Buried Page 8

  My annoyance at Jen’s meddling is the first emotion that has cut through the fog in the past day and a half. That, along with the rush of cool air over my naked skin, serves to galvanize me into action. I grumble all the way to the bathroom, but when hot water hits my face and steam rises in the shower, my annoyance with Jen battles with gratitude that she is there to pull me out of my funk. Usually, when I battle my melancholy, it’s because someone has died and left me. This time, I am not alone.

  I emerge from the shower, feeling renewed. The ache in my chest from the loss of Minnie from my life is still present but cushioned by Jen’s presence. I open the bathroom door to the smell of fresh coffee and toast.

  “It’s all I could find in your empty fridge,” Jen says when I enter the kitchen, tousling my hair with my fingers to dry it. “Were you planning to starve yourself?”

  “The glories of the modern world include delivery food.”

  “But then you might have to put on pants.”

  “Is that truly a requirement?” I raise an eyebrow, and Jen smacks my arm. “With enough extra cash, anything is permissible.”

  “We’re not talking about this anymore.” Jen shoves a plate of toast and a full mug at me. “Here, eat this.”

  I wolf down the toast to the delight of my hungry stomach. Jen sips her coffee while she waits for me to stop inhaling my food.

  “Merry. I don’t know if you forgot while you were lounging on your bed for the last two days, but we still have a grail to find and an evil plan to stop. Any ideas?”

  “It’s not at Potestas headquarters.” I swallow the last of my toast and lean back in my chair. “I checked. There are many places it could be, but the most likely is in March’s safe, in her house.”

  “How are we going to get it?”

  “We need two things: the location of March’s house―”

  “I can figure that out,” Jen says with a decisive nod.

  “And the key to the safe, from around March’s wrist,” I finish.

  “How on Earth are we going to get that?” Jen’s face scrunches with disappointment and concern. An idea blossoms in my mind, and I smile slowly.

  “I have an idea.”

  “What?” Jen says, then she holds up her hand. Her lauvan tense with nervousness. “Wait, I don’t want to know.”

  I sip my coffee and look at Jen as she takes her plate to the kitchen. What does she mean by that comment? What does she think I plan to do? Ever since she asked me how many people I’ve killed, she has been tip-toeing around me, not asking her endless questions, not wanting to know details about plans. Is she frightened of me? How can I reassure her when I might be the problem?

  ***

  Jen leaves soon after, but not before she watches me put my car keys and wallet in my pocket and extracts a promise from me that I’ll go to work today.

  It does feel good to move, although every time my eye catches Minnie’s lauvan reaching out from my center, my gut clenches. I turn on my music loudly in the car to drown out my thoughts, and Chopin blasts through the speakers.

  The class looks surprised to see me after my absence yesterday. I don’t bother to explain. They can surmise what they like.

  “Talk to me about Alexander Pope’s An Essay on Man, Epistle Two. Taylor, read the first stanza, please.”

  Taylor looks nonplussed at being called upon so quickly, but I don’t feel like lecturing today. The students can do the work. They must sense that I am in no mood to be trifled with, and most sit up straight. The young woman I called upon clears her throat before she speaks.

  “Know then thyself, presume not God to scan; the proper study of mankind is man. Plac'd on this isthmus of a middle state, a being darkly wise, and rudely great: with too much knowledge for the sceptic side, with too much weakness for the stoic's pride, he hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest; in doubt to deem himself a god, or beast; in doubt his mind or body to prefer; born but to die, and reas'ning but to err; alike in ignorance, his reason such, whether he thinks too little, or too much: chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd; still by himself abus'd, or disabus'd; created half to rise, and half to fall; great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd: the glory, jest, and riddle of the world!”

  The reading was lackluster, as expected, but I didn’t have to do it.

  “Let’s hear your thoughts on what Pope means when he says, ‘The proper study of mankind is man,’” I say.

  A few raise their hands. I point to one at random, a young man with a shock of curly brown hair.

  “Is he saying that humans shouldn’t presume to question God, but they should study themselves to get answers about the world?”

  “With conviction, people,” I say. “Own your opinion. Goodness knows you’re too young to have one but have some confidence all the same. Yes, that’s correct. What else?”

  I try to keep my attitude in check while we discuss Pope’s poetry and the humanism infused in it, but it’s a trial. There is one young woman in the back whose hair is the exact chestnut brown shade of Minnie’s, and it distracts me with a pang in my chest every time my eyes pass her head. Another student sips from a travel mug and I am reminded of the grail, still hidden from me.

  The student puts down her mug and adjusts her bracelet. She is close enough to the front that the engraving on the metal band is visible. It’s a stylized mountain. I would have disregarded it, except for the thick cover of brown lauvan that swirl around it and almost obscure the mountain from my view. My breath catches and I look at her face, but she writes in her notebook and doesn’t look at me.

  How many Potestas members are there, that I can come across one at random in my class? Or, a chilling thought: is she planted here to watch me? I avoid unnecessary paranoia, but it might be warranted with March. I will have to watch my back.

