Masks and Mirrors: Book Two: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

  “Once the scholars arrived, it was vulnerable. I lost focus,” he said and avoided looking at Rayne’s gown, a reminder of where his priorities had been. The sleepless nights staking out her house for a Pur Sar that never returned. Heat escaped from his core at the resulting train wreck.

  Ian stroked Saxon and scratched him behind the ear. I’m sorry I wasn’t here, he channeled. You fought bravely.

  Duach. Saxon whimpered.

  The trash can slipped from Tara’s grasp. She twisted around and stared at Saxon.

  I know the one that attacked you was a Duach Sar, Ian channeled. Fatigue dug its claws in him and wouldn’t let go. Tara took a step toward them, her mouth fell open, tears pooled in her eyes.

  QualSton. Saxon channeled. QualSton Duach.

  Tara laid a gentle hand on the wolf. The same QualSton Duach that killed Mara? she channeled.

  Ian stared at Tara. Her voice was in his head. It can’t be, Ian channeled. He’s dead. His thoughts backpedaled. Rayne survived the fall, but they had assumed the ocean current claimed the Duach. A tremendous gust slammed into the sliding glass door. A ruthless enemy had returned from the grave.

  Rayne gave him a puzzled stare. “Ian, what is it?”

  Saxon whimpered. Not dead.

  {24}

  Ian no sooner had stepped out of the vortex building than a frigid blast slammed into him. Spring came early in Northern California. Not so in the Black Forest of Germany. He pushed his exposed hands deep into the pockets of his thin jacket and followed Marcus across the courtyard. The revelation that Ian and Tara could channel through Saxon, coupled with the resurrection of Mara and Galen’s murderer, was cut short by the Primary’s summons to meet in the Syndrion chambers within the hour.

  A shared melancholy linked Marcus and Ian while ominous clouds hung heavy overhead. With every crunch of the icy snow beneath his boots, Ian’s despair grew more and more unbearable. A slight mist formed, laden with moisture. They stepped into the chamber hallway and Marcus lit a torch.

  “I allowed you to leave. I take the responsibility, Ian.”

  “I left you alone. The blame is mine.”

  “A blame to be shared, then,” Marcus said.

  More than anything, Ian didn’t want to step through that door. Every muscle ached, screaming for his feet to stay planted in place. He steeled his jaw, grabbed the torch from Marcus, and turned the handle.

  The chamber door swung wide, and he stopped. The dreariness outside heightened the gray of the ancient hand-carved walls in the room. Streaks of gold and crimson spit across the polished stone floor, a dying fire the only warmth and light in an otherwise lifeless room.

  “I thought we were supposed to meet here?”

  “That was the message,” Marcus said.

  Motion next to the fireplace. The Primary stepped from the shadows and stuck his hands in his sleeves.

  Ian struggled to read the old man’s eyes, but the exhaustion he found there camouflaged everything else. Marcus nudged Ian’s back to keep him moving.

  “Where’s the rest of the Syndrion?” Ian glanced at the va-cant Drion thrones around the massive oak table, carved in the image of the earth. “I thought we were being summoned to explain ourselves to the council?”

  “Knowledge about the Pur having the Book of the Weir has been a closely guarded secret,” Marcus said. “Even from the Syndrion.”

  “They’ll never know what slipped between the Pur’s fingers,” the Primary said. “Before you hid the book, did you make copies of it, Ian?”

  He’d been so quick to hide it, that it hadn’t occurred to him. He shook his head.

  Marcus stepped next to the Primary and warmed his hands at the fire. Ian held back and doused the torch, choosing to shiver. He counted on it to mask his trembling nerves.

  “Report,” the Primary said.

  “The compound security has been fully restored,” Marcus said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Whatever good that does against assault rifles and an expert tactical team.”

  “What of the book?” the Primary asked. “Why was it not in the safe?”

  “Nemautis had intended to return to it after dinner,” Marcus said.

  “What of the outsiders?” the Primary snarled. “Could they have been involved in this?”

  “No!” Ian stepped forward. “Not a chance.”

