FADE TO BLACK, Book One: The Weir Chronicles

Chapter Ten

The change in molecular movement prompted Ian to open his eyes. A pale emerald glow came from the center of the room. He pushed away from the wall, sorry the tranquil moment was over so soon.

The Primary’s image emerged at the center of the cloud. The man’s head and upper torso appeared as if blinds were opening from the top down. He faced Ian as a more complete form but failed to take on solid mass. Wisps of lingering gas and mist danced around the room like woodland fairies tickling at his ears and shoulders.

It had been almost two years since they’d last met face-to-face. The Primary looked to be no more than sixty years of age. Ian suspected he was much older, a Greek god in his flowing white tunic, as ageless as a statue.

The Primary’s expression, as always, was serious—but over the years, Ian had learned to read his eyes. Tonight they seemed concerned, with maybe a touch of something else.

It looked like fear.

A moment of clarity struck that put everything into perspective. Ian relaxed. “She’s just a rookie reporter,” he said. “I can handle this without you and the Syndrion getting involved.”

The Primary scowled. “Don’t treat this as a trivial nuisance. Her inquiries confirm that you’ve gone too far. You can’t continue living in the open like this. It’s not your anonymity that is the Syndrion’s ultimate concern, Ian, it’s your safety.”

“I fought too hard to have what little freedom you’ve al-lowed. I’m not going to be imprisoned on this property just because you and the Syndrion get spooked.”

“It’s not without reason.” Anger glistened in the Primary’s eyes, but they soon turned serious. “An embodiment of dark-ness has entered your realm.”

The old terminology heightened Ian’s wariness. He stepped forward, absorbing the Primary’s words. “The Duach have found me?”

“The Syndrion’s most dreaded fear has come true.”

Howling winds stirred outside the structure. The Primary cleared his throat, and Ian walked the perimeter of the circular room. With every step, the winds died down.

“We’ve known for some time that a powerful leader has been laying the seeds to gather the Duach together. His minions refer to him as Aeros,” the name trailed off in a hiss. “A large group of his followers are known to be in your area.”

“I thought the Duach rarely gather,” Ian said.

“This is why they took us by surprise. They appear to be uniting, and doing so near you. This behavior is disturbing and unfamiliar to us.” The Primary scrutinized him through the green cloud. “Have you felt any symptoms of their presence?”

Ian’s chronic depleted energy and the core pain in the alley plagued him, but he shook his head. He wasn’t about to admit weakness.

“That is fortunate,” the Primary said. “If a Duach Sar is leading them, you may suffer from the Curse without warning.”

A Pur Sar and a Duach Sar cannot unite—they must stay apart. The Prophecy’s words, drilled into Ian as a child, surfaced. He raised his fist to his chest and pressed in at the memory of the crushing pressure from the previous night.

“In lieu of the events, do not separate yourself from the Channels. They must be with you at all times. If one or more Sars are in the Duach’s group, you’ll feel a tremendous energy drain to your core.” His voice drew a sharp edge. “One you won’t be able to ignore.”

Ian’s gaze fell to his feet.

“We’re trying to gather information to isolate their whereabouts,” the Primary said. “They are elusive, coming into the area then leaving, only to return at random intervals. We’ve yet to make sense of it.”

“The Duach appear as human as us,” Ian said. “How do you hope to locate them at all?”

“Our Pur scouts can track their collective energy. But once they disperse, they enmesh themselves into the world’s mass population as effectively as we do.”

“There are different ways to hide,” Ian said.

“You would know.” The Primary stuck his hands in his sleeves. “I don’t believe this to be a random occurrence. You haven’t reached your twentieth year. You are still quite vulnerable.”

“Why did you wait to tell me?”

“Your powers have not developed as predicted. The Syndrion knows all too well that you are not ready to face the Duach.” The Primary’s image faded. “Return to the mansion and remain there. I’ve alerted Milonius to increase security at the compound. Stay alert and continue to prepare yourselves until I contact you with further instructions”

Pitch black engulfed the room.

Ian walked down the corridor while absorbing the turn of events. His only true enemy was on his doorstep. How the Syndrion would respond to that threat—kept his nerves raw.

The door closed behind him with a tremendous clang that echoed down the valley on the coastal breeze. The nip of twilight stimulated every nerve but failed to lift the weight he carried with him.

The forest appeared still and calm, the sounds of the night were as they should be. He walked back, taking his time.

“Mr. Paparazzi’s gone.”

Mara startled him and he jumped. Unease swept over him as if the life he’d taken for granted no longer existed. “You saw a camera?”

“Yeah, but I’m still not buying that he was a snoop.”

“You were born paranoid,” Ian said with waning confidence.

“Someone’s got to watch out for you.” She ejected the magazine from her handgun, perused the full load, then jammed it back inside. She chambered a round. “Milo texted. Patrick snuck out to go looking for us. He’s wandering around out here. I’m going to release some tension before I bring him home.”

“Mara, don’t.”

“You know he squeals like a girl.” She cut across the path then vanished between the trees. Ian didn’t have the energy to go after her. He reached for his cell to warn Patrick but re-membered he hadn’t brought it with him.

Mara, behave, he channeled. No response.

Rayne’s essence lingered in the moist air. Ian drew a deep breath and it filled his head. He followed her scent back to the Jeep and found his despair fading the longer his thoughts were of her.