In Irina's Cards (The Variant Conspiracy #1) (3 page)

Now I definitely didn’t want her tea, but I didn’t want to cause a scene. If she wasn’t going to tell me anything, I needed to get back to my room and pack–quickly. “I’m sorry. Can I come back later?”

“No need.” She handed me the paper bag, “and the bill has already been paid.” Free stuff? Again?

I walked back to my motel on a mission. I rounded the corner and marched across the parking lot, bypassing the lobby using the side entrance. I slipped into my room and sat down on the edge of the bed. I tried to work up the motivation to stuff my few articles of stray clothing back into my backpack. I wanted to leave. No, I wanted to feel safe. I also realized that if I left now, it would drive me nuts. I couldn’t return to sitting at my parents’ kitchen table every morning, wondering what the visions and Rubin’s involvement had all meant.

Something had compelled me to come here. Sure, having visions ranked high in the weird department, but it was more than that. Once I’d seen the Harbour, the city, the landscapes and that man on the beach, a sort of itch grew in my muscles like I had to keep moving until I got here. And I felt sure I could account for all my waking hours. I hadn’t blacked out or even accidentally contacted anyone in Victoria.

I stood up and paced around the room, trying to puzzle out what I should do next. Should I call home? And say what? That my job search wasn’t going well? Even if what I’d seen about Mom and Darryl meant anything, how could I warn them? I didn’t even know what exactly would happen or when. Should I start walking the streets, looking for Rubin? How could I get reliable information? It was all still way too vague. My nervous energy escalated and I decided I’d feel better if I packed anyway.

I gathered my clothes, pack of cards, and toiletries onto the table, and dropped my bag onto the chair to fill it. I pulled the bag of tea out and its scent hit me. I’d never liked herbal teas, particularly anything that smelled like flowers. This stuff was different, kind of peaceful. I lifted the tape and unfolded the top of the package. The dried fruit and leaves inside looked pretty natural to me. One cup couldn’t hurt. It was just tea.

The motel’s whitener and sugar basket miraculously included a tea ball, so I filled it, cleaned the coffee maker, and refilled the reservoir. Hot water trickled into the pot and I submerged the ball. The aroma relaxed me. I stopped packing and turned on the television. I found a midday re-run of a 90’s sitcom I hated, but I left it on that channel. The show didn’t seem so bad.

The snapping gurgling of the coffee maker slowed and the pot filled with a beautiful fuchsia liquid. It smelled like strawberries, but there was more, something nutty and spicy. I poured a cup and sipped slowly. I couldn’t remember why I’d been so upset. I didn’t need to go home right away. I had only been in Victoria for two days–one day if I wrote off my initial meandering. I’d call Mom tomorrow or maybe send an email. I felt totally fine and everything would work out for the best.

I was still drowsily watching the same channel when a knock on my door interrupted the evening news.

“Irina. Hello . . . It’s Rubin,” he said in an awkwardly loud voice from outside in the hall. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, uh . . . hang on.” I rubbed my face gently to clear my mind. “I’m coming.”

I opened the door and he grinned at me, his face grubby, the rest of him as greasy and sketchy as ever. I considered that he might suffer from a mental illness. But I wasn’t afraid anymore.

“I’m glad I caught you.” He shifted nervously with his hands in his pockets. “Do you like sushi?”

“About as much as I like crepes, but somehow you knew that, didn’t you?” I smiled at him and waited for what came next.

“I see you’re a bit more settled now. You’ve had a chance to relax. Good, good. I’d invite myself in, but it’s not very appropriate. So how about dinner?”

“As long as it’s not a date, sure. Why not?” I smiled again. I reached for my backpack, but thought better of it and pulled out my wallet alone. I fished out my petal-pink lip-gloss and slicked some on, pocketing the container afterwards. I drew a black border above the eyelashes on my upper eyelid and dusted on a bit of earth-brown eye shadow. I ran my brush through my hair and evaluated the results. I looked passable, but not great. Oh well.

Rubin led me back towards downtown and we walked in silence, past Chinatown and along the main drag until we turned north into a street of antique shops and curio boutiques. Window displays overflowed with flower-patterned china, polished silver trays, and aged coin collections. Vintage clothing, followed used books, after baked goods. It was the sort of neighborhood in which having high tea would seem completely normal.

