In Irina's Cards (The Variant Conspiracy #1) (8 page)

I walked through the automatic doors into the artificially chilly air of the Garden City Grocer and it felt like walking into a slice of my childhood. From the kitsch cartoon wall signage for each department right down to the brown and sand speckled flooring, the interior of the store hadn’t changed for decades. I grabbed a plastic basket, feeling like a kid in a candy shop instead of a near twenty-something in a supermarket.

Food shopping for only me was liberating, now that I had settled into my life and I had time to appreciate small things. Fortunately, the products on Garden City’s shelves were up-to-the-minute. I got the brand of tortillas I liked. I got the expensive ice cream sandwiches Darryl used to forbid. Everything I bought was mine. Nobody else was going to eat my food, or complain about my choices. I smiled at myself as I walked home, contemplating how little it actually took to sate me.

My shower, on the other hand, was a bit more unnerving. I hadn’t paid attention to my body while getting dressed. I hadn’t looked at my reflection when I twisted my hair into a clip. As I prepared to disrobe again, I watched myself in the bathroom mirror, unclipping my hair and removing my jeans and T-shirt. I saw the marks left by Jonah’s touch, or more specifically, his ‘variation’.

I noticed that everyone at Innoviro used the word ‘variation’ and it sounded dispassionate, until now. My lips were parched and now that I looked closely, the skin around my mouth looked burned. Streaks on my back resembled bruises. He had burned me right through my clothes! I took off the cotton bra I’d slept in and evaluated the raw red handprint on my left breast. I wished I hadn’t looked first. I got into the shower and rushed through my soap and shampoo routine with the sharp stinging pain of my wounds chasing me the whole time.

I fought the urge to cry, getting progressively angrier at the unfairness of my situation. I replayed my hazy recollection of his rant last night. He’d done this to girls before, obviously not intentionally, but he could have said something. If he warned me, would it have gone any differently? Had he ever touched me before? He probably couldn’t touch anyone, at least not for any duration. Was it emotion or excitement that brought out his ability? Was he angry at me now? Why hadn’t I heard from him? I should be the angry one, covered in wounds and all. I wondered if Jonah’s friends knew this part of his ‘variation.’ I decided not to discuss the incident with Faith. I didn’t know her well enough yet.

As I finished getting dressed and applying my standard minimal amount of eye shadow and mascara, I came to the lip-gloss step and paused. I sized up my mouth’s reflection in my hand mirror. I added a few dabs of concealer around my mouth. I thought the burn was still noticeable, but I’d stand up to a quick review without questions.

I took a deep breath, shouldered my purse, and set my mind on autopilot. As I walked down the building’s stairwell, I committed to watching Faith’s game without dwelling on injections or variations or even strange lost boys.

I arrived at the arena early to look for Faith and say hello before the match began. I hoped she’d introduce me to some of her other spectators so I’d have someone to sit with during the match. At a bare minimum, people would see me talking with her before I went to sit by myself. I really didn’t like to eat in a restaurant or go to a public movie theatre alone. The idea made me feel sort of pitiful, as though the other people around me would all immediately notice my alone status and label me weird, dorky, and probably friendless. It also occurred to me that Jonah could show up, and I wanted to make sure he knew I’d come at Faith’s invitation, not because I was trying to track him.

I walked through the front doors and immediately saw the ticket table Faith had described, complete with a sign for “Will Call” tickets. I scanned the small lobby for signs of Faith’s distinctive purple dreads. I picked out a few of her teammates and it dawned on me that she had a specific reason for choosing purple to color her hair. Their bright violet sleeveless jerseys bore the name “UnbearaBelles” over a logo depicting ball bearings spilling out the side of a broken roller skate wheel.
Clever
, I thought with a wry smile.