  “Dr. Lytton?” A student says tentatively from the front. The class gazes at me with curiosity. Some hide snickers behind their hands, but I am respected enough that outright laughter would never occur. I shake my head.

  “That’s enough for today. Make sure your papers are ready for me next class. And a helpful hint: include some of our discussion today.”

  A few students look like they wish to speak with me, but I sweep out of the room before they can corner me. I have a plan to take the key from March, and I must complete it tonight. Time is running out.

  CHAPTER XII

  Back in my office, I open the window to get rid of the stuffy air and pull out my phone. The photos of the list of Potestas members are still there, and I send the photos to my printer. A minute later, I grab a pen and the pages and start crossing off names. I’m looking for a man, so all female names get scratched out. March has helpfully included birthdates, so every man under forty-five doesn’t make the cut. That leaves me with six names. I plug each into a search engine and pull up the results.

  Two of the names don’t return any consistent results, so I scratch them off my list. The other four have potential. Jeremy Barnum is a realtor with a winning smile. Stephen Vlad runs a smoke shop in East Van and favors tie-dye shirts. Connor Luther’s main hobby is running, as far as I can tell, and his photos invariably show him sweating in small shorts. Valencio Lopez is a photographer whose serious expression is only captured in one picture despite hundreds of his photos being online.

  I grab the best photo of each, along with a quick description of each man, and send Jen an email marked URGENT.

  If you were a fifty-something woman with a strong business mind and a spiritual bent, who would you find the most attractive?

  I have a good idea, but it never hurts to get a woman’s opinion. I’m often surprised.

  Five minutes later, I have my answer.

  Jeremy Barnum, hands down. What on Earth do you have planned?

  I reply with a smiley face and nothing else. She’ll figure it out. The only way to get close to March―short of attacking her and wrenching the bracelet off her, which
would blow my cover, putting aside the ethics―is to take her on a date.

  Jeremy Barnum has an office in Kitsilano, so I phone to find out his plans for tonight.

  “Haven Realty,” a woman’s voice answers.

  “Hello,” I say in a cheery British accent. “Looking for Jeremy Barnum. Do you know, is he in?”

  “I’m sorry, you’ve just missed him,” she says. “Can I take a message?”

  “It’s just, I’m leaving tomorrow, and I really wanted to speak with him before I go. My daughter, she lives here, she’s looking for a new house and asked me to call the realtor. Wouldn’t you know it, I forgot until right now. She’ll be livid. You don’t know where I could find him? Is he showing a house?”

  “He’s showing a house currently, yes,” she says in a regretful tone. “But I don’t think you’ll catch him before he finishes for the day. He has the evening booked off for personal errands. But let me take your name and number and I will have him call you first thing in the morning. Will that work? When does your flight leave?”

  “That will be wonderful, thanks.” I rattle off a false phone number and hang up.

  It’s possible that Jeremy is running errands, but with an ex-wife and kids that live out of town, according to his unprotected social media account, my bet is a Potestas visit tonight. He could be watching television or on a date, but Potestas members tend to treat headquarters as their home-away-from-home. I’ll go and watch him, learn his habits, and when he leaves, I’ll make my move.

  ***

  I grab a quick burger from the food court on campus―an anemic thing, but it will do for sustenance―and drive to Sweet Thing. The cupcake shop closes early, and chairs are piled on tables in the unlit store. The door is open, as always, and I slide inside and enter the secret door in the kitchen.

  A low hum of chatting greets my ears. Three people are playing a board game on a nearby coffee table, and the kitchen houses pizza boxes and happily munching members. I recognize Jeremy Barnum in the kitchen. His tie is loosened, and his sleeves are rolled up. He laughs with a middle-aged woman dressed in a blouse and pencil skirt and uses his slice of pizza to punctuate his words.

  I sit on an unoccupied couch and pull out a notebook and pen. I have nothing I need to jot down, but it’s a cover for observing Jeremy. I must memorize his looks, his mannerisms, his way of talking, enough so that I can fool March. Not that anyone would suspect me of shapeshifting, but questions about health and sanity can arise if I act out of character when transformed.

  I have a few minutes of surreptitious spying until the couch sags from the weight of another body. Esme grins at me with fire-engine red lips when I turn.

  “Hello, Merry. What are you writing?”

  “A few notes about my day. I’m a university instructor, and I like to write down any good insights my students had.” It’s rare that a student has an idea that I haven’t heard before, but it’s a plausible excuse for the notebook. Esme nods with enthusiasm.

  “It’s great to see someone take pride in their work. Especially educating young minds. Good for you.”

  Before she can praise me more, I change the topic.

  “How are you faring? After being chosen for the ceremony?”

  “Oh, lots to prepare.” Esme’s face glows with zeal. “My life will change completely. I’ve taken all my money out of the bank and closed accounts―who knows where I’ll go next? I want to be prepared. I sold all the furniture, gave notice to the landlord―I’m a free woman. Ready to take on the next stage of my life. I envision plenty of travel.”

