Fade to Black: Book One: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

“There’s an enclosed field on the mansion grounds. Can he shyft?”

  “No. I’d have to take him.” Jaered looked down at the Heir’s draining pallor. He checked his pulse. “He’s going into shock. There could be bone fragments, internal bleeding.” Her silence on the other end of the line wasn’t encouraging. “Did I mention he’s dying?” A dark swirling mass of gray formed overhead. The atmospheric shift pressed upon him like a vice. “Wherever you are, you’re going to feel the Prophecy rain down on us at any minute.”

  Lightning struck a tree. He held out the phone for her to hear the roaring echo. The wind picked up and turned into a howling fury in an instant.

  “I’ll send the coordinates to your cell. Jaered … without a vortex, the trip will drain you.”

  “I know.”

  Eve broke the connection.

  Jaered protected the Heir’s body from flying branches. At the text tone, he stared at the screen and committed the numbers to memory.

  “Who are you?” Rayne asked with hunched shoulders against the onslaught in a tone that morphed into curiosity.

  “I’m a ghost who was never here,” he shouted over the ravaging storm. “Your story is that he shyfted home. Have them send help to the closed vortex as soon as you can find them. They’re probably in the Acoustics building at the base of this hill.”

  A fireball rose into the evening sky at the same time a deafening explosion rocked one of the buildings across campus. Gunfire. Shouts. The sound of helicopters in the distance.

  “Get away from the facility as soon as you can.” He pointed at the book. “Protect that at all costs. Don’t let anyone know that you have it.”

  “What about Ian?”

  He gathered the Heir in his arms. “Pray he makes it there alive.”

  She bit her lip and gazed upon the Heir’s face. Her hand paused within an inch, a loving stroke swiping at air.

  An ache ripped Jaered’s heart in two.

  She turned crystal-blue eyes upon him. “Thank you.”

  “I was never a part of this, do you understand? No one can know about my help. No one.”

  She nodded. Dust outlined tearful streams down her cheeks. She stepped back. “Thank you,” she cried as the wind captured her words and swept them away.

  Jaered couldn’t tear his eyes from her as he drew the tremendous amount of energy into his core, preparing to shyft hundreds of miles without the support of a vortex. Rayne raised her arm to knock away debris. He shyfted.

  They reappeared in a dark room. He sagged under the weight of the Heir’s limp body and his drained core. Jaered laid him out in the enclosed vortex then felt for his pulse. A weak intermittent throb was all he could detect. The second he scooted back, the energy field engulfed the Heir and an emerald glow filled the space.

  He fell back onto the floor and found himself in a circular room. The ceiling rose into a triangular alcove that sparkled like the sun shimmering across a blanket of virgin snow. The concentrated energy ignited every nerve in Jaered’s body. He drew the circulating power into his own drained core.

  Renewed, he got to his feet and approached steel doors. The Heir coughed. Jaered stole a glance, but his color remained drawn and he didn’t move.

  He cracked open the double-wide doors. Except for nearby dripping, silence filled the dark building. A long hallway lay ahead.

  A dim stream of moonlight led him to the end of the corridor. Jaered paused at the outside door and looked beyond the thick glass. The vast forest surrounding the building brought assurance that he’d get away undetected. By the time help arrived, he’d be miles away.

  Jaered gripped the handle but it didn’t give. He closed his eyes and drew energy into his hands. The handle didn’t budge. Baffled, he stood back. “Oh to hell with it,” he grumbled and drew energy to shyft. He was rewarded with a punch in the center of his chest that knocked the breath out of him.

  Tension snaked up his spine. By the time it reached the base of his skull, Jaered’s pulse ran at full throttle.

  He was trapped inside the building.

  {67}

  Ning opened the safe and grabbed the files, tossing them in the direction of the growing pile. A euphoric madness had set in at losing Aeros’s beloved book, and it took the incessant beeps of the delete program on the computer to snap him out of it. He found himself staring at the computer screen. With a chuckle, he tossed it into the middle of the room.

  A bonfire would be much more satisfying.

  Winds howled and smashed against the window. A high-pitched whine rattled through the duct work. He paid little heed, focused only on cleaning house and erasing any sign of Aeros’s interest at QualSton.