Faith herself was nowhere in sight, so after I collected my ticket, I walked around the arena. It was obviously a hockey arena during the winter months. Springy rubber flooring looked like many blades had passed back and forth across it. Old sweat lingered in the mildly humid air. I walked up to the plywood border of the concrete rink and watched through scuffed plexi-glass as the skaters warmed up, gliding back and forth around the oval in endless leisurely laps. Watching them stretch their legs in yoga-like twists reminded me of their daintier ice skating counterparts–a guaranteed unwelcome comparison. Like Faith, and to a lesser degree, me, these girls were all a bit edgy, as though they’d show up for an all-female Fight Club accessorized with glitter and stockings. I felt a pang of longing to have my blue streaks back to their original vibrancy.

“Faith told me she’d invited you, but she wasn’t sure you’d show,” said a familiar voice from behind me.

I felt my shoulders flinch. I’d been concentrating harder than I realized.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Cole placed his hand on my shoulder. He left his hand on me as he moved around to my other side. I must have needed the hug, because I didn’t want to move even though my instincts warned me that I sent the wrong signal. An earthy unmistakably masculine scent, probably nothing more than his deodorant, wafted past and I couldn’t remember the last time I had cuddled up to a guy, feeling comfortable and relaxed. I knew now it wouldn’t be Jonah any time soon. I actually had to resist the urge to lean my head to the left and rest it on Cole’s shoulder in return. I’d had my fill of bad ideas for the weekend.

“Are you okay?” Cole asked when I still hadn’t said anything.

“Oh, sure. I had a long day. A long week is more like it.”

“Yeah, I talked to Jonah.”

“What?” I recoiled in shock. I felt furrows deepening on my forehead.

“It’s okay. He wasn’t, like, ratting you out or anything. You won’t be the first of us to do trial injections. He’s worried that you’re freaked out–and clearly you are.”

“Oh that.” I relaxed my shoulders. A girl in bright red and pitch black skated right past the boards and my attention whipped back out to the rink.

“Have you got something more important going on at the moment?”

“No, that’s pretty much it,” I said. “I was just thinking about,” I paused to think of something other than welts on my body. “Home and my life in Prince George.” I lied extremely poorly and I hoped Cole couldn’t tell.

“Did Faith tell you she reserved a spot for you in the VIP section?”

I assumed he wanted to change the subject. “No, I don’t think so, but I’m guessing you can point me in the right direction.” I forced a smile.

“What, do I stink? You’re sitting with me, unless you’d rather not.” Cole grinned to show me he was joking. He put his hand on my waist this time, guiding me towards the first stairwell in the bleachers. We climbed and shuffled down to a cluster of roped-off rows, directly behind the players’ seating. If someone had told me back in Prince George that I’d be sitting in a VIP section at a sports game, I would have thought they’d been visiting a parallel universe.

Hockey in PG was like football in the American South. The sport created hometown heroes and devoted fans, while the odd few left out were completely, totally left out. Not that primo seating in a hockey rink was the strangest development in my world, but it made me suddenly glad I was starting to lead a bigger, weirder life.

We continued watching the growing number of girls skating practice laps, and Faith’s purple dreads finally appeared on the rink, albeit crushed under a round white helmet that matched her teammates.

Cole instructed me on the rules of roller derby. Each team had five girls on the track for every round, although twice as many remained on the benches along the boards. We, Victoria, wore purple and white while the girls in black and red uniforms were from Vancouver, which I’d already noticed from posters on the walls and handmade signs throughout the crowd.

Two players from either side had special roles. One girl was assigned a spandex helmet cover with a star. She was the Jammer and the player who could score for her team. Another girl was assigned a stripe cap and her role was the Pivot, leader of the remaining three girls, or the Blockers. Each team’s coach re-assigned the key roles, strategically mixing up the rotation with every round.

The goal during each round or ‘Jam’ was for the Jammer to weave through the entire crowd and make it back across the starting line, ideally ahead of the other team’s Jammer as well. A wiry stubble-covered man in a silver leisure suit was their coach, more in costume than in uniform. I watched as he handed the star cover to Faith and she snapped it onto her helmet like a shower cap. I wasn’t confident I could follow the action, but then the whistle blew and I watched the cluster of skaters down on the rink spring into action.

