Masks and Mirrors: Book Two: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

  “The powerless Duach still believes he’s in control. Said my head isn’t in it. The bottom-feeder Weir doesn’t wield one of Earth’s greatest powers. How can someone so common, so meager, appreciate the game . . . ,” Ning lifted his face and breathed deep, “. . . the hunt. The ultimate power that comes from knowing you can take a life any time it suits you.” Ning stood and watched Donovan exit behind the hospital liaison. “I understand he’s pitted us against each other. Whatever he’s promised you, don’t get your hopes up.” Ning left a few steps behind Donovan.

  Jaered shadowed the assassin. Ning hung back near the emergency room entrance smoking a cigarette. When Donovan walked out several minutes later, Ning followed him across the street, but they didn’t enter the parking garage. They stood off to one side, talking. Jaered couldn’t get close enough to hear without being detected.

  He cautioned himself on the way to his car not to overreact and give Donovan reason to question him. For now Rayne was safe as long as she stuck with the Heir. If Jaered was going to get the serum sample for Eve, he had to get to the wife before Ning.

  He sat behind the steering wheel, gazing at the hospital and calculating what could have happened to Carlene Donovan and her son. There was little doubt that the Heir was behind their disappearance. “Fuck!” He slammed his fist into the car door. What made them get involved?

  {33}

  Patrick rapped twice, paused, then once. The door opened. Carlene shielded her eyes at the glare.

  “Your chariot awaits.” Patrick said.

  She unlatched the metal cart doors and swung them open. Bryant grinned from ear to ear. “I do good hiding Mommy?” he asked with the sucker stick twitching between his lips.

  Carlene gathered him into her arms and gave him a cocoon of a hug. “The best ever.”

  “I like hide and squeak. Let’s play again, Mommy.”

  “Hide and squeak?” Patrick asked.

  “The metal cart had a squeaky wheel,” Carlene said. “Maybe another time, okay, Bry? We have somewhere we need to go.”

  “I transferred the car seat.” Patrick opened the back door of the SUV. Carlene took a step out, but froze at the security camera overhead. “No worries,” Patrick said. “This whole wing is shut down—electricity, everything, because of the construction.”

  Carlene strapped Bryant in and climbed in the back with him. She grabbed the change of clothes on the seat.

  Patrick got in and closed the door.

  “I hungry, Mommy.”

  “It’s been a while since he ate. Can we stop somewhere or is that not okay?” Carlene asked.

  “Let’s get closer to our destination and then we’ll see what we find,” Patrick said, and buckled his seat belt. He drove through the maze of the hospital complex while she shed the nurse’s smock and changed. She exchanged Bryant’s sticky striped shirt for a fresh one from her purse. When Patrick pulled out onto the main street, a sigh from the depths of her soul escaped.

  “You okay?” Patrick asked. When she didn’t respond, he let it go, but kept stealing glances at them in the rearview mirror.

  She brushed Bryant’s cheek with the back of her hand. “There was something about Richard that was different from anyone else I’d ever met,” Carlene said softly. “Confidence, charisma. He opened up my world, helped me see the wonders of nature. He had such a love of plants and knew amazing things about them.”

  Welcome to the Weir, Patrick kept to himself. He grew pensive. There was something about their race that attracted you to them. It wasn’t only their dedication to the survival of the planet, it was how connected they were to the wonders of all things natural. It was through Ian that Patrick knew the Pur, the peaceful, dedicated side of the Weir race.

  “For so long, I believed in Richard and his vision for the company,” Carlene continued. “I thought he would save lives, not find more efficient ways to kill them.”

  Patrick gripped the steering wheel. If only he could tell her that the darker side of the Weir, the Duach, had chosen to break Weir tradition centuries ago. Richard’s choice to use whatever connection he’d inherited for self gain had been hard-wired into him, long before he’d met his wife.

  “I want Daddy,” Bryant mumbled while playing with a toy dinosaur.

