Masks and Mirrors: Book Two: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

When his diatribe ended the girl standing next to Tara nodded. “Yes, we are very, very busy,” she said in English.

  Tara smiled and stepped toward the scaffolding. Her sultry tone left Rayne stunned. “Bazl, let me show you what Ian has in mind.”

  The shadow’s erratic movement stopped directly overhead. “I don’t care what he has dreamed up this time. I’m busy. The gala is in two days. I have orders, many orders.”

  “Since when are you too busy for a challenge that promises to showcase your amazing talents?”

  “My awesome talents have been showcased on his stage for three years.”

  “It’s only one teeny, bitty dress.”

  “Now you’re mocking me and my talents!” A stomp on the slats and a fine mist of dust rained overhead. “Nothing I do is miniscule.”

  “So you don’t want to look at what Ian sent over in this box?” Tara held it out in front of her.

  His tone smoothed. “What of it?”

  “Just as you find inspiration in nature for your custom de-signs and one-of-a-kind masterpieces, Ian, too, is inspired by the wonders of this world.” Tara stepped toward the bleachers. “Don’t you want to see his latest?”

  “You have closets of my work, why do you stress me so?”

  “It’s not for me.” Tara motioned for Rayne to step closer. “It’s for her.”

  The man’s head poked between the railings like a bird from a nest. Dark, wide eyes peered at Rayne. An eyebrow raised under slicked-back hair that glistened in the bright light. His glare relaxed as he drank her in. His eyes darted up, then down, then up again. He brought a finger to his lips and tapped. “Bring me the box.”

  Tara handed the suit bag to Rayne then climbed the steps with a sway, all the while smiling at him as if taunting a lover. Rayne didn’t know what to think. This was a side of Tara she’d never seen.

  She paused in front of him and offered the box with a deep bow, then ceremoniously placed it at his feet. She removed the lid. From his shriek, Rayne couldn’t tell if he was thrilled or offended. Bazl’s eyes flew open and he clasped his hands. “I’m as much a genius as he is.”

  “A shared love of all that is natural,” Tara said.

  “These are exquisite.”

  Tara smiled. “Exquisite, yet, inspirational?”

  He rushed past Tara, barking what sounded like orders in Chinese, and waved his arms at the women. They came alive.

  Bazl entered a small wire cage at the far end of the structure and pressed a button. It descended to the bottom of the scaffolding with screeching gears and he stepped out, heading for Rayne. Curiosity trumped etiquette and Rayne stared at the man, not more than four feet high. His orange hair and freckled face clashed with his custom-tailored suit.

  Tara returned the lid to the box and hurried down the stairs.

  The man stopped an arm’s length away and paced around Rayne. A sound much like humming blended with his steps. “How long?”

  “Thirty-six hours.” Tara removed an envelope taped to the suit bag that Rayne held. “There are some additional instructions for his tux.”

  He snatched it from her, ripped it open, and pulled out the handwritten sheet. He scoffed. “Ha! Impossible.”

  A sensuous smile laced Tara’s lips and she cooed, “Bazl, have you not yourself claimed that the word impossible would never be a part of your lexicon? Your genius keeps you at the height of your game.” She waved the box. “I know that look. You are inspired.”

  Bazl grunted. It must have been a signal because the girl reached out and took the box from Tara. The old woman stepped forward and thrust out her hand. Rayne passed her the suit bag. The two assistants scurried away.

  “Get naked,” Bazl commanded. He turned on the ball of his foot and stomped off. “He will pay dearly!” he shouted.

  “He knows,” Tara purred.

  {9}

  The Primary’s image floated at the center of the vortex chamber. He wore a simple tunic that hung loose instead of his formal Grecian robe. The spider-web creases and dark circles surrounding his brown eyes had deepened in the past couple of months.

  Ian stretched. “I retrieved the book. The scholars are settled and have begun to study it.”

  “They are the last of the Weir elders capable of deciphering the Ancient’s dead language,” the Primary said. “It took some negotiating. They never venture far from their abbey.”