The elbowing and body checking began immediately as the girls rolled forward. Faith wrestled her way out of the crowd and pumped her legs hard to gain a strong lead. Another skater in a referee uniform blew her whistle and pointed at Faith, seconds before she arrived back at to the starting line to cheers from the crowd. She made a sweeping jazz-hands gesture over her hips and Cole told me she had called off that particular Jam. If she didn’t think she could stay in the lead and continue scoring, it was her best strategic move.

Faith’s lithe, muscular figure and agile skating skills earned her a few assignments as Jammer, naturally also making her a target for the other girls. Like football, several Blockers received their roles because they were well endowed for the shoulder and hip checking required.

After several more Jams as a Blocker, Faith wore her spandex star again. Seconds after the whistle blew, she was ejected from the pack with a grimace that revealed her vibrant purple mouth guard. Her skate caught something on the floor as she sailed out of bounds and tumbled to the ground. I hadn’t noticed any paramedics on site, but suddenly two knelt next to Faith, one supporting her neck on her farthest side, the other obscuring the rest of my view.

“Is she all right? Should we go down there?” I asked.

Cole’s face wrinkled with concern but not outright panic. “No, and they wouldn’t let us on the track if we did. That’s why the paramedics are here for every bout. If she’s not okay, they won’t let her back in the game. And they’ll take her to the hospital if she needs to go.”

“Is this normal? I hadn’t expected so much violence.”

“Yeah, but that’s why they’re padded from head to toe, and why they have to wear those gross mouth guards. Faith says they nearly gag some players, but you’ll get booted off the rink without one. Girls used to lose teeth, and way worse.”

“We should do something for her.” I wanted to show my empathy, even if it was useless at the moment.

“We’ll take her for a drink when the game is finished. That’ll be good enough. Look, they’re letting her up,” Cole said, still frowning.

And the paramedics stepped away. Faith waved to several sections of the crowd, smiling behind purple plastic, showing everyone what a good sport she was. Then she skated gingerly back to her team’s bench where she spent the rest of the game.

Knowing Faith wasn’t likely to play again curbed my interest in the action at first, but as I watched, I saw an admirable level of sportsmanship. Every girl on both teams genuinely cared about Faith. They all whooped and hollered when she’d been green-lighted to stay on the bench instead of making a trip to the hospital.

Several girls gave her a thumbs-up as they glided past between Jams. Even the large Vancouver girl who’d written “I EAT BELLES FOR BREAKFAST” in capital letters on her ample belly skated over to Faith and playfully jabbed her shoulder. I was suddenly ashamed I hadn’t really given Faith a chance before tonight. I’d definitely buy her that drink.

Cole and I waited for the crowd to thin before we made our way to the rink. Faith stood with a group of her teammates laughing riotously and I suddenly felt thoroughly out of my element. These girls would not want to hang out with a mouse from up North.

“Irina!” shouted Faith from behind a wall of girls. “Guys, this is my brother’s soon-to-be girlfriend.” The girls all grinned.

“Can it, Faith,” glowered Cole.

“Never mind that. How are you? You took a big hit,” I said, grateful for a legitimate reason to change the subject.

“Oh, she’s fine,” said a girl with pink braids.

“She’ll be more fine once we get a couple-few tequila shots into her!” said the tall skinny blocker next to Faith.

“Woot! Let’s get going, ladies!” said Faith.

Chapter 8

The actual hangover I earned with Faith and Cole nearly wore off by Monday morning, but I still felt tired and extremely sorry for myself. Not only did I buy Faith a ‘feel-better-soon’ pint of draught beer at the bar down the street from the skating rink, but Cole had continued buying us various cocktails until we could barely keep our eyes open. I spent most of Sunday throwing up in the privacy of my apartment, mercifully alone. Taking an anti-nauseant by late afternoon was probably the only thing that saved me from having to call in sick on Monday. I’d also thought to call Ivan and let him know that, yes, I would participate in the trial injections he wanted. One decision to come out of my ridiculous weekend could actually do some good.