  Carlene’s chest heaved. Her eyes glistened with moisture. She leaned in and kissed his head. “We’re not going to see Daddy for a while, remember?” She scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned closer to Patrick. “Everything is happening so fast. I haven’t known what to say. How can I make him understand?” Carlene gazed at Bryant in silence for a few minutes. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you back to the hotel.” He found her shocked expression in the mirror. “It’s part of Ian’s greater plan. You’ll see.”

  “What greater plan?” she asked.

  “Ian doesn’t want you running for the rest of your life, looking over your shoulder. The first stage was to get you and Bryant safe and out of Richard’s reach. Part two is about to commence.”

  {34}

  Tara’s hospital exit was timed perfectly. She’d switched out the black wig for one that matched Carlene’s color and style, put on sunglasses, and left the hospital still wearing the nurse’s smock. Donovan’s Mercedes sat idling at the entrance to the parking garage while he waited for traffic to open up. Tara walked to the rental car parked a few feet from the emergency room doors, in plain view, and slipped inside. She pulled out of the lot. The Mercedes’s blinker switched from left, to right. Donovan settled two cars behind her.

  Once Tara hit the highway, her adrenaline rush took over and she relished in the acceleration. If she didn’t have to keep the latest silly wig on, she would have preferred to open the convertible and allow the surge of air to rob her of her breath. Fast enough and it would be almost as good as skydiving—almost.

  Donovan was hardly a match. The man wouldn’t get off his cell phone.

  Mara had been the better driver, but Tara, too, had been well trained by Marcus’s Pur guards. This leg of Ian’s elaborate plan reminded her of the old gangster movies she and Patrick occasionally watched late at night. For the first time, she pondered if that’s where Ian got the idea.

  “Come on, make some kind of effort,” she pouted, but swallowed the rest when a sedan pulled alongside Donovan’s car. He gestured, and the second car pulled ahead picking up speed. The sedan maneuvered its way closer . . . closer. She slammed on the accelerator and swerved between two SUVs, but when another car switched lanes, the sedan pulled alongside Tara. A large gorilla of a man was behind the wheel. He glanced in her car, then said something to the hooded man in the backseat. The gorilla brought a cell up to his ear and let up on the gas. The sedan dropped back. Donovan’s car took the next off-ramp and disappeared.

  Tara held her breath. Had they gotten a good enough look at her to know she wasn’t Carlene? When the sedan settled three car lengths behind, Tara held out hope that her disguise had held up.

  She contemplated calling Ian about the new glitch, that someone other than Donovan was following her. This part of Ian’s plan needed an eyewitness. Did it matter if it was Donovan, or a couple of his men? She decided to play it out.

  A few minutes later, Tara exited the highway and pulled into the seldom-used wharf area. The towering storage units cast foreboding shadows across everything they touched. Her final scene couldn’t have a better movie set.

  Adrenaline licked her spine. The best part was coming up.

  Tara verified that the second sedan pulled into the wharf. Forced to keep her speed at a minimum, she steered the car between tight rows of rusting shipping crates.

  A core blast slammed into a crate beside her.

  “What the hell?” She found an opening between stacks and stomped on the accelerator, headed for the water’s edge. She pushed the rental from fifteen to sixty in a heartbeat. A crimson core blast struck the trunk.

  Chills coursed in her veins. Her furtive glances in the rear-v
iew mirror were more hindering than helpful. Keep your eyes on the road, she chastised herself, and gripped the wheel with both hands.

  Her target loomed ahead—a straight shot—fifty feet to go.

  A hooded figure ran to the edge of the pier. He pushed back his hoodie. Flaming tattoos covered his bald head. His smile spread. Tara could never forget those teeth. Ning! Mara’s murderer. A swirling core blast appeared in his open palm. Tara twisted the steering wheel. The car swerved—too sharp—too fast.

  To her horror, the car rolled—how many times became a blur before it came to rest on its side against a warehouse wall. Tara coughed and opened her eyes. Thoughts swirled and she fought to keep her wits. Ning’s laugh, straight from her nightmares, off in the distance. She groped to release her seat belt.

