by Sue Duff
She nodded, slowly, as if she couldn’t believe it herself.
“Ian’s overloaded as it is,” Patrick said. “But I can’t ignore this.”
“I’m done with sitting on the sidelines.” Rayne set the mug down and slipped off the stool. She wobbled over to the stove and turned on one of the gas burners. She held the paper close. The corner caught and a narrow flame snaked along the edge. It wasn’t until the pain grew unbearable, and she’d committed the name to memory, that she released it. It floated to the floor, crumbling into bits of ash. She rinsed the remnants down the drain and turned on the disposal for good measure.
The only way to earn back Ian’s trust was to set out on her own mission to find the truth.
{63}
Jaered released his grip on Vael’s shoulder and stepped out of the vortex stream. A blast of moist heat filled his lungs.
“Where are we?” Vael followed Jaered out of the sweatbox structure and into the day. The intense sun reflected off the metal hut. Vael shielded his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jaered said. “It’s never the same place twice.”
“How do you know when and where to meet if it’s so random?”
Jaered fingered the burner cell phone in his pocket. “You ask too many questions.” His tone reeked of warning. “That’s your first weakness.”
Jaered walked to the rear of the building. Concrete loomed ahead of them, littered with tufts of burnt grass. The crude airstrip stretched across a barren atoll. The horizon offered no landmarks, no sense of direction with the sun centered over-head. Not a tree or bush to be seen between the single dilapidated structure behind them and the endless ocean be-yond.
“Nice place. I think my next vacation will be here,” Vael quipped.
Jaered remained silent. He closed his eyes and stood still, waiting. Listening.
“Don’t mind me. I’ll just absorb a few carcinogens.” Vael plopped down on the blistering sand and lit a cigarette.
A couple of minutes later, Jaered opened his eyes to the hum of an engine and tracked the black dot. “It’s time.” The plane circled low overhead. Jaered gave a cursory wave. One of the wings dipped. The aircraft pulled into approach.
It touched down on the worn surface, spitting gravel and chunks of asphalt in all directions. The private jet taxied around, facing them as a majestic bull confronting a matador. Its long nose cone pointed downward.
In spite of the heat, Vael shuddered. “Looks like a bird of prey.”
A door swung open. The short flight of stairs lowered. “This is your last chance to walk away,” Jaered said. “Once you get on that plane, you won’t ever have the option to leave.”
“I’m no quitter.”
Jaered had tried to talk Vael out of it for most of the night over a case of beer. But it became clear as time wore on that, other than his mother, there wasn’t anything holding Vael to his former life.
Vael started up the steps, but Jaered stopped him and led the way. They entered the opulent interior.
“Wait here,” Jaered ordered. He walked between the high-backed cushioned seats.
Eve sat at the back of the plane. She tossed him a wry smile. “You meant to drive off that cliff.”
“I needed to shyft. She wouldn’t turn off the jam.” Jaered settled in the seat across the small table from Eve. “She wasn’t about to let them die.”
“Rayne didn’t turn it off. She dropped it when the chair smashed into her. The only thing that saved you and the others was weak battery power.”
“I got the job done.”
“Insanely reckless, considering the cargo.” She took a sip from her ice tea glass and tapped the screen on a tablet. “All three tests confirm it. The child has a weak core, but no power gene.”
“Millions and you still can’t recreate your miracle.” He leaned forward. “Oh, wait, it wasn’t your miracle, was it?”
She ran her finger along the condensation on the side of the glass. “You left the name?”
“Patrick might choose to ignore it.”
“Not if you’ve managed to instill doubt. He’ll seek an ally.”
“Rayne.”
“The rest is up to them. If Ian’s to join the fight, it’s important that he finds his own enlightenment. They will be his beacon.”
“Or he’ll take his own path, altogether,” he said.
Eve gave him a piercing stare. “Where’s the serum, Jaered?”
“I might have bought the Nurse Nightingale stunt, if you hadn’t cleaned up my place.” He settled back and melted into the cushion. A grin tugged at his lips. “It must have irritated the hell out of you when you couldn’t find it.”
“Let’s just say it’s a good thing you didn’t die on me,” she said.
He shrugged. “The important thing is it’s out of my father’s reach.”
“But still in reach?” She studied his face.
“I know what you commissioned it for,” he said. “When the time comes, I want to be the one who delivers it.”
“You still don’t trust me.”
“Would you trust you?” He stared at the old, weathered book sitting on the table between them and tried not to dwell on the bloodshed of the past few days.
“A child and his mother will live a full life thanks to you,” she said.
“It came at a tremendous price,” he said.
“Unavoidable whenever your father is in the equation.” She glanced at the bandage on his forearm. “And this time?” she asked softly.