When I found a glossy, well made up, very corporate looking woman in a black dress suit sitting at my desk, I didn’t have the energy to feign polite patience. I stared at her, openly sizing up her ironed espresso hair and sculpted matte rose lips. She smelled of a musky Chanel-type perfume. She also radiated superiority as she continued typing on my keyboard, glaring a hole into my monitor. In spite of her harsh exterior, she looked familiar, although I’d never seen her before in my life.

“I’m Ivan’s sister, Tatiana. I’m here to give you your first shot. You’re late.” She only looked up to meet my gaze with her last sentence. Like Ivan, she had only the merest hint of an accent. I briefly speculated on how long ago they’d left Russia, 20 years, maybe 30. And then I looked at the clock on the wall behind me. It read “9:02” in bright red digital letters. I turned back to Tatiana, opening my mouth to defend myself.

Her eyes filled with disdain. “Follow me downstairs.”

Tatiana plucked her clutch purse off the top of my desk after closing whatever windows or files she had been viewing. If I thought Melissa acted hard, she emitted only a whiff of what this woman gave off. It wasn’t mere Chanel. Her attitude blended ‘heartless bitch’ with a kick of arrogance. I followed her nevertheless.

She walked directly to the elevator and punched in a code as Ivan had done to take us to the lower level. The silence between us thickened, but I refused to give in and make small talk. That would irritate this woman even more. Shouldn’t she at least be pleasant? After all,
I
was the one doing the company–and Ivan–a huge favor by letting her stick me with a potentially dangerous shot.

“We’re in room B109. Go wait for me there,” said Tatiana.

I gave her a forced, thin-lipped smile and marched past her down the hall. I let myself into B109 and found a room that looked very much like a doctor’s exam room. I sat on the black stool where I knew Tatiana expected to sit, my little act of rebellion. She kept me waiting for what seemed like an hour, much like any doctor. I’d left my cell phone upstairs in my jacket pocket and I had no way to tell how slowly time actually passed.

Tatiana appeared with a syringe full of lavender colored liquid. She wore safety glasses and had her hair tied back in a low ponytail. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she expected something explosive to happen. I trusted Ivan, so I forced myself to hang on to that belief instead of thinking too much about safety precautions. She’d removed her blazer and as she turned her back to me, I saw a snippet of writing on her shoulder blades partially visible through her semi-translucent white shirt. The characters looked like something Middle Eastern or South Asian, but I was more interested in picturing Tatiana’s wilder tattoo-friendly days.

She asked me to expose a hip, so I did. She gestured for me to lean onto the paper-covered patient bed and I did that too. Not only had she gotten me off the doctor’s stool, which she immediately sat on, but she’d managed to get me into a compromising position. Luckily for me, fear overrode humiliation. Before I could crack a joke, she stabbed my right buttock and I flinched as a reflex. A few seconds later she jerked out the needle.

“Go straight back up to your desk and take it easy for the rest of the morning. Don’t drink any more coffee. If you have any reaction, including new visions or dreams, report them to Ivan immediately. I’ll leave the elevator unlocked for you.” She snapped her latex gloves as she peeled them off, dumping them and the syringe into a plastic receptacle with the unmistakable biohazard logo on the side. She left the room without another word.

I felt fine, but I had a project waiting for me upstairs, specifically the organization of Innoviro’s spring picnic. A stupid almost pointless task in comparison to whatever Tatiana would do for the rest of the day–or any other Innoviro employee. But I’d stay busy for the next day at least, which was a mercy if Ivan wasn’t coming to the office to give me anything else to work on.

Tatiana took her time coming back up from the basement. I’d already come and gone from my lunch break when the elevator door opened to her talking on her phone.

“ . . . it was the strongest dose . . . You want results don’t you? . . . There isn’t time to screw around here. You still want them both?”

She walked right past Melissa and straight out the front door without so much as a nod. Melissa looked slighted and I felt a brief moment of satisfaction until she caught me staring at her and glared back at me.