As we moved away from the ocean, I smelled freshly cut grass and the scent of blooming flowers. We passed a cathedral with a small landscaped park in front, complete with a walking path and a memorial obelisk at the center. A small elderly lady sat hunched on a wood bench scattering birdseed for a small flock of pigeons at her feet. The oak trees that towered over her had already regained boughs full of vivid green leaves. The sun had moved towards the horizon, no longer shining overhead, yet the trees still glowed. The surrounding lush lawn was alive with bright yellow dandelions, tiny perky violets, and delicate white snowdrops that quivered in the breeze. The sky above shifted from radiant gold and orange to a soft purple and royal blue with wisps of hot pink cloud. A cold gust of wind lifted the hair on my arms.

“So, I expect you still have quite a few questions about why our city appeals to you so deeply and why I know so much about you,” said Rubin. 

“Actually, the drawing power of the Capital is subsiding. I felt so uncomfortable that I was getting ready to leave again. But that crazy tea your friend gave me must have some kind of happy juice in it, because I feel so much better now. Really calm in fact.”

“Happy juice? I guess you
could
think of it that way.” He frowned and rubbed his chin. “So I can answer some questions–and I will–but I don’t want offend you when I hold back. It’s not my place to tell you everything, you understand.”

I looked over at him and marveled at how well-spoken he was, now that I listened properly. His clumped hair and aging weathered skin had distracted me from the fact that he spoke intelligently and, more importantly, appeared completely lucid. “No, I don’t understand, but that’s partly the point of having dinner tonight, isn’t it?”

“Let’s get our table and we’ll talk more.” Rubin gestured towards a large wooden door to our left, set in from the sidewalk and partially obscured by an awning bearing a faded yin-yang symbol.

“Are you sure this is a Japanese restaurant? I thought that symbol was Chinese.”

“I’m sure this is the right place. After you,” he said, gesturing again towards the entrance.

I followed him down the slate stone path and past the thick door with an oversized carved wood handle which he held open for me.

A beautiful woman in a light pink kimono and bone-straight black hair that flowed down to her waist, smiled, bowed and showed us to a compact booth towards the back of the dark restaurant. She handed us two leather bound menus, gave another small bow and left.

“So, I think we need to start with an explanation for why you gawked at me on the street yesterday. And what was the story with that fight on the street? A hellava, big scary dude and a skater fought–and then afterwards you smoothed things over with aforementioned scary dude.” I hoped to catch him off guard with my bluntness.

“Yes, that was an unfortunate incident, but both parties have put it behind them.” He didn’t seem the tiniest bit jarred or put on the spot.

“Excuse me sir, are you ready to order now?” The waitress quietly reappeared next to our table.

“I’ll have a dirty martini. No ice and no olives,” said Rubin.

The waitress looked at him, confused. “Uh, so, you want a dirty martini, but no olives?” she said cautiously.

“No
ice
and no olives,” he confirmed.

“A martini doesn’t come with ice,” she said, thoroughly perplexed.

“Well then, there’s no problem, is there?” he said matter-of-factly.

“Do you still want olive juice?” she asked.

“With
out
the olives,” said Rubin.

“Rubin,” I interrupted, “that’s what a dirty martini is. You know that, right?”

“Have you ever wondered what makes olives dirty?” he said, fervently curious.

“Maybe have something non-alcoholic,” I suggested.

“Good idea!” He beamed at me. “How about some sake instead? We’re going out afterwards and I want a twinkle in my eyes when we get there.”

I covered my face with both hands for a moment, and then I asked the waitress for a pot of green tea. I pointed to a mixed sushi platter on the menu and ordered for both of us.

“Okay, never mind the story behind the fight.”

“What would you like to talk about next?” He crossed his arms.

“You stared at me in the street yesterday. How do you know who I am?” I asked, satisfied that I’d hit the heart of the matter.

“Ah, unfortunately I still can’t properly answer that one–yet.”

“I see. Well . . . How did you know where to find me?”

“Excellent. I can answer that. I read minds,” he said proudly, hastily adding, “and sometimes influence people.”

The pink lady brought two trays of assorted sushi and placed one in front of each of us.

“Of course you can,” I said sarcastically. “Why hadn’t I figured that out myself? You’re one of those mind-reading stalkers.”

“No, I’m not stalking you. We’ve already covered that too. I merely introduced myself to a like-minded person. I took an interest in you because you’re like me, being that you have a unique talent of your own.”

I shoved a yam roll into my mouth and swallowed hard, pushing the entire roll awkwardly down my throat.

“I think the problem is that you don’t know very much about yourself yet. I’ve got a business card for you, assuming you’ll want to find gainful employment. Even though you have accommodation, you’ll still need some funds. And something meaningful to do with your time.”

