Fade to Black: Book One: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

  “He comes with us.” Mara grew rigid when the Drion turned on her, but she stared the man down. “Drion Marcus already approved.”

  Sebastian scoffed. “I hope you like the smell of wet dog.”

  Saxon snarled and crouched as if about to attack the Drion. Tempting as it was to let the wolf strike, Patrick got in between them. Saxon backed down with a rumbling growl.

  “Better than dinosaur poop,” Tara said under her breath to his retreating back. All heads turned her way. “What? I heard Ian say that one last week.”

  High in the branches of the tree, Ning watched the rescue. Suppressed core blasts seared his palms when his prize disappeared into the helicopter and flew off into the night sky.

  He didn’t miss the odd exchange when the Pur soldier extended his hand to help Harcourt’s daughter into the helicopter and one of the Channels pushed him aside. He tossed the incident to the back of his mind to sort out later.

  The Pur troops soon dispersed deeper into the forest.

  He eased himself down through the branches then dropped the rest of the way out of the tree. Pain from a wrenched ankle shot up his leg, a present from the wolf. The beast was too agile in the rocks for him to effectively use his core blasts. He prayed for a rematch on his own terms.

  Two men stood guard at the bend in the road. A wail of fire engines cut through the forest in the distance. The Pur soldiers wandered down the road in their direction.

  Confident the Pur guard uniform helped him blend in, Ning slipped away from the tree coverage and inside the wrecked car. He found what he was looking for but knew better than to take it with him. It would be missed. He committed the information to memory then returned it. Several yards down the road, one of the guards gestured for him to remain with the wreck. When they turned toward the approaching fire engines, Ning rushed into the forest.

  He found the constellations and calculated his course. The closest vortex was more than five miles to the south. It would be a cold trek. He didn’t dare draw energy into his core to warm himself. Heat signature would give his position away.

  The car’s registration gave him his destination. Determination nourished his soul. Failure was not an option.

  {73}

  An emerald glow filled the mansion’s hallway as if the aurora borealis had been brought inside for a rhythmic dance across the upstairs walls. It mesmerized Rayne in her exhausted state, and her steps slowed.

  She hesitated at the bedroom’s threshold. The colorful light came from the base of Ian’s bed. Her tightly wound muscles melted at the sight of his serene slumber. The last time she saw him he was covered in dirt and blood, pain creased his face, and strangled moans were his only sounds. Relief renewed her spirit. He was going to be okay.

  A short, robust man pulled the covers down and listened with a stethoscope. The mark she’d seen on Ian’s chest in the warehouse was lit in an amber glow. It seemed to thrum in beat to the phosphorescent dance in the room.

  Mara and Tara hugged the two men in the room while Patrick shook their hands. Smiles of released anguish splashed across everyone’s faces as laughter and voices filled the room with storytelling.

  Patrick left them and joined Rayne at the doorway. “Ian would want us to give the book to Galen. He’s the one person that Ian would trust with it.” He turned his back to her. Hesitation stilled her hand, but her newfound faith in Ian’s friend and manager triumphed. She and Patrick had both nearly lost their lives protecting it. He wouldn’t want to hand it off to just anyone. Rayne removed it from his jacket and gave it to him. They clasped hands and he led her to the group.

  “He’s going to be all right,” the stethoscope man wearing soiled bunny slippers declared. He turned a discerning eye on her. “Are you unscathed, or do we need to tend to you?”

  “Rayne, this is Dr. Mac,” Tara said.

  He reached out in greeting, but Tara grabbed the crick of the man’s arm and hung onto it. When he threw her a puzzled look, she grinned and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here, Doc. Ian’s in such good hands.”

  “I’m fine, really,” Rayne said.

  “This is for you, Galen.” Patrick handed him the book. “Ian and Rayne risked their lives to get this to you.”

  “And you,” Rayne nudged him with her hip.

  Galen peered at the book. Awareness lit up his face. He accepted it with trembling hands. His pink cheeks puffed up with a humble smile, and he regarded her with sheer joy in his eyes. Her pulse quickened when he extended his hand, but Mara’s subtle nod reassured her that it was okay. Galen’s grip was firm and reassuring. “This is a tremendous find, a prize for all Pur Weir. We can’t begin to thank you.”