  “I think they came to honor Galen,” Ian said. “And to have a chance to say goodbye to their fallen colleague.”

  “I’ve requested that the Prophecy passages be translated first, to put an end to your nonsense about a looming Armageddon.”

  “Sebastian was very convincing,” Ian said.

  “Then you shouldn’t have wielded your revenge and killed the traitor before he was interrogated.”

  The Primary was grouchier than usual. It put Ian on the alert. “Milo and Drion Marcus have the estate locked down tight. The jam is at full force.” Ian rubbed his chest. He hated how the jam signal shut down his core powers, but even worse, at full force, the irritating grinding was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. “Why did you send Marcus without his troops? There’s not many of us to protect the book.”

  “The less involved the better.” His tone adopted an edge, “The Duach and the human are your responsibility.”

  Ian didn’t reward the slight with a response. There wasn’t anything he could do to change the Primary’s attitude about Rayne and Patrick. He’d always view them as outsiders, and a threat.

  “You are to remain at the mansion and guard it until their initial review is completed.”

  Ian nodded but averted his eyes. The Primary wouldn’t ap-prove of him attending the charity event. “I’m looking forward to being home. The assignments were becoming tedious.”

  “Your assignments have been carefully chosen to help you gain knowledge, Ian, to provide firsthand experience of what the Weir have dealt with for centuries. We hoped you would develop additional powers in the process.”

  “My hearing, sight, and smell have heightened,” Ian said. “The ability to recall what my senses experience is new. I can replicate bird and animal sounds, natural scents. I’ve also learned to draw and direct the core blasts better.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe. I’m testing a theory. It would help if you would give me a heads up about what to nurture. Why do you continue to keep information about Weir powers from me?”

  “They cannot be forced but must be discovered naturally. It is our way.”

  Well, it’s stupid, Ian kept to himself. “The Weir’s laws about hiding our powers, even from each other, may have been necessary for survival for hundreds of years, but I would think I’d be an exception.”

  “Being born the Last Sar guarantees your safeguard and sanctuary, but no one is above Weir law. Your twentieth-year milestone is next month. Additional powers could surface during your ceremony.” The Primary’s image faded. “If the Ancients’ Prophecy holds true, you will discover all that you need to protect the earth. No more, no less, and in your own time.” The room darkened.

  “I hate it when you hang up on me,” Ian muttered in the pitch-black room.

  Ian stepped into the vortex stream at the center of the chamber and appeared in Rayne’s kitchen. He let himself out-side and walked the edge of the property. The erratic beat of her heart the previous night had given her away. Something had her scared.

  He crouched next to a pine tree and listened. Nature hummed in harmony. A change in molecular energy from be-hind. Ian bolted upright. Arms wrapped him in a vice.

  Ian struggled for a foothold, but whoever the Sar was, he was strong. He pulled Ian off the ground, twisting him around. Unable to loosen the man’s grip, Ian kicked against the tree and rammed the back of his head into the assailant’s face.

  “Ugh.” The man managed to stay on his feet but heaved Ian off to the side.

  Ian hit the steep slope, rolling over and o
ver, then slid several yards farther downhill. “Shit!” He grasped a passing limb of a bush to steady himself and shyfted. Ian leapt to his feet at the top of the hill.

  The Sar was gone.

  A gale whipped through the trees spraying leaves and pine needles into the air. Ian searched the grounds while struggling to control his anger. The wind eased but failed to come to a complete stop. A Sar was at Rayne’s house. Who? Why?

  The clouds rolled in like a looming wave. A small rectangular shadow rocked across the lawn, then melted into the graying overcast. Ian looked up. A thin object dangled a few yards overhead in the sparsely branched tree. He grasped a sturdy limb and swung himself up.

  He climbed the rest of the way and grabbed the object.

  Scuffs in the bark along the thick limb told Ian the wind hadn’t displaced it. Why would anyone be up here? he wondered. The location offered a partial view of the dining room, the east end of the patio and backyard lawn, and directly ahead—Ian gritted his teeth—Rayne’s bedroom and balcony. The curtains were drawn and obscured any details inside her room. He started to climb down, then dropped the rest of the way.