She could be so hard one minute, so sympathetic the next. “He went hunting,” he said.
Regret flashed in her eyes. “Stay focused on what you have control over, Jaered. The best way to help those who are left on Thrae is to defeat your father on Earth.” She lifted her chin and peered over the bucket seats. “Are you sure he can be trusted?”
“As much as anyone born to Earth can be. His skills are useful.” Jaered slipped out of the seat and gestured to Vael.
At Vael’s approach, Jaered released a sigh of resignation. The look of confusion sealed his friend’s fate.
Eve indicated for him to take the seat vacated by Jaered. “Hello, Vael,” she said in a voice reserved for running into an old friend.
“You look familiar,” Vael said. His face brightened at the same time he snapped his fingers. “You were in a few photo-graphs at the Heir’s mansion. You’re Patrick’s mother.”
She gave him a guarded smile and ran her finger across the Book of the Weir. “You can call me Eve.”
Glossary
Book of the Weir: A volume of letters and notes kept by the Ancient Weir Counsel. It is rumored to include secrets to the Sars powers and predicts the coming of the Heir.
boost: A device that draws elements from the planet, such as calcium or proteins, to aid in healing. The boost is fueled by the energy stored in a Sar’s core.
Channels: A set of identical Weir twins who share a genetic marker with a Sar. The three are able to communicate telepathically or, when standing close enough together, the Sar may receive visions or eavesdrop on the thoughts of others.
core: Sars are born with a core, deep in the center of their chest. It allows them to control, and contain, energy drawn from the planet. Not all cores are alike, and therefore, it dictates what power they yield. If a core extinguishes, the Sar dies.
core blast: Known as the Dragon’s Breath during the Dark Ages. A core power that enables a Sar to draw and manipulate energy from below the surface of the planet. Scholars believe, from the center of the Earth.
corona: A colorful gas that’s created when a Sar uses a vortex. If a Pur steps into a vortex field and draws energy into their core, the gases turn green. When a Duach uses the field, the gases turn red.
Curse: An unpleasant, often excruciating reaction when a Pur Sar and a Duach Sar come in close proximity to each other. Developed by the Ancients, it prevents the Duach and the Pur from stealing each other’s powers, a barbaric practice wh
ich often results in death.
Duach: du̅-ȏk A rebellious group of Weir who use their powers for self gain. They are considered the black sheep of the Weir and are despised by the Pur for their narcissistic ways.
Heir: The Ancients predicted the eventual decline of the Weir race and predicted the coming of the Heir, the last Sar born to the Weir. Prophesy stated that he would be born with the most powerful of cores, and thus, inherit all of the combined powers of the Weir Sars that came before him. Since the Weir keep the energies of Earth in harmony, the planet would continue to survive.
mark: In ancient times, known as a Seal. A triangular image of raised skin found on the left breast of Sars. Only the Heir’s mark is a triangle that houses a sun. Weir males born without a mark are powerless.
paral: Someone from Earth and someone from Thrae who are the mirror image of each other.
parashyfting: Crossing into an alternate dimension during a shyft. A powerful vortex stream or field is required. Only Sars born with the shyfting power can parashyft.
Primary: The head of the Syndrion.
Pur: pu̅r Thought of as the original and longest practicing of the Weir. They continue to work tirelessly for the good of the planet and to lessen man’s impact on the world and other living creatures.
Sar: A firstborn Weir male who’s inherited a core, granting them control over a single Earthly power. Most Sars control plants or animals. Sars born with rare powers, such as shyfting or core blast powers, are the most revered and sought after.
shyft/shyfting: shift The ability to teleport. The Sar’s core allows him to use one of thousands of vortex energy fields or streams found across Earth in order to move around the surface of the planet.
shyftor: shif-tor A Sar born with the shyfting power doesn’t need a vortex to shyft over short distances.
somex: sȏm-ex A Sar born with the somex power can con-trol neurotransmitters in the brain that affect consciousness.
Syndrion: sin-dri̅-un The Weir counsel. Ever since the Duach broke away from traditional practices centuries earlier, the current Syndrion is made up of only Pur Sars. Representatives from each continent serve on the counsel.
Thrae: thra̅ Earth’s twin planet in an alternate dimension.
vortex: A specific location where energy fields emanate from the planet surface and circulate on invisible gases.
Weir: we̅-er Magical stewards of the Earth who have lived quietly among humans for more than two thousand years. Their purpose is to ensure harmony between Earth’s various energies and all living creatures. With each generation, there are fewer Weir Sars born with a connection to the Earth. The Weirs’ power is dwindling, and along with it, their control of Earth’s combined energy. As a result, natural disasters are on the rise in frequency and intensity.
