and Marcus stuck his head inside. “What’s the verdict, Doc?”

  “Fit as reign,” Dr. Mac said. “The lad is as healthy as a horse.”

  “And you give me a hard time,” Patrick said under his breath.

  “Nothing’s wrong with my hearing, lad.”

  “I’ll inform the Primary,” Marcus said. “We need to meet with both Ian and Patrick.”

  “Not before the Heir gets something in his stomach or he’ll have another incident,” Dr. Mac said.

  “Both of you, head to the mess hall and then report to the Primary’s office.” Marcus left.

  Patrick picked up a long instrument that had an angled end. It looked like something a veterinarian would use.

  “Oh, that’s where that went,” Dr. Mac sounded pleased to discover it. He grabbed it and dropped it in his bag. “I’ll be on my way, Ian. Stay out of trouble.” The doctor squeezed his shoulder, then turned and gave Patrick a discerning look. “I venture we’ll be seeing something of each other.” Patrick reached out to shake hands, but Dr. Mac walked past him. “I’ll reserve judgment till later.” The doctor exited the room with shuffling bunny-slipper steps.

  Patrick wiped his hand on his shirt. “I believe I just got dissed.”

  “He likes you.” Ian put a hand to the back of his head and winced. He flexed his neck and rose to his feet.

  “The old stone floors of the abbey are not forgiving, are they?” Galen said from the doorway.

  “I’m fine. I’ve been trying to tell everyone that.”

  “Then why the nose dive?” Patrick said.

  “Because I’m starved.” As if on cue, Ian’s stomach gurgled loud enough to be heard by all. He grabbed his jacket and walked out. “Come on, Galen, I’ll race you like old times.”

  Galen laid a firm hand on Patrick’s arm to stop him from following. “Promise me you’ll stick close to him on this mission.”

  “You don’t buy this being a spell any more than I do,” Patrick said.

  The creases at Galen’s eyes deepened. “History is full of desperate men capable of immeasurable cruelty, all in the name of the greater good.”

  “You hit that one over my head, professor,” Patrick said.

  Galen leaned in and lowered his voice as though an empty room wasn’t to be trusted. “Take heed, Patrick. The Duach are not his only enemies.”

  {29}

  “Shush,” her mother said. “We’re almost there.”

  “Mommy, I wanna go home.” Rayne shivered against the bitter cold. It hurt to breathe whenever she lifted her face. Her mother’s footsteps were the only sounds as the woman trudged through the deep snow carrying Rayne in her arms. Branches scratched and tugged at her blanket and nightgown, trying to rip her from her mother’s arms. She clung tighter and whimpered.

  “We can’t go back, sweetheart, but we’ll be in a warm, safe place soon.” Her mother stopped at the sight of a car parked behind some bushes. “Thank God. I thought they’d left without us.”

  Rayne lifted her head. “We go now?”

  Her mother flicked a flashlight on and off. “Yes, sweetheart, we’re going home, to our new home.”

  A strange man and woman got out of the car. They gestured to hurry. Her mother set out and gripped Rayne tighter against her chest. “You’re safe now. He won’t ever find you again. I promise.”

  Buzzzzz.

  The vibration jolted Rayne out of her daydream, and she sat up in her seat. Her cell skirted off the car’s dash then plopped in her lap. She swiped her hair out of her face and checked the name. “Zoe?”

  “Did you make it to classes today? I didn’t and what’s worse, I slept through my shift at the dry cleaner.”

  “I didn’t go.”

  “Oh man, I’m pretty sure I’m screwed at work.”

  “Tell them you took some cold medicine and it made you loopy.” Rayne yawned.

  “That was my excuse last time. You okay? You seemed pretty messed up last night.”

  Shocked there were tears left to shed, she wiped at the newest tickle on her cheek. “I’ll be okay. It’s just weird, you know?”

  “I still can’t believe you got your mother’s diary like that. I’ve been thinking, maybe he not only knew your mom, but you, too.”

  “Why?”

  “It was the way he looked at you,” Zoe said. “Are you sure you’ve never seen him before?”

  “I think I’d remember him.”

  “Rayne, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. A shiver struck. “But I intend to find out.”

  “Come over. We’ll make a plan.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got somewhere I have to go. I’ve already emailed my professors.” Rayne looked at her suitcase on the seat next to her. “I’ll let you know when I get back.”

  “But—”

  Rayne hung up. When her phone buzzed a second later, she shut it off. Zoe could be relentless. She didn’t know what she was getting into, and she couldn’t drag her friend into it. She gazed out the windshield and was shocked that she’d been there a while. The overcast sky had turned into a dark blanket.

  Are you going to do this or what? her psyche nudged.

  Hesitant to step out of the car, she wrung her hands, blam-ing it on the winter’s breath in spite of wearing her warmest gloves.

  The cold numbed her resistance, and Rayne got out. She stared across the lawn dotted with stones. They reminded her of sentinels, keeping vigil over memories of lives lived and lost. It took a deep breath to fuel her legs.

  The only way to keep the tears at bay was to remain empty inside, but the closer Rayne drew it became a losing battle. She stopped and stared at the headstone.

  “I picked out your favorite flowers.” She laid the bouquet on the ground and peeled off her glove. She traced her moth-er’s name on the carved rock.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been back since the funeral.” She closed her eyes, but not before a tear escaped. “I miss you.”

  Rayne bent down on one knee and brushed away the dead leaves. “Things have been so crazy since your accident. Your life insurance is helping to pay for the apartment. That nuts-and-bolts thing you called my car is still running. I’m going to graduate in a couple of months. You would have gotten a kick
out of my counselor; he’s a real hyper-dick.” Rayne paused to catch her breath. “I’ve made a friend—a weird, nutty friend.” She shrugged. “My love life is nonexistent, as usual.”

  Rayne turned over the diary in her hand. “This just came from out of nowhere.” She gazed at the headstone through the damp curtain across her eyes. “What I’ve read in here—you kept this a secret, all these years. You never meant for me to find out, did you?” A levee opened and warm tears wet her cheeks. “Why am I so afraid, so terrified of what I’ll find in Rogue Basin?”

  “There is a traitor among the Syndrion.” Eve had reviewed the materials that Jaered sent. “Whoever it is has plotted with Aeros. They are manipulating both the Duach and the Syndrion. They’ve targeted the Heir.”

  Jaered pulled the cell away and drove his fist into the wall, denting it.

  “We don’t dare intervene or we’ll expose ourselves,” Eve said. “I won’t put the rebel force at risk. We’re not strong enough to make a move of our own.”

  “You know the Duach will kill the Heir.”

  “Perhaps they have figured out how to steal his powers safely.”

  “Are you willing to risk this planet on that assumption?” he said.

  “I only sent you there to get an idea of what we were up against. You can’t risk being seen, Jaered, or worse, captured. It would be disastrous if the Pur or the Duach find out who you really are.”

  “I won’t get caught.” Her silence magnified the significance of this next step. “I promise to stay on the fringe,” he insisted.

  Her chuckle was anything but lighthearted. “Don’t promise what we both know you can’t deliver.” A sigh of resignation floated out of the phone. “I’ll text you the information. There isn’t a close vortex where you’re going. I want you to drive.”

  He riffled through his drawers and stuffed a couple of days’ clothes in his duffle bag. The cell buzzed and he paused, committing the town in Oregon to memory.

  Jaered jumped in the SUV and tossed his bag in the backseat. He turned the key, then punched the info into his GPS. A curse passed his lips when a beep reprimanded him. He’d misspelled Rogue. He reentered it. Jaered pulled away from the curb in search of the nearest gas station, dreading the long drive ahead.