Buried Read online

  Jen shakes her head, as if to force the answer to make sense.

  “Have you ever ridden an elephant?”

  “Really? The answer is yes, several times throughout my life. There are plenty of your contemporaries who could say the same.”

  “I like elephants,” she says in defense. “Okay. Have you ever killed anyone?”

  “Yes.”

  Jen appears taken aback by my quick response.

  “Over your whole life, how many people have you killed?”

  “Far too many to count,” I answer with easy assurance.

  Jen’s lauvan freeze at my response, and her face tightens. Then she gives a forced laugh.

  “That was a nonchalant answer.”

  I shrug.

  “It’s true. Most of history was far bloodier than in present-day North America. Wherever there are humans together, there will be conflict. And I lived by my sword as a mercenary, as a raider, or as a knight, for much of my life.”

  Jen nods slowly, but her lauvan stay taut. I break the short silence.

  “No more questions?”

  “Not today.” Jen pastes on a fake smile. “Maybe later. I’ll get Alejandro settled into his new place.”

  She walks toward the bathroom where Alejandro packs his toiletries. I am left wondering about Jen’s reaction. Surely, she would have guessed my answer? She has taken enough history classes to know that the past was often brutal. Does she see me in a different light now?

  CHAPTER III

  Minnie slides into the passenger’s seat.

  “Hi,” she says, then leans toward me. I greet her waiting lips with a quick kiss then start the engine.

  “Where to, my lady?”

  “Can we stop by the farmer’s market in Burnaby? I’d love some fresh fruit.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  I accelerate away from the curb, but at the sight of Minnie’s whitened knuckles on her purse I slow down to a more moderate pace. She would trust me more if she knew of my long experience behind the wheel, but I don’t tell short-term lovers of my past. That would be far too risky. I’ll simply have to slow down for now.

  “How are you feeling lately?” Minnie asks. She winces. “Sorry, that was a therapist question, wasn’t it? I do try to keep work at work. But I still want to know your answer.”

  “I’m well, thanks.” I laugh. “Was that what you were looking for?”

  “I was more curious about your issue from last week. Have you heard any voices lately?”

  I was overcome by the voices of water spirits yelling in my head during one of our recent dates. I was too shaken up to hide it from Minnie, and she’s been after me to see a professional to help with the voices. I can’t tell her they were spirits.

  “I haven’t heard any voices that I haven’t wanted to hear.”

  “Good.” Minnie leans back with satisfaction. She likely thinks I’ve only been hearing real voices, human voices from physical bodies. I meant that now I want to hear what the spirits have to say.

  Conversation is easy between us, as always, and it’s a quick drive to the outdoor market. Tents have sprouted in orderly lines in a large parking lot, and hundreds of people mill about with cloth bags and wicker baskets. It’s remarkable how this style of shopping is so fringe today, when it was the main way to sell goods for most of my life. The tents are uniform in size and style, the tables are plastic instead of wood, and the shoppers wear baseball caps and the women wear trousers, but if I half-close my eyes, I can pretend that I am elsewhere, elsewhen.

  I park the car and we stroll toward the tents with Minnie’s arm tucked in mine and her side comfortably pressing against me.

  “What kind of fruit are you looking for?” I ask.

  “Anything that looks delicious,” she says. “Oh, look, honey. I should get some of that on the way back.” We jostle through the crowd for a few more steps, then Minnie points. “Is that tent selling mushrooms? That’s unusual. Let’s have a look.”

  Mushrooms are hardly unusual to my mind, but I humor Minnie as she pulls me to the tent. Large piles of fungi sit in bins along the front of the table. The oyster mushrooms are a velvety gray, the shitakes a woodsy brown, and there are even some chanterelles of a mustard-yellow. Minnie points at a chanterelle.

  “Do you like these? I have a recipe I’d like to try that calls for chanterelles.” Her brow knits. “You know, I had one of my strange dreams last night, and where we are now reminds me exactly of the dream. You and I were in a market buying chanterelles―they were paler than these ones―and you wanted as many as we could fit in my basket. I was wearing a long red dress.” She shakes her head. “Wow, déjà vu. Except for the red dress.”