  “Except for those closest to you, Ian, no one else even knew about the book being in your possession,” the Primary said. “Someone must have leaked the information at some time or another.”

  The implication sent Ian’s pulse racing. The Primary could use this as an excuse to throw Ian back into isolation, and what would be Rayne and Patrick’s fate? He stepped forward. “It was my—”

  “My fault,” Marcus blurted.

  “No, Drion, I was the one who left you alone.”

  “I knew Ian had plans that took him away from the estate. I chose to keep it to myself without bringing undue attention to the compound. My troops were told I was visiting Ian for a few days. If I pulled in some of my guards, the true nature of my visit might have been questioned.

  “But—” Ian said.

  “Enough!” the Primary smashed his fist on the table. “I don’t want should-haves or could-haves. I don’t want confessions, and I certainly don’t want blame.” He faced them. His eyes reflected the flames of nearby torches. “I want my book!” His roar echoed in the vast chamber, building upon itself and engulfing the room. Ian held his breath. The Primary’s choice of words caught him off guard. “Neither of you will pursue this. I have put others more experienced with treachery on this.”

  “Primary, I understand your reluctance to send Ian, but let me lead a team.”

  Marcus’s words stung Ian to his core. Sleet struck the windows outside. “Don’t shut me out,” he said. “I’ve grown stronger over the past few months, with or without my powers.”

  “Silence!” The Primary gestured toward the windows. “Get control of yourself.” Ian took deep breaths in an attempt to calm. The sleet eased, then came to a halt. The Primary pressed upon Ian. “I forbid you to search for the book. For all we know, that’s exactly what their endgame is.”

  “But Aeros murdered four defenseless men to keep us from knowing what was in that book,” Ian said. “The answers to my weak powers.”

  “What proof do you have that it was Aeros?” the Primary asked Marcus.

  “What makes you think it wasn’t?” Marcus said.

  “He’s not the only one who would be so brazen,” the Primary said. “There’s someone else who has coveted it, who will stop at nothing to keep its secrets to herself.”

  “Who?” Ian said.

  “She is known as Eve. A cunning manipulator of Pur and Duach alike. The last thing I want is to have Ian anywhere near her.” He headed for the door.

  A powerful female Weir working with both Pur and Duach? Milo’s concerns rang in Ian’s thoughts. The scholars were struck down by Pur core blasts. Questions billowed and swirled in Ian’s head. Who was this mysterious enemy? Why would the Primary keep them in the dark? Ian focused on his breathing, the only way to stop himself from rushing after the Primary. The man’s decision to keep him at a distance gouged out a chunk of Ian’s self-esteem, but it was the Primary’s parting words that sent him into a tailspin.

  “Ian, you are to return home and remain until further notice. Your Syndrion assignments will cease until you make a decision. You either embrace your destiny and live among us as the Weir that you are, or be banned and live the rest of your days among the humans. You can’t have it both ways. Not anymore.” The door slammed with a resounding echo.

  {25}

  JoAnna dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “You’ll have my full financial backing, of course. It must be as soon as possible.”

  Patrick’s mother had dropped the bomb of the decade in their laps, right in the middle of French toast. Ian sat in stunned silence. Carlene twisted her napkin in her hands and
gazed at the untouched breakfast in front of her.

  “You can’t be serious,” Patrick said. “Ian can’t help Carlene and her son disappear.”

  JoAnna gave him a perplexed stare. “Why not?”

  “I can’t imagine how many laws that would break. What you’re asking would make him vulnerable to possible criminal charges.”

  “Carlene, why haven’t you gone to the police?” Ian said.

  “I have no tangible proof that my husband is dealing with criminals. Only suspicions, bits and pieces of overheard conversations over the past few months. He’s too smart to keep something like that out in the open. I know Richard has a safe at the house in addition to the one at his office. I haven’t been able to locate either one, much less know what their combinations are. If there’s proof, it would be in one of them.”

  “If you can throw the show together that you did last night with just two days’ preparation, you can do this and keep your culpability out of it.” JoAnna stabbed the last strawberry on her plate and gave Ian a reassuring smile. “I have complete faith in you.”