  Warmth. Tara reached for the button. Flames raced along-side the carriage outside the window. Soothing warmth gave way to sweltering heat. The explosion consumed everything.

  {35}

  Jaered’s cell tickled his thigh. He paused at the caller. Why was Yannis calling him? He was supposed to be overseeing the serum production at the lab. “What?” Jaered said.

  “I just heard from Donovan’s man, Kurt. Your deal is off with Donovan. The wife is dead.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jaered pulled into a nearby parking lot and sat idling in the truck. “When?”

  “I just hung up with him,” Yannis said.

  The buzz in Jaered’s head grew louder, drowning out the throb at his temples. He’d failed to get what Eve had commissioned out of the CEO. Jaered dropped his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you know where Donovan is?” he hissed through gritted teeth.

  “The police station. You’ve got to admit, the guy has balls. Donovan’s filing a missing person’s report.” Yannis said.

  Jaered’s core sizzled in the center of his chest. “Find out which precinct.”

  Donovan headed for his Mercedes. The second he settled in the driver’s seat and closed the car door, Jaered appeared behind him and grabbed his shoulders.

  They reappeared in the vacant office building. Jaered let go. Donovan jerked, then collapsed on the floor with a shriek. A few chipped desks, broken chairs and bits of trash were scattered about. Yannis had found the dilapidated building and had given Jaered the coordinates.

  No one would hear Donovan’s screams.

  It took the CEO a few seconds to recover from the effects of the shyft. He rose on shaky legs. “What do you want?”

  “What you promised me,” Jaered snarled. “You squeezed me out of the equation.”

  “You were dragging your feet. I liked Ning’s terms better,” Donovan said. He brushed himself off. “Once she tells me where my son is, he’ll finish her off and I won’t have to hand over my serum to you ahead of time.”

  Jaered paused. “You didn’t sic him on her?”

  “I put him on her tail. That’s all.”

  Yannis pushed away from the wall. “Your man Kurt called. Ning killed her.”

  “What are you talking about?” Donovan said.

  “That’s what happens when you make a deal with the devil,” Jaered snarled.

  “You lie. You’re trying to trick me.”

  Yannis swiped at his cell phone screen. He turned it around. A video played. Firemen working on a blazing car.

  Donovan’s smug expression transformed to rage. “Where’s my son?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Jaered said. He drew power into his core and swiped his hand, lifting Donovan off his feet and toppling over the chair. Jaered was on him before he could rise. “You have no one to blame but yourself,” Jaered hissed and grabbed Donovan by his collar. “You’re going to give me that formula, including the key ingredient. Now!”

  “Not until we find my son!”

  “That wasn’t the deal. Your wife is dead, whether by an-other’s bloody deed or mine no longer matters. Hand it over, or you will join her.” Jaered got off him and walked away.

  Donovan made the mistake of sucker-punching him.

  Jaered spun around and grabbed the man by the throat. He pressed him against the wall and lifted him off his feet.

  “You still need me,” Donovan rasped. “The serum is being manufactured in two different locations.”

  “Yannis,” Jaered hissed between gritted teeth. “What is he talking about?”

  “I only know about the ones at his lab,” Yannis said. “Those have been on schedule ever since I arrived last week.

  “The key ingredient. It’s being produced at another site. Combine the two and you have your deadly Pur cocktail.”

  Jaered thought back to Donovan’s phone call outside the children’s boutique. He wasn’t trying to keep up with the shipment at his facility. He must have been worried about the second one, off-site.

  Donovan struggled. His face turned a sickening shade of purple. Yannis grasped Jaered’s arm. “Kill him before we know for sure, and your father will come after us both.”

  Jaered gathered his wits. He let go. Donovan slumped to the floor and grabbed his throat, coughing while sputtering bits of stomach contents across the carpet.

  Jaered bent down next to him. “Don’t ever make the mis-take of touching me again. You mess with me”—he leaned in—“you mess with Aeros.” He rose to his feet. Yannis stared at Jaered without a lick of emotion. No doubt, the man had seen his father do much worse. “I want the key to the serum. Where is it?”