  I stare at Minnie. I remember the scene she describes. It was in Venice, with my twelfth wife Zanetta. She was young, and we were still courting. Her stepmother was more discerning than her father―she saw through me, somehow, whereas her father was eager to marry his middle daughter to the well-spoken young noble from Rome.

  “How strange,” I say at last. “You’re still having the dreams?”

  “Yes. They don’t bother me as much anymore. Perhaps I know you better now, so when you appear in my dreams, it’s not as startling.”

  Minnie squeezes my arm and gives me a smile which I try to return, although my mind is bewildered. I still don’t know why she is seeing my memories. So far, it is only memories of pleasant events with my lovers and wives. What if she starts dreaming of the battles I’ve fought or some of the more questionable periods of my life? I don’t want to disturb her sleep with visions like that or have her see me in a different light.

  “Do you want some ice cream?” Minnie points to a popular tent ahead, where two servers scoop colorful ice cream into waiting cones. “They make it locally.”

  I’m happy for the distraction, and we join the line. While Minnie speaks of a new mountaineering club she’s thinking of joining, I examine her lauvan. Jen told me to be careful with Minnie. I want to find signs that she will weather a short-term relationship, that a fling will satisfy her, and she will not seek more from me. Her words and actions so far worry me, but the lauvan never lie.

  Her navy-blue strands dance lightly with her happiness this morning. All well and good, but what of her feelings toward me? The lauvan that connect us are tightly woven together, but there are signs of fraying if I look closely. That is a good sign for my purposes. I breathe a sigh of relief and smile at Minnie.

  The hairs on my neck prickle. My eyes dart around to see what caused my reaction. After a moment’s search, I find it: a tent of royal purple with two chairs and a small table underneath. A woman sits behind the table, which is draped with colorful scarves and spread with tarot cards. Her lauvan spasm with excitement. But it is not the fortuneteller who looks my way.

  Anna Green stands beside the woman. Her eyes are fixed on mine, and when I meet her gaze, she gives me a small wave. Her eyes dart to Minnie with interest, and a spasm of some unidentifiable emotion crosses her face. She bends to speak with the fortuneteller then walks quickly through the crowd and disappears.

  What was that about? It wouldn’t surprise me if the fortuneteller was a Potestas member, which might explain Anna’s visit to her tent. I couldn’t read Anna’s reaction at seeing Minnie by my side, and it worries me. It shouldn’t―what would Anna do, and why?―but I can’t shake a feeling of unease.

  And what was the fortuneteller so excited by? Is Potestas up to something? My mind flits to the grail, buried deep underground. Surely no one could have found it. It’s still there. Everything is fine.

  But it can’t hurt to check.

  ***

  I’m distracted after my sighting of Anna, and although I try to hide it, Minnie is very perceptive.

  “It looks like you have things to do,” she says on the way to the car. “Why don’t you drop me off and go do them?”

  “No, I―”

  “It’s fine, Merry.” She smiles and her strands wav
e to emphasize her words. “Call me later and we’ll get together soon.”

  “I’d like that.”

  At Minnie’s street, the only parking is a block away.

  “I’ll walk you to your door,” I say. I pick up Minnie’s bag of produce and get out of the car. Minnie joins me on the sidewalk, and I offer her my arm.

  “How gallant.” She smiles and links her arm through mine. We walk in companionable silence to her apartment building. Her arm is warm and soft and feels just right pressed against my side.

  At the door, Minnie turns to face me. We are close now, very close. She gazes at me with a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

  “Thanks for walking me here, Merry.” She looks at my mouth, then her eyes close and she leans forward to kiss me. I need no further encouragement. I let her cloth bag slither to the ground through my fingers and run my hands around her waist. Her lips are so soft and taste faintly of blackberry from the ice cream. Our lauvan twine together and I am brought to the giddiness of connection that overwhelmed me when we first danced. Every thought flies out of my mind, and all I want is to taste her delicious blackberry kiss.