I didn’t see Cole, Faith, or Jonah for the rest of the day. I didn’t feel much different after the injection, with the exception of a sore ass. So after work, I went home to sulk on my couch and watch hours of television, to calm down and take my mind away for a while. And then I tried to change into the only nightgown I had. The gown was a long T-shirt and a hand-me-down from Mom. I hadn’t factored the garment’s origins into the decision to put it on. I’d already been wearing it for a few years, so it felt more like mine.

I picked it up out of the top drawer in my bedroom dresser. I popped my head through the neck opening and my bedroom disappeared around me. I was instantly flung into the corner of my parents’ living room. The image of them appeared crisper and more vivid than previous visions, as though I stood there with them, watching them argue with their unseen guest.

Darryl’s expression looked much more like rage in this clearer version of the scene. I noticed the lines on his face along with the pores and pockmarks in his cheeks as he mouthed words of anger I couldn’t hear. Mom had her head in her hands and then lifted her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, streaked with watery black traces of her mascara. Her eyelashes clumped from absorbing her tears. I saw the look of hopelessness mingling with despair on her face and I felt a momentary lurch of repulsion. I recovered my focus and tried to concentrate on zooming out and seeing who they were addressing.

It was as though I was hung up on some undetectable barrier, right on the edge of the scene. I couldn’t get a look at the shadow outside my peripheral vision, the other figure in the argument. I fought harder, trying to turn my gaze. I concentrated more still, attempting to make out some distinguishing feature, but it was a blur. The shadow’s hand lifted as I looked back at my parents. Their expressions turned from anger and frustration to shock and pain. In a flash, they both slumped backwards to a pose that knocked my heart against ribs.

I stepped forward with my arm outstretched only to find myself jolted back to my apartment hallway. My parents looked like they were either unconscious or dead. But I knew better than that. My gift served no purpose if it wasn’t warning me, providing a chance to stave off tragedy. That scene depicted their future. I felt certain of that.

I peeled the nightgown off and stood there in my panties, staring hard into the mirror at the end of the hall. My body retained the bruises and burns from my encounter with Jonah. My face filled with fear, and then a new idea hit me. It was a safe bet that the lavender liquid had done its job.

What would happen if I used my cards now? Could I get ahead of whatever pursued me? And force that shadow threatening my parents to reveal itself? The variant world and the threat to my parents had to be connected.

I no longer believed the cards themselves were at all special, but they had triggered something all those weeks ago. I went back into my bedroom and pulled on my old sweatpants and pajama T-shirt. Then I returned to my living room and removed the deck from their new home in the end table drawer next to my couch. If I figured out what lay ahead, I could warn my parents and stop it. As soon as I had the answer, I would call home, hear Mom’s voice, and give her vital, life-saving information. If she wouldn’t believe me, I could always call Gemma. If nobody listened, I could go home to Prince George and straighten out this mess.

Remembering that users of Tarot cards typically held a question in mind, I quietly asked myself,
“What has been hunting me?”
I removed the cards from their package and asked again several times as I shuffled. While I flipped the cards together over and over, I pictured the alley where I’d been hoisted up by some invisible menace. I pictured the dark street outside my old motel room and the red eyes that still chilled me. I turned over the top card, placing it face up on the coffee table in front of me.

Nothing happened as I stared down at the image of a ladder with three star coins blooming on a vine. I turned over another card, and another. I stared at images of a robed man holding a wand over his head and a hooded old man holding a lantern. I felt a sharp pain in my temple and my vision blurred. I blinked and a new vision began.

I saw Ivan sitting at a glass table in a glass-enclosed apartment looking down on Victoria’s Inner Harbour. The sun set rapidly and the windows became dark indigo mirrors. The dark glass walls reflected a sparsely decorated modern apartment. He owned little more than a glass coffee table, an L-shaped cream-colored couch and an abstract painting mounted over his fireplace. In the dark negative space on the window walls, lights from the city below twinkled like fireflies.

