by Sue Duff
A tree’s branch dipped and scraped across her windshield. It left a muddy scribble that her wipers smeared into a striped path on the glass. Between the swipes, Ian disappeared into the trees.
She glanced at the ebony surroundings. The towering trees obliterated the rising moon’s luminescence. Where are you going? We’re in the middle of nowhere, she thought as she suppressed the irritation. She glanced at the clock in the car.
She got out, closing the door as quietly as she could. When Rayne approached Ian’s Jeep, she saw what had drawn his attention. Three quarters of the base of the felled tree appeared smooth. Someone had taken a saw to it then left the rest to gravity.
Rayne returned to her car and rummaged around until she found a warm jacket but, to her dismay, little else. Not even a pair of warm gloves. Confidence rose when her hand touched upon a flashlight. Dead batteries snuffed it out.
“Some investigative reporter you’re turning out to be,” she grumbled.
Waves crashed against the cliffs in the distance. The rumbling ocean sent shivers coursing through her body.
Rayne set out. A few minutes morphed into several. She rehearsed what she would say if he did, indeed, catch her wandering. Oh come on, admit it—snooping, Rayne thought to herself And probably trespassing, too. She could get arrested for this. Or expelled. She didn’t know which would be worse.
Her stomach declared war on her abdomen. She groped in the pockets of her jacket, counting on a forgotten granola bar. Her hand touched on something hopeful but grasped an empty package.
“Ow!” She stopped and lifted her foot.
Not finding anything to explain the slight burning sensation at her ankle, she worried about what might be lurking in the dark for the first time since leaving the shelter of her car.
The breeze sent a strand of hair sliding across her face. She swiped it back, then hesitated and squinted into the dark at what looked to be a sizeable structure. Partially obscured by a thicket of trees, it sat several yards ahead.
Determined to make sense of this nightmare trek, she headed for the building but at motion in the trees, she stopped cold.
A branch snapped up ahead. A dark figure moved through the brush.
{8}
The hoot of an owl greeted Ian when he stopped behind a thick trunk and drew upon his senses. To his dismay, he picked up on Rayne trudging across the forest floor. Snapping twigs and scuffling feet filled the gaps between her occasional, unmistakable grunts and moans.
Stubborn, he decided, definitely stubborn.
His mood grew somber. Nearly out of time to reach the building, he scolded himself for leading her on this game in the first place.
Where are you?
Ian paused at the twins’ channeling. He connected his thoughts with theirs and waited where he stood.
At approaching steps, he asked Tara, “Where’s Mara?”
“Here,” Mara said behind him. “Are you nuts? You knew she was hiding near the front gate.”
“Why didn’t you go out the back?” Tara said.
“It seemed like a fun distraction.”
“Put your hormones in your pocket and get to the warehouse.” Mara waved her gun in his face.
“Keep your hormones in your holster,” he countered.
“Ian, you can’t be late for your meeting,” Tara said.
He hesitated at her tone. “What’s going on?” He looked between them. “Why are you out here?”
“We went for a walk.”
“Do I look like a schmuck?” he said. The girls stared at him for a second then stifled giggles. “What,” he said, clinging to his anger in spite of their amusement. “I heard Patrick say that one the other day.”
“Are you using it right?” Mara holstered her gun.
He looked down and kicked at the ground.
“We’ll take care of the reporter,” Tara said. “Ian, you can’t be late.”
“Send her on her way, but be civil about it.” Ian looked at Mara when he said it. “Be cautious, I’m not convinced we’re alone out here.”
Their eyes widened. “Why?”
“A falling tree almost hit the Jeep.”
“Yeah, we saw that, so?” Mara said.
“It wasn’t by nature’s hand.” Ian took off on foot through the trees, not willing to shyft and risk being spotted in the dark. When he reached the structure, he scanned the surrounding area before entering.
The door closed and locked with a loud clank. It would open again only to his touch.