  I press her against the wall. Stucco scratches my fingers, but I don’t care. Minnie’s hands travel across my back, grip my hair, and it’s all I can do not to groan at the sensation. Her lips open for me, and I almost bruise them with my hungry mouth. Our hips press into each other, but we’re not close enough. I curse the layers of clothes that separate our bodies.

  Minnie’s hands leave my hair and press against my chest. I don’t react to the pressure until she pushes more firmly, and then my lips part from hers reluctantly.

  “What’s the matter?” I say hoarsely.

  “Firstly, we’re at my front door, with street traffic driving by and gawking.” Her eyes dance. “Secondly, you have things to do.”

  “They can wait.” I move to kiss her once more, but she puts a finger on my lips to stop me.

  “You’re distracted by whatever you need to do.”

  “Do I look distracted to you?”

  “I don’t want to be your means of procrastination.” She smiles to soften her words, and her eyes laugh. “Come back when you are fully mine. I’ll be waiting.”

  I growl in frustration, and she chuckles.

  “Date on Wednesday? My evenings are full until then.”

  “You’re going to make me wait three days to see you again?” I bow my head in defeat. “Cruel, cruel woman.”

  Her hand strokes my cheek gently.

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  She pats my chest then slides sideways. Only when the door closes behind her do I move. I shake my head and walk to my car. Minnie isn’t wrong—the grail niggles at my mind like an itch that can’t be scratched. But Minnie’s hold on me, my attraction to her, can’t be denied. Wednesday can’t come soon enough.

  It’s not long before my car pulls over on the side of the road nearest the former sinkhole. I get out and approach the spot with trepidation, even as I tell myself that my fears are unfounded. How could anyone know where I hid it?

  Excavator tracks and a gaping hole greet my disbelieving eyes. Someone was here, digging with heavy machinery. There is no reason for the city to dig here, and it is public property, so no homeowner would touch it. The only culprit is Potestas.

  My heart sinks to my stomach. All that conniving on the ship, the dangers I faced in the water to steal that damn cup, and it was stolen right back from me. How did they know? I’m certain I wasn’t followed, and they could never have guessed. No person could have figured it out.

  My eyes close and my head tilts back when I realize the truth. The spirits. Of course. Why do I keep leaving them out of my calculations? They dropped me in the hole, they found out about my power to repel them, and they likely sensed the strands of the grail in their domain. If March is as tight with the renegade spirits as she appears to be, it’s the most likely explanation.

  I pull out my phone and call Alejandro. While the burden of retrieving the grail falls on my shoulders, where it should, it’s so pleasant to have confidantes to keep in the loop. I never tire of having friends.

  “Hola?”

  “Alejandro, bad news. I hid the grail, and Potestas found it. They have the grail.”

  Silence followed by a low whistle greets my ears.

  “Now what?”

  “Now we find it. I’ll check at headquarters right now. Can you pass the news on to Jen? We need to come up with a plan to retrieve it.”

  “I’m on it.”

  ***

  It’s time to hunt for the grail. Again.

  The cupcake shop, Sweet Thing, is open for business. I pull the car over and stop the engine. I’ve only entered Potestas headquarters after hours. What’s the protocol for entry? Is Potestas only an evening venture? On the positive side, there should be fewer people in my way once I find out how to enter. There must be some secret password that I am not privy to.

  I deliberate, then I wrap my fingers around my lauvan and get to work. A few tweaks here and there produce a decent uniform, and my satchel quickly transforms to a toolbox.

  The shop inside is bustling with happy mouths filled with colorful frosting. Two women at the counter pull out cupcakes from the glass counters and ring through purchases. I hold up my toolbox to the nearest attendant.

  “Here for the dishwasher repair. Sorry I’m late.”