  “Ian is in control on stage,” Patrick said. “Every detail worked out to the finest point. What you’re asking—”

  “Could save my son’s life.” Carlene looked between Patrick and Ian with a mixture of sadness and desperation. She twisted the napkin tighter.

  “Tell them what you told me last night,” JoAnna coaxed.

  “Bryant had spilled juice on his father’s suit the other morning. Richard set his cell phone on the counter and grabbed a towel, but it had soaked through. He was headed upstairs to change when an airline confirmation text flashed on his cell’s screen. I checked the flight after he left for work. Two first-class seats to Brazil, at the end of the week.”

  “Naturally, I thought it was a business trip,” JoAnna said. “But—”

  “One of the tickets is in Bryant’s name.” Carlene swiped at a tear. “He’s never mentioned wanting to take Bryant any-where before. I spoke to a lawyer. I can’t stop Richard from taking Bryant. But I know in my heart if he gets on that plane, I’ll never see my son again.”

  “Who better to help Carlene and Bryant disappear than a magician?” JoAnna said.

  “What makes you believe that Richard is dealing with criminals?” Ian asked.

  “He has locked himself in his office at the house on several occasions over the past few weeks. One night, he sounded upset. I listened in at the door. He was arguing with whoever was on the phone with him. From what I could tell, he’s created a lethal drug for someone.”

  “Terrorists would be my guess.” JoAnna leaned back in her seat.

  “Whatever Richard created for this person, he said that it had turned out better than expected. That he didn’t want to limit its use. That he could kill every last one with it.”

  “Every last what?” Patrick asked.

  “Someone called the Pure.”

  Ian and Patrick froze.

  “A drug cartel, maybe. Pure cocaine, heroine?” JoAnna’s pulse skipped a few beats. Ian looked at Patrick’s mother. The color flushed from her face. She grabbed Carlene’s hand and squeezed it. “Sweetheart, did you at least hear anything else, a name, something the authorities could investigate?”

  Carlene shook her head. “I’m not sure, but I think I heard him call her Eve.”

  Ian’s fork clattered on his plate. JoAnna startled. She gave him a curious stare.

  “I’ve got to get back. I don’t dare leave Bryant alone with Richard for long.” Carlene pushed back and got up from the table. She grabbed her purse and rummaged around in it, then withdrew something and handed it to Ian.

  It was her husband’s business card. Ian did a double take at the company name and logo.

  “I wrote my cell phone number on the back. Please, help me,” Carlene said. JoAnna walked her to the door and they hugged. Carlene hurried out.

  “I didn’t sleep a wink last night after Carlene told me about the plane tickets,” JoAnna said.

  “JoAnna, what do you know about Richard?” Ian asked.

  “His company has been in his family for generations and is a leader in drug research. Richard travels the globe in search of rare or unusual plants for new breakthroughs in medicines. It’s been said that he’s a natural, has a gift for it, like his father before him. They live in his childhood home, a secluded mansion a few miles from town, much like you, Ian. I know that Alise never fully trusted Richard.”

  “Why?” Patrick asked.

  “She believed his business was the only thing he truly loved, but Carlene was devoted to him. Then, Alise fell terminally ill.” JoAnna turned away. “I’m just thankful she lived long enough to see her grandson born.” JoAnna’s back straightened and her shoulders squared. She gave Ian a piercing stare. “I owe this to Alise. Carlene has no one else to turn to.”

  A rap on the door. Patrick opened it. A porter dragged the towering cart in and loaded JoAnna’s things. She kissed Ian on the cheek, then turned and spread her arms with a step toward Patrick. “We might live on separate coasts,” she said, embracing him. “But that doesn’t mean we have to live at a distance.”

  “I’ll try harder to stay in touch,” Patrick said.

  She grabbed her napkin and dabbed at her cheek. “Let me know how I can help.” She led the porter out of the room.

  The door swung shut behind them. “I’m sorry. You’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll think of something to tell her,” Pat-rick said.

  Ian opened his palm and conjured the visitor’s tag he found in Rayne’s tree. He held it up next to the card. The company names and logos matched.