“Oh yeah, I meant to ask about that too. What do you mean by taken care of? I paid for my room and I’m pretty sure they took my money. I’m expecting them to charge me again when I leave.”

“The front desk at the motel knows not to charge you. Best if you leave it at that for now.”

Rubin pulled a crisp white business card out of his threadbare wallet. In green writing INNOVIRO INDUSTRIES shouted at me beside a logo of three snakes twisted into a recycling icon.

I ate another piece of sushi and took the card from him.

“I think once you apply for work, you’ll move in the right direction to get all the answers you’d like,” he said. “I’d try the administration department since I’m pretty sure they have an opening. Have patience with the process. The Human Resources director expects you tomorrow morning.”

Chapter 3

I sipped my lightly steaming tea and watched as Rubin ate. What kind of administration job did he have in mind for me? How much did Rubin, and in turn Innoviro Industries, know about me? He ate quickly, barely chewing as the rolls bulged in his throat. I selected a piece of raw tuna from my plate, dipped it carefully in soy sauce, and wedged it into my mouth as Rubin plucked up his last roll.

He smeared it generously with wasabi, swallowed it whole, and gulped the last of his tea. In spite of his slow start, he’d eaten as though he expected his food to be yanked away at any moment. I smirked to myself thinking that his eating habits and personal appearance were the only two things about him that fit together.

“Shall we go out on the town?” he asked casually.

“What? Is that what you meant when you said we were going out later?” I said, shocked as I set down my teacup.

“Club-hopping. That’s what you call it when you go out with Bridget, isn’t it?”

“I think you need to give it a rest with the mind-reading stuff. You’re seriously creeping me out. Whatever the hell was in that relaxing berry tea you hooked me up with isn’t going to stretch that far.”

“Fair enough. Quite right. But drinks and dancing? Is that out of the question? For the record, I’m definitely not trying to date you. I want you to get a feel for the city and meet a few more people. The more you see now, the better. You don’t want to spend another boring night in your hotel room, do you? No, of course not. And it’s not like you’ll be alone with me or anything like that. It’ll be somewhere public. I vote for The Looking Glass. It’s my favorite club.”

“At this point, I’m not even going to bother objecting or asking more questions.” I laughed nervously and added, “It’s not like I’ve seen you before, as in ‘seen’, so I guess you’re fairly safe. Of course, that’s assuming I trust my brain to protect my body.”

I followed Rubin out of the restaurant. He’d spoken to our waitress, but hadn’t paid her. Was this woman a friend of his? He didn’t look like he had much money, whether he wanted to pay or not. I’d have to get around to that money question again, but unless cops started to chase us because we hadn’t paid for our meal, I had more pressing concerns. We walked slowly back towards downtown.

“Wait, Rubin. Can I ask one more thing? You really only answered one question at dinner.”

“I wasn’t restricting my answers to the dinner table, so go right ahead.”

“You mentioned that I’m ‘talented’ and assuming that you really read minds, so you know I’ve seen things with my Tarot cards. Why? How come I saw what I did? It’s never happened before, so I’m not sure it’s me instead of something special about that deck of cards.”

“Well, it seems to me that those cards were merely a trigger, but that topic strays into taboo territory. I’ll say that as you get older, and use your gift more frequently, it will develop like any other talent. It is part of
you
.”

I felt better somehow. I found it comforting to know that I wasn’t part of some trick of fate and that I hadn’t just picked up a magic deck of cards that would have struck anyone with visions. But if I really could ‘see’ real life, real world things, did I actually have to worry about what I saw? More disturbing than seeing a strange mystery man or a random landscape in my mind was the image of my parents, afraid and angry on our living room couch. My gut told me the near future held a nasty shock for them and instinctively, I wanted to stop it. I contemplated calling to check on them.

“I doubt there is anything actually wrong with your parents, but as before, please consider the job opening I mentioned. It really is the next step. Remember that some of what your mind shows you is the past and some of it the future. It is possible that not all your visions are from pivotal moments in time. We don’t know enough about precognition or remote viewing yet.” Rubin watched me as I glared at the sidewalk. “But if you’d like to call home right now, feel free to use my phone.”

I stopped and looked back at him. Having someone pluck thoughts out of my head took longer to adjust to in actual practice. He obviously wasn’t willing or able to rein it in for my benefit. I opened my mouth to say something, but sighed instead and accepted the cell phone he handed me. I punched in my home number and relief washed over me when Mom answered.

