We spent a few hours after dinner on an August afternoon sunning ourselves on a large flat rock that jutted out over Lac La Hache. The clouds rushed over our heads as though a wind turbine propelled them. But, the air stayed relatively calm and warm–a magical weather combination. When we lost the light, Mom started our campfire and we made s’mores. We talked about nothing and boys and frenemies. We giggled and gushed. For some stupid reason I chose our rare bonding session as a moment to ask Mom about the start of her relationship with Darryl.
“Why did you and Darryl get married when I was a baby? He couldn’t have been an obvious family man.” I’d opened an old wound, not even thinking the topic through to its conclusion. I stopped short of adding, Wasn’t it obvious he didn’t want to raise someone else’s child?
I remember the look on Mom’s face. Her smile dropped and she looked at the campfire thoughtfully. “I got pregnant with Gemma.” She let a moment of silence pass. This revelation had occurred to me before, but it hadn’t been said out loud. Gemma’s confused expression suggested she had not considered this dynamic.
“Darryl does love you girls. Both of you. We use the word ‘surprise’ not ‘accident’ when we talk about my second pregnancy. We hadn’t been dating for long, but we felt a strong connection. We wanted to try to be a family, so it made sense for Darryl to adopt my other baby. Still, his father gave him a very hard time about marrying me on more than one occasion. It didn’t help that I was a struggling widow when I found out I’d be having another baby. After the adoption, your grandfather went as far as to change his will cutting Darryl out completely. I won’t dignify that man’s beliefs by sharing any more detail with you girls. I’m not saying Darryl is a warm, caring man, but there are reasons behind his frustrations in life.”
My own smile fell as my memory of the warm lakeside rock refocused on Mom’s face discussing Darryl’s crappy father. Life made Darryl a jerk, but I got uniquely saddled with his disappointment. I actually felt better knowing there was a reason he looked at me like a busted prototype.
Now, I launched off the urban bench and back out onto Victoria’s busy main street. I wove through the slow-moving bodies as I sped forward on the pavement. I turned sharply around the corner back to Chinatown. I paused and looked more closely at the red and yellow dragon street signs on stylized red lampposts that clearly marked the neighborhood.
I reached the elaborate themed gate and slowed my pace. I lingered at each shop window, waiting for a sign or a feeling to tell me something. I didn’t really have new information. Sense and reason dictated that I would never know why I’d had visions of Victoria–or why a grubby weirdo started stalking me.
The shops and baskets and trinkets and produce all felt familiar on my second, well, really third viewing. I noticed a tiny brick alley; the one I had seen in my vision. The alley had its own street sign ‘Fan Tan Alley’. I took a step back to look in the narrow corridor. It seemed more European than something inspired by Chinese architecture. I stepped inside and felt confined in spite of the sky overhead. Three stories of bare brick walls rose on either side. Each shop was small, identified by a hanging sign over the door. I moved slowly to take in the surreal little space as people pushed past me.
I walked past a split door with only the top half open. People in white uniforms with old food stains moved through a loud and steamy restaurant kitchen. Next, a record shop window had handbills plastering the glass, inside and out. A trinket shop overflowed its space with wreaths and charms hanging on racks off its open door. A small biker boutique offered boots and jackets and fishnet stockings in its window. Farther in, more posters clung to the brick around a stairwell opening and a group of shifty kids looked up from their conversation to stare at me briefly. They whispered again and dispersed, laughing.
I frowned and stood stewing over the insult when a wave of incense wafted over me. Across the alley, a tiny windowless shop with lavender on the door had a sign overhead. It was so old and worn, I couldn’t read it, but the door sat ajar, the room dimly lit. I barely had room to turn around without my bag bumping rows of liquid-filled glass bottles or snagging cord-strung pendants off their hooks.
“Hello, Miss Proffer. Your order is almost ready. The tea blend is finished, but I still need to prepare the packaging. Have a seat,” called out a lovely voice from the back of the store. A curtain of tacky beads obscured a closet-sized storeroom behind the front desk. I saw a figure move.
“Um, I’ve never been here before, so I haven’t ordered anything yet. Actually, I just got to Victoria yesterday,” I said politely. “Do you happen to know anyone named Rubin?”
“Hang on. We do have your order. I’ll be right out,” she said.
My heart lurched. Had I been given a roofie at some point and wandered around town in a stupor?
I looked around the room again. Row upon row of jars labeled with one and two-word herb titles covered the opposite wall. The shop didn’t look expensive, but I had no intention of paying for overpriced herbal tea simply because she gave off a mystical vibe, or knew my name–probably through my stalker. I shifted my stance. I shouldn’t have come in the first place.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but please tell me how you know me. You’re the second person I’ve met today who knew me in advance.” I heard frustration seeping into my words as the shopkeeper ignored me and kept working with perfect serenity.
“Let the tea steep for at least five minutes. If you don’t wait long enough–,” she stopped short as her phone chimed. She smiled and turned around to answer. Her conversation sounded tense as she responded with “yes” and “no” several times before saying that she was with a customer.
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.
“Without 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.
In Irina's Cards (The Variant Conspiracy #1) Page 3