  The security office intercom came alive. One of the guards shouted something about a breach.

  The beating of massive helicopter blades drew him to the window.

  Five Black Hawks were landing in the open, with another three hovering in the air disgorging troops in full battle gear rappelling down like spiders—gunfire—a full assault.

  Ning’s failure lay before him. There should have been twice the number of helicopters, four times the Pur troops. He hadn’t made the rendezvous. He didn’t hand over the book to the Syndrion traitor as payment for their delivery.

  The bulk of the Syndrion didn’t show up for the party. They would live another day.

  The universe shrunk in a heartbeat. There was no place Ning could hide that Aeros wouldn’t find him. He had to retrieve that book. A scattering of men in Pur Syndrion robes emerged from helicopters. The traitor would be among them.

  No time to spare, he gathered up the last of his items and tossed them on top of the heap. Thoughts raced with impractical possibilities that kept his spirits up. He opened his palm, but his power denied him. Words spewed at the dead scientist for making Ning impotent in his hour of need. He dropped his head back and drew upon the smell of burnt flesh rising at his feet. The dead receptionist’s scented candle gave him hope, and he found a book of matches in the bitch’s drawer.

  It had been years since he had set a fire the old-fashioned way.

  Saddened that he couldn’t stay and walk among the flames, absorbing the heat that fed his soul, Ning headed for the elevator. A punch in the center of his chest stopped him. He scrambled for a dark corner of the reception room and pressed deep into it, clutching his chest in futility. Nothing could ease the Curse’s effects or its inevitable warning to the Pur Sar who triggered it. Ning had barely freed his gun from his holster when his entire body numbed to the Curse and his thoughts clouded.

  The elevator door opened with a ding.

  Relieved of the worst of the effects, Ning pushed against the wall and stood but struggled to remain focused with the haze swirling in his head. The Pur traitor’s power kept the Curse from dropping them both but made it nearly impossible to function. The elevator door remained open. Light from inside cast the traitor’s shadow on the polished metal elevator doors across from it. The shadow held something in its hand. It looked like a remote control.

  Reality slammed a bat at the back of Ning’s head. How could the traitor use his power when Ning couldn’t?

  The traitor’s silence seeped into the open space and wedged between them with a razor’s edge. Ning scoffed. “What are you waiting for? Do what you came here to do.”

  “I want to know why,” the traitor said in a steeled voice. “Why I risked everything but will walk away with nothing.”

  “Harcourt believed his science could control the Heir without me.”

  “He believed he was a dead man. You gave him no reason to think otherwise.”

  “I answer to Aeros, not Harcourt,” Ning hissed. “Certainly, not you.”

  “What of the book?”

  Ning sobered and held his tongue. This traitor’s power was no match for Aeros’s, but his master coveted the power this Drion possessed for good reason.

  “You don’t have it.” The traitor’s accusation rang like a death sentence.

  “I
t was gone when I went to retrieve it,” Ning said. “I sent someone after it, but they haven’t returned.” The dull ache in his chest transformed into a jackhammer. Fireworks filled his head as his thoughts cleared, and the full effect of the Curse slammed him to the floor. He gripped his chest and peered at the man’s shadow on the doors. The traitor didn’t appear to be affected in the least. “Stop it, old man,” he slurred.

  “I’ve given up everything to align myself with Aeros,” the traitor snarled. “That book is as important to me as it is to him. If you value your life, you’ll bring it to me before dawn.” The traitor tossed a uniform out of the elevator that landed in a heap on the floor.

  Ning picked it up. A Pur guard’s insignia stretched across the shoulder. The pain lifted in his chest. The dull haze returned. “I don’t know where it is.” He rose to his knees with Harcourt’s daughter front and center in his thoughts. “But I know who does.”

  {68}

  “Something’s wrong,” Tara said. “The frequencies are shut down. Why can’t we channel with Ian? He should be close enough.”

  “We got service!” Patrick punched in Ian’s code and held it to his ear. The repetitive ringtone was maddening. “Come on, Ian, pick up.”

  “It sounds like a full-scale battle out there,” Allison said.

  A massive boom beyond the walls of the Acoustics building rattled the stairwell railing. Distant gunfire.

