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

by Christine Hart

  Jonah looked nervous and angry as he wrung his hands, grinding nothing. “Oh thank God!” He reached out, and then retracted his arm before touching me.

  “Did I . . . pass out or something?” The sudden thought that I’d been drugged made my stomach drop like a stone. Jonah handed me a glass of water he had ready at his side.

  “No, not really,” Jonah said cautiously. “It’s my fault. I thought since you were different, varied, like me, you’d be immune. I was so sure!” He spoke to himself, more than me.

  “You don’t think there was something in that ice cream, do you?” I said, after a sip of water.

  “No, it literally was my fault. But I would never drug you–or hurt you! Shit. This is complicated,” he said as he stood. “I sort of drained you. You know the human body is mostly water, right?”

  I frowned again, but nodded.

  “Remember in the restaurant when I moved that water on the menu and absorbed it with my hand?”

  “Sure, I get it. You can manipulate water,” I said groggily.

  “It’s more than telekinesis though. Ivan calls it ‘aquakinesis’ which I think is stupid, because there’s more to it than that. My body feeds off water. I’m constantly drawing it in from the air around me. And it’s getting worse. It’s why I need to live in a humid climate, near water if possible.” He paced to the far side of my living room. “I’m so sorry.” He darted towards the door and I heard it slam a half-second later.

  I tried to get up off the couch and my head swam. I lay back down on the comfortable plush cushions. I tried to say something and nearly choked. I grabbed my glass of water and downed the entire thing. I wanted to run after Jonah, but it took all my energy to adjust myself on the couch. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier. I gave in, let sleep take me.

  Saturday morning sun brightened my apartment by six in the morning. For the first time, the space was utterly void of sound and the memory of the night before flooded back. I saw Jonah’s face and remembered the kiss, accompanied by a stab of self-pity.

  A throbbing headache knocked around my skull, worse than any hangover I remembered. Did this mean I could never kiss Jonah, let alone do anything truly intimate? His inability to touch another person must have been the reason he’d let Ivan experiment on him already.

  I went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. Knowing the coffee wouldn’t help dehydration, I chugged another glass of water while the coffee brewed. I sat at my kitchen table to wait, prying my laptop open as I did. I loved how quickly it booted up and I grinned in spite of my miserable state. I clicked on the curled up orange Firefox logo and I typed ‘aqua-kinesis’ into Google. I found an entry in the Urban Dictionary that read, ‘The ability to manipulate water, create water or to change the state of water.’

  That didn’t sound so bad. And not a recipe for draining the life out of people. Something had gone awfully wrong because he had done it to himself, unnaturally. I would probably never understand the science, not for Jonah’s work, Cole’s, Ivan’s, or anyone else inside the walls at Innoviro. Not in a way that would actually serve a purpose.

  The only thing left to look for was my own gift, even though I knew I wasn’t going to get real answers from the Internet. I typed ‘precognition’ into the search engine and hit the Enter key after a moment’s hesitation. A Wikipedia entry came up first and the most reliable source as far as I was concerned, so I opened the page without skimming the rest of my results.

  ‘In parapsychology, precognition, also called future sight, and second sight, is a type of extrasensory perception that would involve the acquisition or effect of future information that cannot be deduced from presently available and normally acquired sense-based information or laws of physics and/or nature.’

  I knew I’d also seen past events in my visions, so again, there was more going on than a website could reveal. What did I think was going to happen, anyway? If I bought a computer of my own and searched in private, some new resource would turn up or a miraculous insight would unravel in my mind? These answers weren’t up for grabs online and I had to accept that.

  I snapped the laptop shut on Wikipedia. Only Ivan could help me. I’d have to be brave, ask, and trust him to find out what I wanted to know. The saying ‘curiosity killed the cat’ flitted through my mind and I felt the now familiar hopelessness of failing to make sense of the bizarre tangle of my new life.

  After I clicked on my television, I remembered the bag on my dining table. I hadn’t set up my phone yet. I could do something practical that had a measurable result. Suddenly I wanted to hear my mom’s voice very badly. I grabbed the bag and opened the box. The manual with the phone was a thick text-heavy booklet, but after impatiently re-reading the first few pages, I figured out what number I had to call and the key combination I’d need to punch to activate the phone. Another few frustrating pages revealed how to add the pre-paid phone card money. In less than half an hour I had a phone number. Before a full hour had passed, I’d transferred my collection of phone numbers from sticky notes, receipts in my purse, and from my memory, into my shiny new personal cell.

  I revisited one of the first numbers I’d programmed–my parents’ home phone in Prince George. My finger hovered over the button with the green symbol of a receiver. Would Mom get angry again? Or would Darryl answer the phone and quiz me about the quality and stability of my new job? I pressed the red receiver symbol instead.

  Fat lot of good a phone would to do me if I had nobody to call. I scrolled through the rest of the address book I’d just created and stalled on a strange name. I had Faith’s number and I decided to call it. I didn’t really know what I planned to say, or if I’d have the guts to ask her about the pharmacology department, but the idea sounded reasonable so I dialed. And she answered on the first ring.

  “Hi Faith, it’s Irina. I hope I didn’t catch you . . .” but she was so excited to hear my voice, I didn’t get a chance to finish. She’d been waiting to hear from me. She wanted to know if I’d come watch her game. Faith was on Victoria’s only roller derby team and they were playing a team from Vancouver that evening. I had only a general idea what roller derby involved–roller skates and a rink.

  Faith must have thought I had enough knowledge to enjoy the game, but I also got the impression she wanted to put butts in seats and would have asked a girl on the street to come see her play. I didn’t know Faith very well apart from one meal and a few nods at work. But I usually read people fairly accurately. Was that part of my gift? She did sound sincere in wanting me to come out. I refocused on Faith’s instructions to get the details I needed.

  I agreed to meet her at the Esquimalt Arena, which was actually not far from my apartment. In the meantime, I needed groceries before I could even have breakfast, and then a well-earned hot shower.

  I lived less than a block from a run-down, but reliable supermarket. Victoria reminded me with her little nuances how long the city had been standing. Compared to Prince George, Victoria was the Old World and the streets of suburban Esquimalt were no exception. As I walked down the street away from my building, towards the supermarket, I noted in more detail how the structures around me documented the passage of time. I passed restored heritage houses from the early 1900’s as well as weathered 60’s and 70’s complexes not yet worthy of rescue. One large glass and metal tower contrasted the original bricks and vines of the neighborhood.

  Street signs bore the poppy-based insignia of Canadian veterans, marking the area as belonging to the military, much as the red dragon signs on Fisgard pointed me down to Chinatown. By the time I reached the dated plaza with the old supermarket, I thought I might actually spot naval uniforms among the pedestrians and drivers around me. Nothing yet, but I planned to keep my eye out for them, if for no reason other than to see if my mental image of one of the Village People was an accurate portrayal of a contemporary sailor.


  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 th
e 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.