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

by Christine Hart

  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? . . . T
here 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?