  Pounding on the back door. “Allison!”

  She rushed to the door. “Dr. Orr?”

  “I’m here with Pur guards. Let us in.”

  She pushed it open. Dr. Orr rushed in and hugged her. His tie had been removed and encircled his head, knotted at the back like a sweatband. A rifle hung from his shoulder. By the metallic smell coming from its direction, it had been recently fired.

  “Are you all right?” Orr arrived with the same guard that had rescued them in the control room.

  Patrick gave the scientist two thumbs up, sorry that Ian was missing the mouse-turned-lion.

  “Is there any word on the Heir?” Tara asked.

  “No, not yet,” the Pur soldier said. “We’ve restored satellite links. Your cell phones should be working again. Drion Marcus said to stay put and he’d be in touch.”

  “Allison, we need your help with the scientists and their staff,” Orr said. “You know the humans better than most of us. You can help us keep them calm.”

  “We’ve caught Duach posing as Pur scientists and others hidden among the humans,” the Pur soldier said.

  “There’s been more Duach working among us than we could ever have imagined,” Orr said. “They must have been infiltrating us for years.”

  “How are you able to tell anyone apart?” Patrick said.

  The Pur soldier held up a thick penlight and clicked it on. A prism appeared on the opposite wall. “We shine these into their eyes. If they’re Pur, the irises are rimmed in green. If they’re Duach—”

  “Red,” Orr piped in. “A genetic marker that I’ve missed. The technology is quite brilliant. I wish I had developed it.”

  Allison turned and gave Patrick a tight hug. “I hope you find the Heir soon.” Orr clutched her hand and they left with the soldier.

  The door slammed shut. Silence drifted between Tara, Ma-ra, and Patrick. The three of them released a simultaneous sigh.

  “No way are we just sitting here,” he said.

  “Hell, no.” Mara jumped to her feet and helped Tara up in one fell swoop.

  Patrick exited ahead of them to hold the door. The moment he stepped outside, a wall of debris smashed into him. Nearby trash cans tipped over as gusts of wind swiped at them and sent them rolling, metal scraping against asphalt.

  “No,” Tara cried and gripped Mara’s hand in hers. “Do you feel it?”

  “What?” Patrick spit a dead leaf out of his mouth.

  “It’s Ian,” Mara said. “He’s hurt.”

  “Seriously hurt.” Tara knocked a flying cardboard box away.

  “This Duach says she’s with you.” Two Pur guards approached. One held Rayne in his grip. The other guard held the penlight. “Drion Marcus said to check it out.”

  “Let her go,” Mara said. “She’s a friend.”

  “But she’s Duach.” The guard flashed the light in her eyes.

  Rayne batted his hand away. “Stop doing that!”

  “We know she’s Duach, but she’s not from QualSton. She’s been helping us,” Tara said and held out her arms, beckoning. He let go. Rayne and Tara embraced. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  “We’ve been worried.” Mara rubbed Rayne’s back. She gestured with her gun for the guards to leave.

  Rayne pulled away. “It’s Ian, he’s …”

  “We know,” Patrick said. “Where is he?”

  “Something about home, a closed vortex. Send help,” Rayne said.

  Tara pulled out her cell and stepped off to the side. “Milo, get to the northern vortex as soon as you can. Ian shyfted there. He’s hurt bad. Get Dr. Mac.”

  A white wolf stood at the base of the hill.

  “Everyone, stay back,” Patrick yelled and stepped in front of them.

  “That’s not gonna happen.” Mara pushed him aside and raised her gun, then took aim.

  “No!” Rayne shouted and grabbed her arm. “He helped me, he helped Ian. He’s a friend.”

  “Patrick told us about the experiments on the animals,” Mara said without lowering her weapon. “It’s covered in blood.”

  “It’s not …” Tara said.

  “It’s not Ian’s,” Rayne said. “It belongs to the wolves that attacked us.” She crouched and flung her arms around him. “His name is Saxon.”

  Marcus approached with the two soldiers. “We’ve secured the campus, but we’re still sweeping it for explosives. They rigged all kinds of booby traps.”

  “Is the Syndrion okay?” Mara asked.

  He gave her a curious stare. “Why would you ask that?”