Rubin waited patiently as she launched quickly into a tirade about the fact that I hadn’t called home soon enough. I shared the news about my job lead. I got in one comment about their lack of enthusiasm for my trip, but Mom was relentlessly aggravated by my inconsiderate tardiness in calling home. I mumbled something about having to give a friend’s phone back and ended the call. Rubin smiled politely and pocketed his phone without a word.

We walked in silence again, re-tracing our route from the restaurant and passing my motel as we wound through the streets. Rubin’s route took us into a light industrial area. We approached a run-down building, thumping with bass. I saw a sign designed to look like a broken mirror with the words “The Looking Glass” placed between the broken shards.

As we got closer, I noticed the size of the line outside and I groaned with exasperation. The prospect of being seen with Rubin partaking in the slightest semblance of a date-like outing embarrassed me. And then I remembered he could probably hear my catty reaction and heat flooded my cheeks. He’d been nothing but nice and I still had bitchy thoughts in my head.

“We don’t have to stay here.”

I let guilt overtake me, hoping he’d feel it. “I’m very grateful that you’re taking me out. I definitely would have been bored back at the motel,” I said as sincerely as I could manage.

Rubin smiled and kept walking past the end of the line-up. I hesitated for a step, lifted my eyebrows, and followed. Were we going to walk right past this entire stream of people? I grinned. Everything else pointed to his unlikely VIP status. Why not a club too?

The bouncer’s gaze flitted briefly over Rubin and hovered on me. He looked me up and down as he raised his hand to stop me. It hit me. This bouncer was the man I’d seen in the street fight Rubin watched the other day. He intimidated me even more up close. His massive muscular arms had thick, dark scars running from under his T-shirt cuffs all the way to his wrists.

“Casey, she’s with me,” said Rubin as I prepared to verbally defend myself.

I gave a small wave, feeling like a complete dork as the people waiting near the entrance glared at us when we walked up to the doors ahead of them.

At Casey’s nod, I nudged my way gently through a crowd of punk and goth twenty-somethings that made my Prince George friends seem exactly that–PG hicks. Inside the club. I came face to face with a boy sporting a tall blue Mohawk, more vibrant than my streaks had ever been. His forehead had three metal cone studs protruding from barely healed openings. I’d heard of dermal anchors before, but this was my first up-close look. He glared at me and put a cigarette in his mouth as I passed.

I caught up to Rubin as he leaned in toward the bartender shouting multiple drink orders. I waited behind him, scanning the room. It was pointless to look for people. In this club, on the other side of the province, I wouldn’t find a table of familiar faces. Rubin tapped me on the shoulder and passed me a screwdriver. I thanked him, noting that his ability might come in handy in a loud, crowded place. I wouldn’t hear him back, but at a bare minimum, he’d know what drink I wanted.

For a moment, I felt trendy and out of reach to my former hometown betters who still hadn’t seen a club this edgy. Then, I realized that all the tables in the dingy bar were full leaving my strange friend and I stuck in an awkward limbo between having ordered and choosing a place to hang out.

A pair of mid-twenties boys caught sight of us from the upper level. They waved to Rubin. They were sitting at a tiny tall table next to the dance floor. There was no room for us to sit. I followed Rubin over, preparing to linger as indifferently as I could manage if they only wanted to talk to him.

“Rubin! What the hell are you doing out tonight? And with a date!” said the muscular, scruffy, blond skater boy. The other half of yesterday’s fight! I could tell he was joking with Rubin, but I blushed anyway.

“Cole, nice to see you. Keeping out of trouble, I hope. And Jonah, I see you’re both having a fun night on the town,” said Rubin.

Cole had dark eyes and a five-o-clock shadow, making him look grouchy in spite of his enthusiasm. He rubbed his right hand through his crew cut and shook his head at Rubin.

“Dude, nobody talks like that–‘night-on-the-town’. We’re getting wasted. We both had a long, shitty day at work. I’ve been working on a tectonic event simulation that crashed again. Can you believe it? But seriously, what are you doing here? And who’s the chick?”

Flashes of Cole’s fight popped into my mind as he spoke and it made me uneasy. His friend Jonah looked almost as uncomfortable with his surroundings as me. A crisp striped collared shirt and gelled black hair made him look much more professional than anyone else frequenting The Looking Glass.

“This is Irina. She’s new in town and she’s a guest at the Capital City Motel,” Rubin shouted over the louder song that had just started.