  Rayne leaned in and whispered, “Ian didn’t want others to know about it. I don’t know why, but he had his reasons.”

  Galen clutched it close to his chest. “Know that I will protect it with my life.”

  “Where’s Milo?” Mara said.

  “Cleaning up after you all. Honestly, did you have to track so much filth in here?” A bear of a man wearing an apron leaned a mop against the wall. The twins ran up and were swallowed in his embrace. “They just can’t get rid of you, can they?” he said to Patrick but then threw welcoming arms around him in spite of the serious eyes and gruff voice. “Now, everyone out, the boy isn’t even awake.” Milo tapped Patrick’s chest and gestured to Rayne. “You two, hot baths and fresh clothes. A warm meal is waiting in the kitchen for you all.

  “Come with me,” Tara linked arms with Rayne. “You can use my room. We’ll find something for you to change into.”

  Milo took a step toward her and extended his arms in a proper welcome.

  The twins steered her away. “We better stall introductions until you scrub that smoke off of you,” Mara said, “or you won’t hear the end of it from him.”

  Rayne sighed. It was like stepping around landmines.

  The steamy shower failed to dispel the deep chill. The tips of Rayne’s fingers prickled. Her toes were numb and her calves ached. She swallowed a few aspirin she found in the medicine cabinet.

  She retraced her earlier steps and returned to Ian’s bedroom. Other than Ian deep in sleep, it was deserted. She curled up in the overstuffed chair across from his bed and rested her head on the cushion. She stared at someone she ached to touch but didn’t dare. Thoughts about the Weir invaded her exhaustion. She ruminated on Ian’s world that few people knew about, and a career-making story that she would never be able to expose. She hoped that Ian would learn to trust her as much as she trusted him.

  Patrick wandered into the room. “A hot shower becomes you,” he tossed a smile her way then stopped next to Ian’s bed and stared at him in silence. “It’s hard to believe he got so banged up. Of course if Tadpole had been there …” He squeezed Ian’s arm.

  The heartfelt gesture triggered a pang of jealousy that took Rayne by surprise.

  “They said Ian wouldn’t be awake for several more hours, Rayne. You should try to get some sleep. With all the rooms in this place, I’m sure we can find you a bed,” he said.

  “I’d rather stay here, is that okay?” She looked at Ian. “I feel safest here.”

  “Suit yourself.” Patrick disappeared into the hall and a moment later returned with a comforter.

  She smiled in thanks and snuggled deep in its cozy folds. “The mark on Ian’s chest, the triangle with a sun inside, that’s where his power comes from, isn’t it?” She sat up pulling the blanket around her. “It’s what my father was obsessed about. Why he did what he did to me with his experiments.”

  Patrick settled on the ottoman across from her. “Ian’s is different. Only his has the sun inside. It’s the mark of the last Sar, the most powerful Weir.”

  “Is that why they refer to him as the Heir?”

  Patrick nodded. “It’s mind-blowing to absorb—trust me, I know. After what happened in Oregon, I’m getting why they want him to step up and take charge. There’s a lot of Duach out
there.” He gave her a pained grimace. “God knows you’re not in that category, Rayne.”

  “That doesn’t erase where I came from.” Emerald light reflected in the dresser mirror giving the room an underwater ambience. “How can that light be healing him?” she said, staring at the base of Ian’s bed.

  “Everything the body needs can be found in the earth.” Dr. Mac stepped out from Ian’s bathroom. A dozen lenses attached to a headgear sat on his head.

  “But how can light heal broken bones?” she asked, unable to take her eyes off the strange contraption that reminded her of octopus legs.

  “It’s not just light, lass,” Dr. Mac said. “The rich energy of the earth is always with us, surrounding us. Over the centuries, the Pur have learned how to harness it.”

  “Science and I never got along,” Patrick said.

  “Nonsense. What is the primary substance of bone?”

  “Calcium,” Rayne said. “The energy is feeding him calcium?”