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I hope you enjoyed reading Masks and Mirrors, Book Two: The Weir Chronicles. To get caught up on the series, don’t miss Fade to Black, Book One: The Weir Chronicles available in paperback (ISBN 978-0-9905628-0-1), hardback (ISBN 978-0-9905628-1-8), on Amazon (ISBN 978-0-9905628-2-5) or through Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Kobo and other ebook sites (978-9905628-3-2).
To receive the latest news about the series, visit my author website at www.sueduff.com. Add your name to the fan email list and receive notices about book events, the latest information on upcoming novels in the series, and more.
Here’s a peek at the next exciting adventure in the series, Sleight of Hand, Book Three: The Weir Chronicles appearing winter, 2016.
Jaered pulled the Jeep onto the interstate and soon reached the stretch along the ocean cliff. The distinct odor of the city’s pollution morphed into the salty sea and he inhaled deep, filling his lungs. The morning’s haze had given way to the intense glare of the natural sun. Jaered turned his face toward the heavens and absorbed the energy’s warmth, a constant reminder of his mission on Earth.
A remote overlook offered the privacy Jaered sought. He crossed the vacant lot and came to a stop at the concrete barrier separating the overlook from the two-hundred foot drop on the other side. He shut off the engine, then verified he was alone.
Jaered withdrew the cell from his pocket and stared at Eve’s early morning text. It’s time.
He thought of the hundreds of rebels scattered across the globe. Each one received the identical message. How many stared at their screens, wallowing in the significance of those two, simple words?
A gust of wind whipped through the open cab. Jaered grasped the steering wheel to steady himself. At the horizon, a gray blanket rose from the ocean. It billowed and swirled. The dark mass soon obliterated the sun’s warmth and transformed the blues of the sky to cement.
Jaered tapped out his response on the cell. Rec’d. His finger hovered over the send button. A moment later, he touched the screen. The text turned green.
He got out of the Jeep and approached the edge of the overlook. Jaered threw the cell phone over the side. It tumbled to the surf below, then shattered on the rocks, its pieces exploding outward and scattering into the ocean’s spray.
There was no reason to stay in contact with Eve in the days ahead. Jaered, like the other rebels, were well versed in their next assignments.
So much to do, he thought. Retrieve the serum from its hiding place at the back of his medicine cabinet. Close out his affairs and erase any lingering sign he’d ever been in San Francisco. Eve insisted that he cover his tracks. It would be disastrous if Jaered’s father discovered his association with the rebel forces, and his hand in the events to follow.
The sun’s rays poked through the overcast sky and ignited Jaered’s core. He savored the afterburn while his thoughts fell to his assignment.
Kill the Pur Heir.
Acknowledgements
No one is an island and this is especially true when writing a novel. I am blessed to be surrounded by experts, colleagues and loving family and friends.
A shout out to The Tattered Cover writer’s group: Mark, Bob, Chad and Tim, for their weekly support and valued critique. Steve Parolini at Novel Doctor, your insight into what my sto-ries need keeps them fresh and believable. Thank you Stephanie Wardach, copyeditor, for catching my numerous mistakes and making me look like I know what I am doing. Karri Klawiter, you take my vision for the book cover and apply your gift to make it your own, artistic achievement. You continue to amaze me.
Heartfelt thanks to Matthew Woolums and Wendy Barnhart Terrien, the best beta readers anyone could hope for.
As always, my family and friends deserve my deepest gratitude for their continued support and contagious excitement. It is your belief in me that gives this series its fuel.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When not saving the world one page at a time, Sue works as a speech therapist. She enjoys taking her octogenarian, mini Dachshund and Great Dane puppy for strolls, or 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.
Masks and Mirrors is her second novel in The Weir Chronicles series.
Visit her at www.sueduff.com, on Facebook at Sue Duff – Writer and follow her on Twitter @sueduff55.
Book cover designed by Karri Klawiter, Art by Karri
Author photo by Liz Garcia
Table of Contents
Doubt
Part One
{1}
{2}
{3}
{4}
{5}
{6}
{7}
{8}
{9}
{10}
{11}
{12}
{13}
{14}
{15}
{16}
{17}
{18}
{19}
{20}
{21}
{22}
{23}
{24}
{25}
Part Two
{26}
{27}
{28}
{29}
{30}
{31}
{32}
{33}
{34}
{35}
{36}
{37}
{38}
{39}
{40}
{41}
{42}
{43}
{44}
{45}
{46}
{47}
{48}
{49}
{50}
{51}
{52}
{53}
{54}
{55}
{56}
{57}
{58}
{59}
{60}
{61}
{62}
{63}