  The hanging object was a company visitor tag clipped to a lanyard. Lux Pharmaceuticals. Ian traced the logo with his finger, certain that he’d never seen it before. He pulled out his cell and pressed Tara’s contact. She answered on the first ring. “We need to talk. I don’t want Rayne to hear.” Muffled voices. A minute later, traffic noises.

  “What’s up?” she said.

  “Rayne has a stalker. A shyftor. He must be Pur because the Curse wasn’t triggered.”

  “Why would a Pur Sar be stalking her? The Syndrion?”

  “Stick with her and don’t let her out of your sight until I figure out what’s going on.” Ian hung up and leaned against the tree with a heavy heart. Wind kicked up the nearby debris. The clouds grew ominous.

  {10}

  Jaered dabbed at the blood on his lip. It wouldn’t stop seeping, and it throbbed like hell. The bedroom’s privacy curtains allowed one-way views of the outside. The Heir sat in the tree and looked right at him. Jaered didn’t flinch. It was the same spot Jaered had sat guarding Rayne on many nights. Once she found her father in Oregon and discovered who she was, it was only a matter of time before others discovered what she was. Ning turning up alive, and here, had sent Jaered’s concern into hyperdrive.

  A couple of minutes later, the Heir climbed down.

  An alarm went off in Jaered’s head. The Heir had Jaered’s visitor tag from Donovan’s facility. Unable to find it that morning, Jaered had retraced his steps—and accidently appeared behind the Heir.

  He touched his lip and winced. He needed ice.

  Jaered reached the bottom step of the staircase, but froze. Someone was in the kitchen. He pressed against the wall and stole a glance around the corner.

  The Heir had his back to the doorway. He tore off a piece of tape and pressed a note to the oven door, then hopped up onto the counter, taking the ID with him. He shyfted in an emerald cloud.

  Jaered grabbed an ice cube from the freezer and held it against his lip while he read the note.

  Rayne and Zoe,

  Pack some things and feel free to either hang out at the mansion or let Tara check you into a hotel in town. My treat. I’ve arranged for the kitchen repairs and insist on putting you up for the next couple of days to avoid the hassle and mess. Hope all is forgiven, Ian.

  Jaered’s core ignited and icy water moistened his shirt. He grabbed the pen and drew a line through the mansion option on the note. Like hell he was going to place her in the same location as the book. His cell vibrated in his pocket. It was Eve. He hesitated, then answered.

  “You’re not where you’re supposed to be,” she said.

  “I’m tying up some loose ends,” he said. “I’m headed to the hotel now.”

  “You’re the only one in a position to keep that formula out of Aeros’s hands.”

  He massaged his temple to ease the pounding headache. He needed to refocus, but first he needed some aspirin.

  “What time is the meeting?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow, during the party.”

  “Everyone has a price, Jaered. It’s your job to find out what Donovan’s is.”

  It was the way she said his name that gave Jaered pause. What was her history with the CEO?

  “Are you prepared?” she asked.

  “All but the clothes on my back,” he said.

  “Off-the-rack will get you noticed in this crowd. There’s a tux in your hotel room along with the invitation.”

  He didn’t bother to ask how she knew his size. Jaered measured the damage with the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t going to be as invisible as Eve hoped. “Ning’s here,” he said. Silence. She didn’t know. Jaered pressed his hand against his bruised ribs. “He paid me a visit. He’s been hired to kill someone in town.”

  “Who?” Eve asked.

  “Didn’t get that far. He knows Rayne can drain core power. He’ll grab her if he can.”

  “Your priority is to keep the formula out of your father’s hands and get a sample to me. Leave the Heir to protect what’s his.” She hung up.

  That last bit stung worse than his lip. Jaered shyfted and appeared inside his car at the bottom of the hill. There was no sign of Ning. As far as Jaered could tell, he hadn’t been followed. He settled against the headrest and surveyed the quiet neighborhood, wallowing in memories that refused to stay suppressed whenever Rayne Bevan invaded his world.

