by Sue Duff
Ian closed his eyes, instinct fighting to bury the memories once again. He strained to keep them at the surface. “I remember people rushing in, shouting before I passed out.”
“Some of us stopped the torture.”
“How old was I?”
“Six.” The Primary’s voice faltered. “A mere child.”
“Sebastian had it backward,” Ian said. “My powers didn’t surface when I was in peril. They surfaced when someone I cared about was.”
The Primary stared at something down the path. From the look in his eyes, he had wandered a million miles away. “You’ve learned much over the past few days,” he said.
“Ever since Mara and Galen’s deaths, I’ve felt more alive, as if more connected to the earth.”
The Primary stood and regarded Ian with squared shoulders. “Then their sacrifice was not a waste.”
“They weren’t sacrificed, they were murdered,” Ian said.
The Primary pressed his palm against Ian’s chest. “No matter how tempted you may become, never forget that you are a servant to the earth, not man. Let your core guide you. Earth has waited countless centuries for you. You’ve only to open yourself to her.”
“What of Sebastian’s claims?” Ian said. “In all my instruction, no one’s ever mentioned an eminent Armageddon.”
The Primary scowled. “Nothing but a myth.” He stepped away and headed down the path. “I equate it to the end of the Mayan calendar and other such superstitions.”
“Are you so sure? Aeros is gathering an army with his prophesies. Sebastian believed, so much so that he betrayed the Pur because of it.”
The Primary stopped and turned on Ian with lethal decisiveness. “Make no mistake, Ian, Sebastian’s betrayal was never so noble. Beware of perpetuating his self-indulgent doc-trine. You will only succeed in making him a martyr instead of the traitor that he was.”
The Primary’s unwavering conviction did little to chip away at Ian’s doubts.
“Galen was one of only a handful of Weir capable of deciphering the Ancients’ tongue. I suspect that is the reason he was killed,” the Primary said. “I am searching for others. Once I gather a team to study the book, I’ll notify you. Then you will have your proof that Sebastian’s claims were manipulation and nothing more.” The Primary pushed his hands into his sleeves. “Who knows it’s here?”
“Those still at the house.”
“Let’s keep it that way, especially where the outsiders are concerned,” the Primary said.
“Those outsiders risked everything to bring it to us. I would trust them with my own life.”
“Now that they know of the book, you trust them with much more.” The Primary cleared his throat. “I already have a team searching for possible candidates.”
“What candidates?” Ian asked.
“You are in need of a new set of Channels.”
“No.”
Ian stepped away but the Primary stopped him with a firm hand. “Your aura gives you away. Mara’s loss has affected your core. You must have protection. If not the Syndrion at your back, at least an intact set of Channels by your side.”
He pulled his arm out of the Primary’s grip. “Who I need by my side is already here.”
“A half does not make a whole,” the Primary said.
Ian walked ahead focused on the steps that in a better world would distance him from a past he yearned to outrun, toward a destiny he hoped to make his own. Atmospheric pressure built but deep breaths managed to stall the rain. At a fork in the path, he came to a halt. So much had become clear over the past few days only to be woven into a web of roiling confusion and doubts.
When Ian rounded the lake a few minutes later, laughter and howls came from up ahead. Rayne was with Saxon on the patio.
The Primary stood still, watching her from the water’s edge. “She is a threat to you, Ian,” he said as Ian approached from behind.
Stunned, Ian met up with him and tried to read his eyes. The pulse in his neck throbbed when he couldn’t. “She’s more of an asset.”
“A double-edged sword then,” the Primary amended.
“I won’t get cut,” Ian said.
“I have no doubt that you will get cut, many times over.” The Primary headed for the patio. “Just make sure none of them are fatal.” He climbed the steps and nodded a greeting at Rayne, then let himself in through the kitchen.
Milo’s voice floated out the opened door. “What the … where the hell did this sack of bones come from? Ian!” The Primary shut the door on Milo’s rants.
The wolf paced around Rayne, his eye on something in her hand.
Ian grimaced. Had Saxon kept a piece of the Drion for himself? “What’s that?” he asked as casual as he could.
“Milo gave me one of his soup bones for Saxon.”
She thinks me a dog, Saxon channeled.
“You know, Rayne, he could easily tear your arm off to get it.”
She laughed and held her hand out toward the wolf. “You know what I want.”
How bad do you want it? Ian channeled.
The animal stopped pacing. The wolf raised his paw and Rayne shook it. “I only wanted to say thank you for saving all of us.” She offered the bone. He snatched it with a growl then leapt away. “Did you tell him to give in?” She gave Ian a skeptical look.
“No,” he replied. Her expression only intensified. “Honest.” He plopped down on the chaise across from her and hid his grin.
She looked at the back door. “He wants me gone, doesn’t he?”
“The decision isn’t his to make.” Yet, Ian wondered who he was trying to convince.
“I nearly killed you,” she whispered.
“You saved me. It took a lot of courage to do what you did.”
“I’m a Duach. You’re a Pur.” She gave him a pained smile. “As Pur as they come.”
“You and I may not have turned out as our elders expected, but it’s our decisions from this day forward that will define who we are,” Ian said.
She gazed down at her hands. “What future could we ever hope for?”
He dropped to one knee in front of her, filled with longing, a hunger to embrace what he never could. “One worth fighting for.” Unable to gather her hands up in his, he did the only thing he could. He gazed into her eyes. “I will do everything in my power to find a solution for us. All I ask is that you … believe.”
In that shared silent moment, Ian knew that she loved him, even before he watched her lips mouth the words. He saw it in her eyes.