Ivan sat comfortably in his chair, not taking in his lavish surroundings, but focused on an indiscernible point in space. He murmured something I couldn’t make out. It wasn’t English and I didn’t think it sounded Russian. Whole words eluded my ears preventing a guess at what language he was speaking instead. My gaze drifted downward, coming into line with what Ivan saw through his eyes. I felt nearer to him, but the sound of his voice was still distant and indistinct. I looked around at the floor-to-ceiling glass wall across from where Ivan sat. Red eyes stared back, nestled in the silhouette of a cobra-headed humanoid creature. I couldn’t make out exact features, but the eyes looked back–at me–as though the creature knew I was there. The eyes that I’d dreamed outside my old room at the Capital City Motel glared from within the reflection on that window. And they were full of pure hate.

The urge to scream seized my whole being, but like a dream, no sound came. I was paralyzed. I willed my mind to back away from the vicious and eerily calm reflection. As I pushed, harder, and harder, I was finally sucked back to my own silent apartment. I knew instantly that I was safe, or at least alone, and that I’d only had a vision. Still, the fight-or-flight instinct gripped me and I jumped up from the table to make sure my door was locked. I locked the balcony’s sliding door and closed the drapes.

I turned on my television. A useless gesture, but the noise always comforted me. I used to do it when I was home alone or if I’d watched a scary movie. It felt like having company in the house. Watching images and hearing voices took my mind off whatever dark and horrible thing had scared me. Of course, this was the first time I’d ever been scared by a real ‘thing-that-goes-bump-in-the-night’ sort of creature. I believed it was real with no other evidence than the visual echoes in my mind.

As I walked down the hall to get a blanket from the closet, I noticed my hands shaking. No, my whole body was shaking. I wondered if I should call anyone. And say what? I couldn’t call Mom in my worked up state. Without real answers, I would only frighten her without accomplishing anything. For now, I’d sleep on the couch and let the television keep me company all night.

The rest of the workweek dragged on, seeming like each day lasted forever. I waved to Jonah awkwardly when I passed him upstairs. Cole came to my desk wanting to set up another driving tour date. I stalled him by complaining about the effects of my shot. I wasn’t entirely lying, but it was mostly psychological trauma. I imagined scenarios in which my name came up in conversation between the two men.

I played out scenes of Jonah telling Cole and the latter punching a hole through a concrete wall of his lab. I alternated versions. Jonah pretended that nothing happened, encouraging Cole to take me driving to distract me. I toyed with the idea of trying to spark a vision and get the answer ‘my’ way. I decided against petty personal drama when something genuinely important crossed my desk.

Ivan brought in several items of Ilya’s for me to touch, a scarf, a pair of sunglasses, an old shirt. Nothing happened on contact, but repeated sessions with these items kept my thoughts centered on Ilya. I continued having dreams about him. I wasn’t sure if things I saw in my sleep were actual visions, but I reported everything I saw to Ivan each morning, disappointing him with variations of scenes I’d already witnessed.

Ilya walking down the beach, talking to other variants, wandering Chinatown and the market around Innoviro. I told Ivan every new detail, however minor, with one exception. I told him nothing about seeing his apartment and a reptilian demon. Until I understood that disturbing scene, my instincts insisted I keep it entirely to myself.

After I had related roughly a dozen images and sensations that led nowhere, Ivan felt certain I needed another injection, maybe several to have a breakthrough. I consented with reluctance. I wanted to help find Ilya, but I also had a strong inclination that the other visions I’d had were important too, that I had seen them for a reason. The shots still frightened me and Tatiana wasn’t fun, but if I could endure and help Ilya, more answers could come. The only saving grace was that Tatiana had left for a business trip and it would be another week before she could inject me again.

Friday afternoon arrived and I found myself being the second to last person left in the office. Melissa gave me a stern warning to stay upstairs, since her early departure made me the last person at Innoviro that day. It was the start of the May long weekend, so naturally most people had plans. I briefly considered leaving town myself. I still had a sense of unease about the fate of my parents in the not-too-distant future. I had called home and made small talk with Mom after even fewer words with Darryl. Even so, talking to them set my mind at ease, although I still didn’t know how to warn them. What could I say? Don’t talk to strangers? Wasn’t that their line? Besides, neither of them sounded truly interested in my new job. Darryl seemed glad to have me out of the house. Or was that my own angst?