The familiar drip, drip, drip of the leaking pipes down the hall in the boiler room floated in and out of the enveloping darkness. He relaxed, as if welcomed by a trusted friend’s voice.
Ian’s footsteps echoed in the barren corridor on his way to the room. A shiver overtook him near the end of the hall. Whether it was due to the extreme cold or the upcoming encounter beyond the doors, he couldn’t tell. The girls’ odd behavior and the Primary’s impatient summons contributed to his brewing disquiet.
Resolved to get it over with, he waved. The heavy doors opened.
The electromagnetic field rippled through his body as he peered into the pitch black and made his way along the wall. The last thing he needed was to be transported, unintentionally, to wherever the Primary resided.
The Primary always came to him.
The intensity of the sensation was a reminder of when the Syndrion brought him and the girls across the Atlantic by private yacht as children. The journey had taken them through the heart of the Bermuda Triangle. The power of the area frightened him, but they kept him there for a few days learning to harness and appreciate the earth-based phenomenon.
He had lost his fear of the energy long ago.
Absolute silence filled the vortex chamber. Ian leaned back against the wall and pressed his palms against the surface. Attuned to the various energies of the earth, his nerve endings tingled from the magnetic pull encircling the room. It energized him in a way the outdoor, uncontained field at the property’s eastern border never could. He closed his eyes, leaned his full weight against the wall, and absorbed the earth’s power into his core.
The unknown kept him alert, but fear was Ian’s constant battle. It came from lack of control, the inability to change the inevitable. He had spent his life fighting for control. Would this be the day it was permanently ripped from him? He remained focused on the molecular dance surrounding him. The atmospheric pressure shift behind his eyes wasn’t a good omen. A storm was on its way.
{9}
At the glint of moonlight on metal, Rayne paused and stared into the shadows of the trees just ahead. Reason told her it wasn’t Ian. The drumming of her heartbeat rang in her ears, and she felt more vulnerable than ever. A dark figure wove in and out of the thick trees. The subdued flash of light repeated itself. Someone was walking ahead of her. She saw something in the figure’s hand. A cold trickle ran down her spine.
A presence from behind—a hand wrapped around Rayne’s waist as another pressed across her mouth. “Don’t make a sound,” a voice hushed next to her ear.
One of the twins approached from the side and stepped in front of her. Tufts of her white hair stuck out from under a thick wool cap. The girl held a gun. She brought a finger to her lips then gestured toward the figure in the trees.
Rayne nodded. The hand slipped away from her mouth, and the girl grasped her hand. “Come with me. Be very quiet.”
The gun-toting twin headed in the direction of the intruder. When she stepped between two trees, the shadows engulfed her.
Dragged through the forest at a rapid pace, Rayne struggled to stay on her feet. When the girl paused at the edge of the grove, Rayne bent over to catch her breath.
“Keys,” the girl said and held out her hand.
Rayne didn’t comply. “Which one are you?”
“Tara,” she said and stopped next to Rayne’s car.
“What’s going on?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You’re being evict
ed from the property.” Her eyes narrowed and she thrust her hand toward Rayne. “Keys.”
She held them up but didn’t hand them over. “Who was in the trees?”
“Funny, I was going to ask you that question.”
“I don’t know who it was,” Rayne said.
“You didn’t sneak someone onto the property to take pictures of Ian?”
“No, of course not.” The skeptical look on Tara’s face warned Rayne she wasn’t in the clear.
“Don’t make me ask a third time.”
Rayne tossed her the keys, and Tara got in the car.
“I can drive myself,” she said, getting in the passenger side.
“That would involve trust, something I’m lacking at the moment.” Tara studied the dash. “Headlights.”
Rayne leaned over and turned them on. “Careful, there’s a huge pothole in the road.”
“I have bigger concerns than your alignment at the moment.”