  “From the sounds of the battle, we thought you threw the entire council and their troops at this place,” Tara said casually.

  “The Primary, Sebastian, and I led the first group. The rest of the Syndrion were held back. Their numbers were only going to be brought in if needed.”

  “That’s good,” Rayne said.

  He scrutinized Rayne with a discerning eye. “You’re a Duach.”

  “She helped us uncover what’s been happening here,” Tara said.

  “I wasn’t raised Weir. I’m just a student, really,” she said and stepped in front of Saxon. “Teacher’s assistant.”

  “Her father sacrificed himself to set us free.” Mara threw an arm around Rayne’s waist and pulled her close.

  The old general grunted. “Tell me that isn’t one of the test subjects.”

  “He not only saved Ian’s life, he saved mine, too,” Rayne said.

  The general’s eyes narrowed. “You know where Ian is?”

  “He’s back at the mansion.” Tara held up her cell. “He’s hurt. Milo’s getting Dr. Mac.”

  “Then we need to get you home ASAP.” Marcus turned to one of the soldiers. “Get me a chopper, and then I want you to …” his voice trailed off as they wandered away.

  The moment they got out of earshot, Tara leaned in. “What of the book?”

  “What book?” Patrick said.

  “Shush,” Mara hissed.

  “Do you know who you can trust?” Rayne said.

  “Honestly?” Mara rubbed a finger across the barrel of her gun. “No.”

  “We need to keep up appearances until we do,” Tara whispered.

  “Then it’s best you don’t know,” Rayne said. “Go on ahead. Patrick and I will go back separately.”

  “Hell, no. They’re our ticket out of here,” Patrick said.

  “She’s right,” Tara rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. It left a dark smudge. “I’ll make sure you can leave with Drion Marcus’s approval.”

  “He’ll
be suspicious,” Mara said. “We need to give him a reason.”

  “Make it about packing up the show equipment,” Rayne said.

  Mara grabbed at her sister. “Come on, we’ve got to get back to Ian.”

  “Be careful.” Tara hugged her. The girls took off across the lawn.

  “I don’t want to spend hours behind a wheel,” Patrick said, confused about the turn of events. “I vote for helicopter over a car.”

  “You don’t understand, Patrick. I’ve got something that no one else can know about.”

  He wasn’t sure he had heard her right. The facility had turned from a battle ground into spurts of chaos. Spotlights flashed across the grounds and in the trees. The gunfire had ceased. Patrols took over tracking down the Duach in the area.

  “Come on.” Rayne led him to the base of the hill and retrieved a package from a space between the rocks. “This is important to Ian. I need to get it back into his hands. You aren’t Weir. I think you’re the only one I trust with this.”

  Patrick took the book from her and stared at it.

  “Ian called it the—”

  “Book of the Weir.” He looked at her with a surge of energy feeding his exhausted limbs. “Rayne, this is huge.” He glanced around. “Beyond huge.”

  {69}

  Pounding at the outer door drew Jaered out of his stupor.

  “Ian,” a muffled voice shouted from down the hall. “Ian, you’ve got to open the door so we can get in.”

  Perplexed that they wouldn’t have a spare key to the building, Jaered stared at the Heir and then it hit him. You’re the key.

  The longer he studied the Heir’s face, the more noticeable the color change. His core was gaining strength. The howling winds and thunder had begun to settle.

  A chuckle rattled Jaered’s chest at the irony of it all. He was so screwed.

  The Heir moved his hand across the cement floor, and a shallow gasp split his lips apart. A wail full of agony and pain erupted when he rolled onto his side. Rapid and shallow breaths eased it enough that he continued in his attempts to get up. The second he stumbled out of the vortex, the glow extinguished. Darkness.

  Jaered slipped out of the vortex room and into the dark corridor but left the door ajar. He listened for the Heir’s progress and tried to judge if he was going to make it on his own. With every shuffle of the Heir’s steps, Jaered backed up until a door stopped further progress. A doorknob pressed into the small of his back. He reached behind and tried the knob. It wouldn’t budge. Jaered pushed his shoulder against the door but a loud creak sang out, the door protesting without opening. He stood still, listening for a change in the Heir’s groans or the pounding at the outside entrance.