  “The second I give up the other location.” Donovan rolled onto his back. “I’m a dead man.”

  “All I want is a single, viable dose of the serum, to test it on a powerful Sar. To reassure my father. That is, if you want to get paid.” Jaered avoided looking at Yannis. Jaered cautioned himself to limit what he said in the man’s presence. “Where do we go to get a usable sample?” Jaered hissed.

  “My office safe,” Donovan said and glared at Jaered with seething hatred.

  “Get cleaned up. I expect to get past the front gate with nothing more than a nod and a smile.” Jaered left them and went into an adjoining office. He leaned against the wall and breathed deep. The heat in his core took its time to soothe. He hadn’t lost his temper like that in forever. He unzipped his jacket in a feeble attempt to cool his core, along with his mind.

  Try as he might, Jaered couldn’t shake what had been weighing him down for the past several months. The longer he fought what his father was, the more he became his father.

  {36}

  Ian paused at the edge of the stage and stared at Patrick’s text as if he’d read it wrong.

  Tara hasn’t checked in.

  Rayne closed the storage room door and locked it. “That’s the last of the equipment,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she walked over and peered out between the thick, heavy curtains at center stage. “Your auditorium is creepy when it’s empty and the lights are off.”

  “Ian!” Marcus bellowed. He approached from backstage. “God damn you. What were you thinking, sneaking away from the estate? You’ve been gone for hours. You’re in enough trouble as it is!”

  “He had a performance at the Children’s Hospital today. He couldn’t disappoint them,” Rayne said with the perfect amount of innocence.

  “He didn’t get permission to leave,” Marcus said.

  “Would you have granted it?” she shot back. “He’s practically a prisoner in his own home.”

  “He needs to at least appear as if he is honoring the Primary’s orders.”

  What’s happened to Tara, Ian wondered, as his racing thoughts took him away from their conversation. Had he expected too much of her? Did he misjudge her skills?

  “Ian, get your face out of that cell phone and convince me that covering for you is worth the Primary’s wrath.”

  “Ian?” Rayne asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Tara. Something’s happened. I need to find her.”

  Marcus grew rigid. The former general kicked into combat mode. “Not w
ithout me,” he said.

  Saxon! The wolf leapt up onto the stage. He brushed up against Ian. I need your help, it’s Tara, he channeled.

  “What do you want me to do?” Rayne asked.

  “Keep trying to reach Tara.” He tossed Rayne the car keys.

  “Zoe still isn’t returning my messages,” Rayne said. “Maybe I should run by the house, too.”

  “No, it’s not safe. I’ll meet you at the hotel. Keep out of sight, don’t go up to the room.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll explain later.” Ian stepped into the vortex stream at center stage and gripped Saxon’s fur. Marcus grabbed Ian’s shoulder. He shyfted.

  They appeared at the edge of the wharf. Saxon snapped at a nearby startled seagull. It swooped into the air, protesting the intrusion.

  “What was Tara doing here?” Marcus said.

  Ian ran over to the edge and peered into the lapping waves. A few struck the pillars below. Find her, he channeled. Saxon disappeared between the stacked storage units.

  The volcanic odor brought a tidal wave of nausea. Ian fought to stop the churning bile.

  “Sulfur,” Marcus said. “A Duach Sar was after her?”

  “I have reason to believe that Ning might still be alive.” Ian ran along the edge of the pier. No tire marks, no heated surface, nothing. She hadn’t gone into the water as planned. He turned around. Burning rubber and gasoline hit like a gale force wind. He took off for the back lot.

  He rounded the corner of stacked storage units but Marcus pulled him back, out of sight. Two massive fire trucks were on the scene. Uniformed men gathered a high pressure hose. The surroundings were drenched. A charred car lay on its side, propped against a warehouse with its burnt undercarriage exposed. One of the tires was spinning, kept in motion by the dousing stream from a second hose. Spurts of flame spit and rose. A small crowd of dock workers stood with their backs to Ian and Marcus. One of the men was arguing with a coworker.