{10}
The change in molecular movement prompted Ian to open his eyes. A pale emerald glow came from the center of the room. He pushed away from the wall, sorry the tranquil moment was over so soon.
The Primary’s image emerged at the center of the cloud. The man’s head and upper torso appeared as if blinds were opening from the top down. He faced Ian as a more complete form but failed to take on solid mass. Wisps of lingering gas and mist danced around the room like woodland fairies tickling at his ears and shoulders.
It had been almost two years since they’d last met face-to-face. The Primary looked to be no more than sixty years of age. Ian suspected he was much older, a Greek god in his flowing white tunic, as ageless as a statue.
The Primary’s expression, as always, was serious—but over the years, Ian had learned to read his eyes. Tonight they seemed concerned, with maybe a touch of something else.
It looked like fear.
A moment of clarity struck that put everything into perspective. Ian relaxed. “She’s just a rookie reporter,” he said. “I can handle this without you and the Syndrion getting involved.”
The Primary scowled. “Don’t treat this as a trivial nuisance. Her inquiries confirm that you’ve gone too far. You can’t continue living in the open like this. It’s not your anonymity that is the Syndrion’s ultimate concern, Ian, it’s your safety.”
“I fought too hard to have what little freedom you’ve allowed. I’m not going to be imprisoned on this property just because you and the Syndrion get spooked.”
“It’s not without reason.” Anger glistened in the Primary’s eyes, but they soon turned serious. “An embodiment of darkness has entered your realm.”
The old terminology heightened Ian’s wariness. He stepped forward, absorbing the Primary’s words. “The Duach have found me?”
“The Syndrion’s most dreaded fear has come true.”
Howling winds stirred outside the structure. The Primary cleared his throat, and Ian walked the perimeter of the circular room. With every step, the winds died down.
“We’ve known for some time that a powerful leader has been laying the seeds to gather the Duach together. His minions refer to him as Aeros,” the name trailed off in a hiss. “A large group of his followers are known to be in your area.”
“I thought the Duach rarely gather,” Ian said.
“This is why they took us by surprise. They appear to be uniting, and doing so near you. This behavior is disturbing and unfamiliar to us.” The Primary scrutinized him through the green cloud. “Have you felt any symptoms of their presence?”
Ian’s chronic depleted energy and the core pain in the alley plagued him, but he shook his head. He wasn’t about to admit weakness.
“That is fortunate,” the Primary said. “If a Duach Sar is leading them, you may suffer from the Curse without warning.”
A Pur Sar and a Duach Sar cannot unite—they must stay apart. The Prophecy’s words, drilled into Ian as a child, surfaced. He raised his fist to his chest and pressed in at the memory of the crushing pressure from the previous night.
“In lieu of the events, do not separate yourself from the Channels. They must be with you at all times. If one or more Sars are in the Duach’s group, you’ll feel a tremendous energy drain to your core.” His voice drew a sharp edge. “One you won’t be able to ignore.”
Ian’s gaze fell to his feet.
“We’re trying to gather information to isolate their whereabouts,” the Primary said. “They are elusive, coming into the area then leaving, only to return at random intervals. We’ve yet to make sense of it.”
“The Duach appear as human as us,” Ian said. “How do you hope to locate them at all?”
“Our Pur scouts can track their collective energy. But once they disperse, they enmesh themselves into the world’s mass population as effectively as we do.”
“There are different ways to hide,” Ian said.
“You would know.” The Primary stuck his hands in his sleeves. “I don’t believe this to be a random occurrence. You haven’t reached your twentieth year. You are still quite vulnerable.”
“Why did you wait to tell me?”
“Your powers have not developed as predicted. The Syndrion knows all too well that you are not ready to face the Duach.” The Primary’s image faded. “Return to the mansion and remain there. I’ve alerted Milonius to increase security at the compound. Stay alert and continue to prepare yourselves until I contact you with further instructions”
Pitch black engulfed the room.