“Ah, old copper-top,” said Cole. He turned to me and said, “How do you like the city’s most notorious brothel?”

“Cole!” barked Rubin.

“It’s okay; he’s kidding,” added Jonah. “That motel is known for its karaoke bar, but that’s about it.” He looked at me with light, vivid aqua eyes. His irises practically glowed against his smooth pale skin, dark glossy hair and he smiled crookedly.

“Uh, I think I need another drink,” I said as Rubin pulled my empty glass from my hand. “Oh yeah. I guess you knew that,” I said, but he had slipped into the crowd.

“So, Irina, what brings you to Victoria?” asked Cole.

I looked at him, then at Jonah as I considered telling them the truth. They knew Rubin and were obviously ‘talented’ too. Still, I didn’t want to risk it.

“I’m looking for work. I’m from Prince George and the job market up there is only awesome if you’re in a trade. Rubin offered to hook me up with a job already at a place called Inno-something-or-other. He’s been pretty cool.” I hoped to avoid adding an explanation on how I’d actually met Rubin. Even if they knew what he could do, it felt sketchy to admit that I let some complete stranger show me the city.

“Innoviro Industries! That’s where we work!” said Cole, beaming. His square stubble-covered jaw softened substantially when he smiled.

“Seriously? Small world, eh. Is it a good place to work?” I asked.

“You could say that.” Cole grinned and looked at Jonah who rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Innoviro is a good place to work. You shouldn’t listen to anything this guy says in most cases.” Jonah gestured with the end of his beer bottle. Jonah looked around the bar as Cole said something into the ear of a waitress. “What kind of job are you applying for?”

“I don’t have much experience. Mostly working at a car dealership as an assistant go-for type. Rubin suggested something in admin.” The buzz of my drink diminished. “Speaking of Rubin, where is he?”

“Probably chatting and making friends as usual,” said Cole, speaking into his pint. “But never mind him. We’ve got shots to do!” he said as the waitress returned with a tray full of miniature glasses. She transferred them to the table. Unlike Rubin, Cole handed over a twenty-dollar bill.

“To your new life in Victoria,” said Jonah, lifting a shot glass. Cole did the same and we downed hot cinnamon liquid. They each grabbed their second shot and gulped it, so I did the same. I tried to steady myself as I surveyed the collection of empty glasses on the table.

“Let’s go dance before the posers invade.” Cole shifted off his chair. At that moment, my friend with the blue hair walked past us. “It’s started already. Look at this guy. He thinks he’s a freak. He wishes!”

A girl with black hair in a black coat waved at Cole and he darted off after her. Jonah smiled at me and gestured towards the dance floor. I had my liquid courage back, so I led the way.

The Looking Glass felt like the kind of club where disorganized flailing was the dance of choice, so I didn’t feel too out of place. I’d never learned to dance back home and I didn’t have the kind of figure that moved well without much effort. I wasn’t overweight, but it took more than a hip-wiggle to make me look sexy–especially while wearing a hoodie and jeans.

We twisted away to a couple of mainstream hard rock songs. Then hopped along with excessively nasal punk I didn’t recognize. The exercise hit me quickly and I overheated. I unzipped my hoodie as gracefully as I could, glad that I had on a reasonably clean T-shirt. I tried to limit my eye contact with Jonah to a few casual glances. But it was hard to look away.

“Are you wearing contact lenses? Your eyes are so bright,” I said and blushed, again.

“No, that’s au-natural. Well, sort-of.” He smiled.

I didn’t want to pry, so I left it at that. What if he could read my mind too! Damn it! Oh well, too late.

We kept dancing until the music changed to slow and steady electronic beats. Trent Reznor’s croon came out of the speakers nearby singing about a pig. Mom had always been a Nine Inch Nails fan and their songs conjured fuzzy childhood memories of evenings when our house hopped with raucous partiers. Jonah held out his hand and I took it. He pulled me against his body, breathing heavily. I wasn’t the only one feeling the cinnamon shots. I put my arms around his neck and rested my head on his chest and we danced in slow circles with the other couples in the dwindling crowd until Rubin put his hand on my arm.

The next morning, the weary blonde waitress in the motel diner brought me crepes before I had the chance to order. I sent them back. I stirred my coffee longer than I needed to, irritated that Rubin had been giving her instructions about me, pissed that I hadn’t learned much from him in the first place, and completely embarrassed about being hung-over. I’d washed and redone my makeup but I still felt wrung-out.