  The woman looks confused but is quickly distracted by a customer. She waves me through, and I slip behind the counter. There’s a woman overseeing a large mixer and a man stocking shelves, but neither give me more than a cursory glance. When the women at the front are distracted, I open the door marked “plumbing” and slip through.

  As I expected, the common area is nearly empty. There is one man lying on the far couch, but his eyes are closed, and he snores gently. I let go of my lauvan and my uniform dissolves back into my usual clothing.

  I’m glad it’s empty. I don’t know what March has been told about the grail. The spirits must have told her where to dig, but did they tell her who buried it? How can she suspect anyone other than me, since I dove to retrieve it with her? Am I persona non grata at headquarters now? I will pretend nothing has changed and see how March reacts. Perhaps she thinks that the underwater grail was a fake, and that the real grail was buried in the ground the whole time.

  I have free rein of headquarters, but where do I look? I can’t imagine the common room being used for storage of such a precious item. March’s office and the amulet acquisition room are far more likely. I walk down the hall on stealthy feet to the acquisition room. I’ll start there, in case March is in her office. I don’t want my search halted before I can begin.

  The room is empty of people. I enter and quietly close the door behind me. The floor-to-ceiling shelves that line the walls are filled with items of every description, from crosses to prayer flags, singing bowls to scraps of cloth. Most are religious in nature, and all are covered in a thick layer of multicolored lauvan.

  The strands make it difficult for me to see the object underneath, but I know how big the grail is. And unless Potestas has added lauvan to the grail, I should still be able to see portions of its enameled bowl. My eyes scan the shelves, but nothing matches my memory of the cup.

  There are plenty of objects, but after five minutes of searching I am confident that none is the grail. I sigh and open the door. I didn’t really expect it to be in here with the regular amulets, but I had to check.

  March’s office is the next most likely room. There is still no one in sight, so I tread down the hall and knock gently on the office door. When there is no response, I pull the door open and slip inside.

  March’s desk is neat to the point of sparseness. There are no pictures, no pen holders, no blotter, only a closed laptop centered on the gleaming wood desk. Four drawers yield nothing but pens and file folders. I flip through one at the front. It contains a list of names and emails, along with notes abo
ut each name. Is this a list of Potestas members? I search for names I know. My name is halfway down the list, penciled in between Marty Lindstrom and David Mao, with a note beside it.

  Unknown powers. Can see auras? Strong, took on Drew’s spirit connection and won. Watch him.

  I don’t know how I can use this information, yet, but it’s too good to pass up. I take a photograph with my phone of each page, five in all, then slide the sheets into the file folder. The other files are far less interesting―electricity invoices and the like―and the only other furniture in the room is a glass side table between two armchairs before the desk. I stand from my perusal of the drawers, defeated. I suspected March wouldn’t leave the grail at Potestas unprotected, but I hoped. I’ll glance around the library before I go, but it won’t be there. I’m certain now that March has squirreled the grail away in her safe, the safe whose only key rests on March’s bracelet.

  The door clicks open and Anna Green enters. She jumps at the sight of me, then she puts a hand to her chest.

  “Merry. You startled me.” Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I was looking for March, but she’s not here.” I shrug my shoulders. “Better luck next time. When does she usually turn up?”

  “Most evenings.” Anna’s lauvan are still in tight coils from her suspicion as I walk out the door, but she pastes on a smile when she catches me looking. If she knows about my grail switch, she doesn’t let on. “You could try tonight. I’ll be here then, too, if you want some company.”

  “Thanks, Anna.” I don’t follow up on her offer, and her lauvan droop slightly. “See you later.”

  Her eyes follow my back all the way to the exit, but my mind is on more pressing matters. How can I get the key from March?

  I drive home, dispirited by the lack of grail at Potestas. The next logical place to search is March’s safe, but the barriers to my hunt are significant. How will I retrieve the key, when the only copy dangles from March’s bracelet? I have time―March said the ceremony would be no sooner than a week―so I can figure out this conundrum tomorrow.