Ian walked down the corridor while absorbing the turn of events. His only true enemy was on his doorstep. How the Syndrion would respond to that threat—kept his nerves raw.
The door closed behind him with a tremendous clang that echoed down the valley on the coastal breeze. The nip of twilight stimulated every nerve but failed to lift the weight he carried with him.
The forest appeared still and calm, the sounds of the night were as they should be. He walked back, taking his time.
“Mr. Paparazzi’s gone.”
Mara startled him and he jumped. Unease swept over him as if the life he’d taken for granted no longer existed. “You saw a camera?”
“Yeah, but I’m still not buying that he was a snoop.”
“You were born paranoid,” Ian said with waning confidence.
“Someone’s got to watch out for you.” She ejected the magazine from her handgun, perused the full load, then jammed it back inside. She chambered a round. “Milo texted. Patrick snuck out to go looking for us. He’s wandering around out here. I’m going to release some tension before I bring him home.”
“Mara, don’t.”
“You know he squeals like a girl.” She cut across the path then vanished between the trees. Ian didn’t have the energy to go after her. He reached for his cell to warn Patrick but remembered he hadn’t brought it with him.
Mara, behave, he channeled. No response.
Rayne’s essence lingered in the moist air. Ian drew a deep breath and it filled his head. He followed her scent back to the Jeep and found his despair fading the longer his thoughts were of her.
{11}
The moment the car slowed and swerved around a pothole, Jaered took a few shots of the reporter’s license plate with the camera.
The close encounter left him unnerved in a way he hadn’t felt for quite some time. Unbridled memories pounded at the door of his suppressed emotions, and a tremor formed in his hand that even a clenched fist couldn’t tame.
There was no sign of the Heir. Jaered packed the ops cam-era in his pack then hiked to the outer boundary where he’d left his car. He located the correct cell phone and pressed the code. It rang twice.
“Report,” Eve said.
“The Duach haven’t made any further move against him. I suspect that last night was merely a test.”
“If Ning is with them, there isn’t much time,” she said.
“My plan to flush out what powers the Heir has developed wa
s derailed. She was here.”
“How could she find him?”
“His superhero escapades are increasing. Maybe she’s been tracking them.”
“Keep a level head, Jaered. She can’t get close to either of you.” Her tone stung more than the words. “Being your wife’s mirror image, doesn’t make it her. Are you keeping your distance?”
“Of course.”
“Make sure it stays that way.” She broke the connection.
Jaered sat in the shadows of the car battling the suppressed memories. His beloved bride ripped from him, forever robbed of what they could have been. What they should have had. The horrific nightmare took form, and her screams filled his head as his face absorbed the scorch of flames.
The crisp air in the cab soon brought a soothing numb, and the flashback eased into his reality. He rubbed his face to erase the imagined heat then started the car. The second he reached the highway, he turned up the stereo in a feeble attempt to keep thoughts of her at bay.
{12}
Dip, step, strike, counter, left heel.
“You’ve known, all this time.” Ian leaned toward Mara’s face, their sabers locking. The Primary never let on that he and the girls had shared information without Ian’s knowledge. It explained so much.
Mara pushed away from him without responding. She pivoted around, striking with her backhand. Ian countered and swung out at Tara, who approached from the sideline.
“What made him finally tell me?” Clang—scrape.
“We asked him to.” Mara entered the strike zone.
“More like pleaded,” Tara said.
Mara lunged. “Our efforts to get you to stay away from the public—”
“—have only caused tension between us.” Tara twisted away after striking.
Ian paused. “How did you know the Duach were involved?” A look passed between them, but they remained silent. He turned his back to them. “Milo.” Ian glanced up to catch their reaction in the mirrored wall, their downcast eyes confirmation enough. “He figured it out.”
“The number of victims has escalated in the past few weeks. They’ve put you at greater risk of discovery,” Tara said.
“It can’t be a coincidence. What if they’ve been baiting you?” Mara said.