  The sun’s rays baked the inside of the cab and the warmed air morphed into searing flames, peeling the skin away from Jaered’s hands as his vivid memories took hold. He let go of the heated steering wheel and rubbed his face to erase the nightmare. He started the car and mulled over options. How could he protect Rayne in the days ahead?

  {11}

  Rayne stared at the ceiling, afraid to move her head. What-ever they spread over her had hardened, and the itch under her breast was torturous. “Does he create casts for everyone he designs for?”

  “Bazl prefers them over live clients.” Tara said. “He works fast.” She hesitated. “A little too fast. Ian suspects that he has a Weir partner behind the scenes.”

  “A Sar?” Rayne furrowed her brow, confused why a powerful Weir would choose to use his gift to create clothes.

  “It explains why Bazl won’t use anything but natural materials,” Tara said.

  “Have you ever heard of such a power?” Rayne asked.

  “There’s a lot about the Sars that us common Weir don’t know. They’ve always been a secretive bunch.”

  “And the fat mannequins?”

  Tara chuckled. “Not all of Bazl’s clients are as tiny as you.” She leaned on the edge of the vat and rested her chin on her arm. She stared ahead.

  “You and Mara must have spent a lot of time here,” Rayne said.

  Tara bit her lip. “I miss her every day, with every breath.”

  “I get why Ian can’t take me on his assignments,” Rayne said. “But why you? It’s what you and Mara had trained for.”

  “He blames himself for what happened to Mara and Galen. He’s afraid of losing anyone else he cares about.” Tara tilted her head and gave Rayne a gentle smile. “But there’s more to it.”

  “What?”

  “I think he keeps me home to guard who he cherishes the most.”

  Rayne had consciously been reaching out, to be there for Tara ever since her sister’s death. It hadn’t occurred to her that it could be the other way around.

  “Ian needs to lighten up,” Rayne said. Heat spread across her skin and beads of sweat tickled in too many places to count. “His paranoia makes me feel like a victim.”

  “Ian would die if anything happened to you. He loves you more than the world itself.”

  “He’s never said it.”

  “He’s afraid of how he feels,” Tara said. “He’ll always be forced to put the earth’s needs above everything, everyone else.
Even at the cost of his own heart.”

  The warehouse doorbell rang in the distance. The older Asian woman shuffled past.

  Rayne closed her eyes. “I hunger for him when he’s away. I ache when he’s near. I never thought that love could be so painful.”

  “It would be different if he could take you with him. Be able to share the best of what the world has to offer,” Tara said.

  “There’s still a chance for you to go with him on his assignments and help him protect Earth. I will always be left behind.” Rayne’s throat tightened. “He can’t even kiss me goodbye.”

  A door slammed. Loud voices. Angry footsteps carried up the wooden stairs.

  “What the hell is going on here?” The familiar voice came from the top of the landing.

  Tara pushed away from the vat. Her expression morphed from startled to guarded in an instant.

  Rayne moved to look, but the hardened plaster around her neck made twisting impossible. “Zoe? What are you doing here?”

  “Humph.” Zoe stepped into view. Rayne blinked. Her roommate’s fuchsia pigtails were gone. From the looks of it, Zoe had cropped her hair close to her scalp and colored it blacker than a witch’s cat. “Why do you look like you’re covered in my brother’s dried snot?” Zoe asked. She fingered the Kiss Me, I Voted button on her jean jacket lapel.

  “They’re making a cast of her to create a custom gown. Ian’s taking her to a charity masquerade ball,” Tara said. Zoe poked the cast, then knocked on it. “You followed us?” Tara’s relaxed smile did little to deflect the tension in her voice.

  Zoe pursed her lips and lifted her chin. “Maybe.”

  Tara’s jaw bulged. “Aren’t you the resourceful spy.”

  A revelation struck like a tidal wave and Rayne bit her lip. Did Tara consider Zoe a threat?

  “Subtract two place settings for you. No wingman for me.” Patrick tilted the cell phone for Milo to see Ian’s text. The old caretaker grunted and returned to kneading his dough, but with louder slaps and deeper punches.