  “Along with a multitude of other resources: fluids and minerals to restore his blood loss, proteins that feed his torn ligaments and muscles.”

  “But how does it get in him?” she said.

  “Why, the green glow of course.” Pride flashed in Dr. Mac’s eyes.

  Patrick stepped to the foot of Ian’s bed and turned his hands back and forth as if mesmerized at how they captured the light. “Cool.”

  “If it can heal him, why does he have those horrible scars on his back?” she said.

  Dr. Mac flinched as if struck by a bullet. He turned a pale face away from them and removed his headgear, stuffing it in his bag and batting a couple of stubborn ones to slip down inside. “By the time we perfected the boost, it was too late to help him.”

  “Who could have done such a thing?” Patrick prodded.

  “No one speaks of it,” Dr. Mac said in a guarded tone. “No one dares.”

  Rayne approached the bed and, in spite of being a couple of feet away, felt a tingling coursing through her body. The glow flickered like a dying light bulb.

  Dr. Mac stepped in front of her. “My gut tells me you shouldn’t get close.” He regarded her like an unexpected find in a Petri dish. “Let’s talk, my dear, shall we?”

  {74}

  The phone bussed. Its vibration drew Jaered out of his dreamless sleep. He groped for it on the bed next to him and answered without opening his eyes.

  “I think it best you send someone else to Oregon for the car. I’ll pick up another one here by the end of the day,” he said.

  “Aeros knows where the book is.”

  Jaered sat up with a start, alert in an instant.

  “He has plans to retrieve it,” Eve said.

  “When, did he say when?”

  “Soon, sometime tonight. That’s as much as I could get without drawing attention.”

  Jaered put the phone on speaker. He fished his boots out from under the bed.

  “I’ve had half the group searching for it for over a year. How did he find it?” Eve asked.

  Jaered paused. The reporter had it the last time he had eyes on it. Did she confide in the wrong people? He grabbed his jacket. “I’ll see what I can find out on this end and check in with you later.” He pulled out his keys and was halfway down the hall before he remembered he didn’t have a car.

  {75}

  Ian rummaged around in the refrigerator for a snack. Shocked at having an appetite when he awoke, nothing that he found in the kitchen quite satisfied the cravings. He settled on the counter stool and peeled a banana.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” Dr. Mac gave Ian a pat on the cheek that made him feel five years old, sans the lollipop, and took a reading of his pulse at his wrist.

  Milo stormed into the kitchen with Galen a few steps be-hind. He had a scroll in his hand. “They aren’t asking permission, Milo. The troops are already here.”

  “What’s going on?” Ian swallowed.

  “As if I don’t have a house full of company already,” Milo barked. “Now we have Pur soldiers running all over the property.”

  “Why?” Ian said.

  “A Pur battalion is here installing some kind of jamming device on the grounds,” Galen said.

  Ian’s clenched fist pulverized what was left of the banana inside the peel. “Who decided that?”

  “They can’t find the Duach Sar who was behind everything up there,” Milo said. “So the Primary ordered extra repellant for the estate and apparently, this fits the bill.”

  “If they install it, I’ll be virtually helpless in my own home,” Ian said.

  “We all are.” Milo grunted in Dr. Mac’s direction. “I swear, those men make as much sense as a five-thousand-dollar hammer.”

  “Not that again.” Dr. Mac threw his hands up in the air.

  “What made them think we needed extra security?” Ian said.

  Dr. Mac looked sheepish. “I told The Primary the truth about your injuries.”

  “You old coot! Why would you spill the beans?” Milo turned as red as one of his tomatoes. “You promised Ian.”

  “The Primary is no fool. The Prophesy’s claims came true. If you want to blame someone, blame the weather! The Primary assured me that the fewer people who knew about the boy’s injuries the better. He said he’d take care of it.”

  “He took care of things all right,” Milo grumbled.

  Galen poured himself a cup of coffee. “If he believed that Ian couldn’t defend himself or us, this would at least even the playing field with another Sar. And it’s an excuse for Pur soldiers to check out the property.”

  “I’m getting stronger by the hour,” Ian said. He got to his feet but the second he pushed away from the stool, the room swirled. The center of his chest sputtered like a gummed-up engine when he tried to draw warmth.