Warmth blanketed the winter’s air and sheathed them in soothing comfort. He opened his hands. A swarm of butterflies emerged, rising on rainbow wings. They flitted about Rayne and she chuckled at their frolic. He waved a finger. The largest one dipped in and brushed her cheek with the tip of its wing, delivering his tender kiss. She pressed her hand against the spot and the smile she gave him ignited his chest, her love enveloping his core. He savored its afterburn.
Voices rose from the house. The others had gathered in the kitchen for dinner. Milo would poke his head out at any minute.
“There’s something I have to do.” Ian set the jamming re-mote on the table. “I’m going to be gone for a couple of days.”
She tilted her face and gave him a coy grin. “Something tells me I’ll be hearing that a lot.”
He headed down the patio steps and paused at the bottom. “Do me a favor and don’t say anything until after I’ve left.”
Rayne shook her head. “That part’s not going to go over so well.”
Ian returned to Galen’s classroom. Anxious to discover the breadth of the newfound powers, the public forest land beyond the southern boundary was vast enough for his quest. He ventured deep into its interior and didn’t stop until he reached a granite cliff.
A slice of the rock face like a Neanderthal’s brow jutted out high above. It offered the perfect location to hide the book. He left Saxon at the base and expertly scaled the curtain of granite, pul
led himself over the edge, and placed the sealed package in a crevice out of sight from below. He covered it with a slab of stone recessed into the face. The only eyewitness was the majestic eagle Ian left to stand guard from her nearby nest.
He and Saxon walked together in silence while he played with the wind, stopped up streams with invisible dams, and built a log lumberjack for amusement. Saxon growled at it until Ian flicked his hand and it toppled over in a heap. The wolf trotted off as if claiming the victory for himself.
When they came upon a shallow cave, Ian shed his clothes and left them inside. The damp cold bit into him, but he warmed his core and his muscles relaxed. He crouched down and scratched Saxon behind the ears. Teach me what it means to be wolf, he channeled.
Saxon snorted. Try and keep up. The wolf sprinted ahead.
***
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I hope you enjoyed reading FADE TO BLACK, Book One: The Weir Chronicles! For bonus material specific to the book series and to be added to my author email list to receive notices about book events, the latest news on upcoming novels in the series, and more, visit my website at www.sueduff.com. Be one of the first to share with friends and post reviews!
Don’t miss book two of The Weir Chronicles series
coming spring 2015. Title reveal December 2014!
His breaths heated the air. Silence filled the space between them as her emotions ran amuck and stilled her tongue. Rayne’s head spun, her pulse quickened the longer the ghost was near.
He groaned and pushed away from the wall then stepped to the opposite side of the room. “Is he going to be in town?”
“Who?”
“The Heir. Is he going to be around for the next few days?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “He doesn’t always know himself.”
“Make sure he is.”
Her hackles rose. Rayne didn’t know if it was his demanding tone, or the painful reminder. “What if I can’t?”
He turned threatening eyes to her. “Convince him.”
“Why?”
“I can’t …” He hesitated. “I can’t stand watch over you anymore.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said.
“You’re far from safe.”
“Who are you?” she said, but bit her tongue when it sounded like pleading.
“A ghost,” he hushed. “I’m nobody.”
“At least tell me your name,” she said louder—insistent—needy.
The handle moved and the bathroom door opened. He reached out. It slammed shut. The handle jiggled. A muffled voice came from the other side.
“Please,” she said gently and took a step toward him.
He met her halfway and paused in the middle of the room, under the light. The mask couldn’t conceal it. Rayne knew a tortured soul when she saw one.
Anguish spilled from his eyes. “Jaered.” He spoke the name so soft; Rayne didn’t know if she had imagined it. His hand waved. The bathroom door burst open.
A man fell into the room and stumbled between them. He startled when he saw Rayne. “You must be drunker than me,” he slurred.
She ignored him and stepped to the side. Jaered was gone.
Acknowledgements
My story began with a skiing accident that ripped up my knee. Inspired by Denver radio morning host, Dom Testa, and his stories about writing, I turned on the word processor to combat the boredom. I would have stopped there if it hadn’t been for my sister, Barb, falling in love with the story and characters and convincing me not to keep them to myself. My creative writing instructor, Bettyann Moore Appleton, taught me confidence, in addition to her syllabus. The Tattered Cover writer’s group: Mark, Chad, Bob, Tim and assorted others, kept the manuscript afloat with their support and feedback over the years.
Thank you to Linda, Erin and Kristi, the brave, generous friends who read the early attempts, and my invaluable beta readers, Wendy and Matthew, who swept up the last of the final draft’s crumbs.
If it hadn’t been for author friends, Kristi Helvig and Wendy Barnhart Terrien, I wouldn’t have stepped out of my comfort zone and taken the final leap.
Steve Parolini at Novel Doctor was a patient teacher, and awesome editor. Stephanie Wardach, an accommodating and delightful copyeditor, put her polish on the final draft. Karri Klawiter applied her magic and gave it an eye-catching, grab-off-the-shelf face.
I must recognize my high school science teacher, Mrs. El-eanor Davies. It was her contagious love for the incredible wonders of the planet that gave the story its heart.
Thank you to my son for fending for himself without com-plaint while I lived in front of my computer. My sisters, nieces, nephews and countless other family members were there with constant words of encouragement. Thank you, mom, for the love of books, but more important, reading, and dad, for teaching me to believe in myself.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When not saving the world one page at a time, Sue works as a speech therapist. She enjoys taking her octogenarian dachshund for strolls and stretching her creative juices in the kitchen. A Colorado transplant, she savors the incredible seasons, but appreciates that Mother Nature spares her from shoveling the driveway, too often.
Fade to Black is her first novel.
Book cover designed by Karri Klawiter, Art by Karri
Author Photo by Liz Garcia