  “Where did that come from?” Patrick said.

  “I found it at Rayne’s house.” Ian stuck both items in his back pocket. “This is confirmation that her stalker and Donovan are connected.” He rushed out of the room and took off for the elevators. “JoAnna!” he shouted. “Wait!”

  Her petite hand stopped the doors from shutting.

  “We’ll help Carlene,” Ian said. “But I may not be able to do it without you.”

  Her expression morphed from gratitude to conviction. “Anything, just name it.”

  Ian and Patrick returned to the mansion and found Milo, Rayne and Tara in the kitchen. The group huddled close together at the island, the only way to be heard over the construction noise. Marcus had a crew repairing the damage to the mansion.

  Between the previous night’s attack and the commotion of the day, Milo looked on the verge of losing it. The old caretaker stood punching and kneading his dough, taking out his frustrations the best he could.

  Patrick filled everyone in on the events from breakfast be-tween shrill bursts from a power saw on the other side of the kitchen wall.

  Ian held up the visitor’s pass from Lux Pharmaceuticals. “Rayne, have you seen this before?”

  She slid off the barstool and took a closer look. “No. Why?”

  “It was stuck in a tree, directly across from your bedroom. I think it was what your stalker was after when he attacked me.” Ian caught Rayne’s quickening heartbeat in spite of the racket.

  The old caretaker slammed the ball of dough down on the counter with a whop. “You can’t seriously be considering this! If I could, I’d lock you in your room.”

  “This might be a chance to right some wrongs of the last few days,” Ian said.

  “Or put you in an even hotter seat with the Primary than you already are.” Milo swiped at his nose with the back of his hand. It left a snowy smudge behind.

  “If I get intel on this Eve and whatever this drug is that Donovan is going to use on the Pur, then I can prove to the Primary that living between the human and Weir worlds has its advantages. It may be my best chance to stop him from making me choose sides.”

  “You didn’t see how scared Carlene was,” Patrick said.

  “She’s got a three-year-old son, Milo,” Tara added.

  “You can’t convince me that this will turn out okay,” Milo sai
d.

  “If the Primary has his way, what happens to Rayne, or Patrick? He won’t protect them, and you know it,” Ian said. “This may be the only solution to saving us all.” He swept his hand across his torso. Sweats replaced his jeans and T-shirt. A finger to his bare feet. Athletic shoes appeared.

  “What are you doing?” Rayne said.

  She hadn’t been herself since the gala. Ian hoped his decision would be reassuring, but her heart had yet to stop pounding in her chest. “I need to think. I’m going for a run.” He lowered his voice. “I won’t stop until I get to the bottom of who’s after you. I promise.”

  The woe in her eyes was hard to walk away from.

  Ian let himself out the back and ran around the lake, then cut over and disappeared into the woods. He passed a handful of Pur guards patrolling the grounds. They had all but sur-rounded the estate. If the Primary prevailed, Ian feared they might never leave.

  He sought to rid himself of the draining, suffocating self-doubts created by his recent mistakes and turned toward the ocean cliffside, welcoming cramped muscles and burning lungs as his act of penance, seeking forgiveness from no one but himself. Nature offered solace as the sun beat down on his troubled soul. The longer he ran, Ian managed to stifle the guilt at the loss of the book, but he couldn’t erase the image of Nemautis’s face when Ian had pulled back the zipper on the body bag. Every time his thoughts fell to the Primary’s ultimatum, his heart slammed into his chest. Could he live as a human and turn his back on his Weir destiny, knowing that the earth and everything and everyone who roamed across it would suffer for his selfishness? Did he have it in him to forfeit everything, everyone in his life and embrace his role and duties to the Weir? To Earth?

  For the past few years, he’d fought to live life on his terms, believing that he could have the best and thus give his best, to both worlds. In so doing, had he ultimately failed?

  An hour later, he stopped and sat on an outcropping in the cliff’s edge. The weight lifted, and he cleared his head with each gulp of air. Mesmerized by the sparks of sun teasing the ocean waves, the roar of the crashing surf below proved to be the perfect canvas. His thoughts fell to the one thing he could control.