  Dr. Mac whipped out his core thermometer and took a reading. “Your core is being drained by your recovery faster than it can rejuvenate. It’s barely at twenty percent. No more dallying, straight to bed with you.”

  “I’ll walk you back,” Galen said.

  “Oh, then I’ll take this off your hands,” Dr. Mac said and grabbed the cup of coffee from Galen. He blew on it and took a sip.

  “Who’s in charge of the install?” Ian said.

  Galen uncurled the scroll. “It doesn’t say.”

  “Marcus, I would guess. He’s the one who oversees the estate and our security,” Milo said.

  “But Sebastian is responsible, globally,” Galen said. “I had assumed it was him.”

  “Find out. I want to talk to them before the install is completed.”

  Galen supported Ian at his elbow and steered him out of the kitchen. He hated how they treated him like an invalid. Everything about the past few days was to prove he could take care of himself, and Dr. Mac’s betrayal stung him to his core. By the time he and Galen started up the stairs, he saw that the doctor had everyone’s best interest at heart. Ian wasn’t invincible, as much as he thought of himself that way. His legs wobbled, and the old scholar placed a firm grip on his arm. He focused on suppressing grunts with each upward trek, unable to draw enough breath to hold a conversation until they reached the balcony and started down the hall.

  “Did you know about the experiments going on at QualSton?”

  Galen’s steps slowed. “I’ve suspected. Not just there but at other Weir facilities around the world.”

  “What they did to those creatures, all in the name of science. That’s not the Weir way.”

  “Our race is dying, Ian. It’s a bitter pill for powerful men to face extinction. When your powers turned out less than predicted you became a living symbol of the Weir’s mortality,” Galen said. “They’re counting on science to give them a second chance.”

  “DNA strands for Channeling. The Weir aren’t so magical after all,” Ian said.

  “What is science if not the knowledge to see magical things in a different way? The only aspect that separates the two—is time.” Galen opened Ian�
�s bedroom door and it swung wide into the room. “There will always be magic as long as we believe in what we don’t understand.”

  “I shot energy out of my hand.” Nauseous, Ian stopped short at sharing what it did to the back of a man’s head. He swallowed hard, but the horror at taking a life lodged in his throat.

  “In modern day, it’s called a Core Blast but known a few centuries ago as the Dragon’s Breath,” Galen said, sliding into a lecture like a pair of slippers. “Its source is the central core of the earth.”

  “It felt like getting shot with a lava mud pie,” Ian said and grabbed the jamb of his bedroom door to steady himself.

  “The moment it hits, if not fatal, it absorbs some of the victim’s own core energy and renders them temporarily powerless. In medieval times, Dragon Breath Sars were quite coveted for battle.”

  Ian stepped into the room and leaned against the dresser, unwilling to return to his bed any sooner than he had to. It felt good to be on his feet in spite of the unsteady gait.

  “I can’t fathom how you were able to shyft yourself here,” Galen said while turning back Ian’s covers on his bed. He had lowered his voice, mindful of Rayne dozing in the bedroom chair. “Shyftors can’t go more than half a mile without using a vortex stream at the point of origin. You traveled hundreds, Ian. That would have required a tremendous amount of energy draw, one I wouldn’t have guessed you capable of even in the best of circumstances.”

  “I don’t remember any of it,” Ian said. Rayne stirred in the chair. Ian shuffled over and hunkered down on the ottoman next to her. “The last thing I recall is her leaning over me.”

  Her eyes fluttered. “Ian?”

  “I’m here.”

  “You’re all right?” She peered at him through half-closed lids.

  “Thanks to you,” he said softly. She closed her eyes with a relaxed smile laced across her rosy lips. “Return to your dreams,” he whispered and watched as her breathing slowed and she drifted deeper into sleep. Ian reached out to sweep her hair away from her face but retracted his fingers. He leaned in and gently blew the strand of hair back, his breath a kiss across her cheek.

  Galen patted Ian’s good shoulder. “You’ve found love,” he said. “That is good. It’s what fuels the earth.”