  “Is that wise? To give up all your possessions, cut all ties?” My heart sinks to my stomach when I look at Esme’s eyes, gleaming with fanaticism. She won’t be dissuaded, but I must try. “The vagabond life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Are you truly sure that this spirit connection is what you want?”

  “Absolutely. Think of what I can do, where I can go. The world will open to me, in ways I can hardly imagine from this limited body. I am ready.”

  Esme gazes into the distance, seeing her vision of the future while a smile plays on her lips. She can’t understand objections in her current state. More and more, I understand that March has created less of an organization than a cult, and they worship the spirit world.

  “It was nice chatting with you.” I stand. “But I’m starving. I think I’ll grab some pizza.”

  “You too, Merry. See you around.”

  I approach the kitchen. Jeremy has finished speaking with his companion, and he reaches for another slice of pizza.

  “Which one do you recommend?” I ask him. He looks up in surprise.

  “Meat lover’s, all the way.”

  I clap him on the shoulder and take a slice.

  “My kind of guy. My name’s Merry, by the way.”

  “Jeremy. Say, aren’t you the new guy who went with March to find the grail?” He lowers his voice on the last word, as if saying the cup’s name will summon it.

  “That’s me. How long have you been a member of Potestas?”

  “Oh, a few months, maybe. A former girlfriend got me into it, and I have to say, I’m hooked. I was really hoping to be picked for the first wave of volunteers, but maybe it’s better to not be the guinea pig. Let someone else work out the bugs, you know?”

  “Sounds sensible.” And also what March is doing for herself. So far, Jeremy seems a good candidate for what I have in mind. “I’m too new to jump in. So, you’ve been around for a few months. What do you think about March?”

  “A strong leader, a caring person, and a beautiful woman,” he rattles off without hesitation. I raise an eyebrow.

  “Does she have a husband, partner, anyone?”

  Jeremy laughs with a hint of incredulity.

  “Keep your voice down. She’s here tonight, somewhere. Why, are you interested? You’re a bit young for her, aren’t you?”

  “No, not for myself. I just wanted to know more about her. She seems pleasant, but not always approachable. Intimidating, I suppose.”

  “Oh, she’s great, give her a chance. I don’t know if I’d ask her out, but only because of her position. I wouldn’t want to ruin my membership with Potestas if things didn’t work out.”

  “Fair enough.” I bite my pizza in thought. “Good to get the lay of the land. What’s the timeline for the ceremony, have you heard?”

  “I think they might have found the last piece, but I’m not sure. If they have, then it’s only a matter of days. Keep an eye on your email for the call. I know I’ve pushed back all important meetings for the next week just in case.” He wipes his hands on a napkin and tosses it into the garbage can. “I’d better push off. Nice to meet you, Merry. See you at the ceremony.”

  Not if I can help it. I nod at Jeremy and he makes his way to the exit. I give him five minutes and slowly chew my pizza. When I’m certain he won’t return, I follow him out of the door.

  In the kitchen of the dark cupcake shop, I tuck myself behind a large refrigerator and grab my lauvan. I studied Jeremy thoroughly while we talked, so I’m confident I can replicate his look. It takes me a few minutes of pulling and knotting, and a few checks in the mirror of the employee bathroom, until Jeremy Barnum stares back at me from the reflection. I smile, and Jeremy’s white teeth gleam at me. I take a deep breath, adjust my loosened tie, and walk back into headquarters.

  There are paper plates next to the half-eaten pizzas, and I put two slices and a napkin on a plate and walk toward March’s office. I hope she’s there, and not busy with amulets or checking past lives. I knock lightly on the office door.

  “Come in,” March replies, and I turn the doorknob and step into the room, closing the door behind me.

  March glances up from her computer when I enter, and she gives me a warm smile.

  “Jeremy. How nice to see you.”

  “I thought you might be hungry.” I place the plate on her desk. “It was going fast, and I wouldn’t want you to go without.”

 
“That’s very kind,” she says. “Please, sit for a minute.” She closes her computer’s lid and sighs before plucking a slice off the plate and taking a bite. “I am hungry. Too much to do, I forget to look after myself.”

  “That’s no good.” I lean forward. “When’s the last time you went out for a drink, just for fun? You’re at Potestas all the time.”

  She tilts her head and studies me with a hint of a smile on her face.

  “Why, what are you suggesting?”

  “Can I buy you a drink? Give you a chance to let your hair down?”

  Her eyes rake my face. I make it as open and guileless as I can. Finally, she nods.

  “I’d like that. Thank you, Jeremy.”

  We stand, and I hold the door open for her. When we pass through the common room, the people gathered there greet March with smiles and waves. All eyes face in our direction, and more than a few glance at me with curiosity. March responds with composure, saying hello to those closest and greeting them by name. It’s disconcerting how much they truly adore her.

  Outside, a cool breeze trickles between buildings from the ocean, and the sky is shot with pink and orange from the setting sun. March pulls her sweater closer around her torso.

  “Let’s go to the Brewhouse.” I point a few stores down, where light pours out from a brightly lit pub. “It’s close, and they have a good wine selection.”

  Once inside, March perches on a stool along the window’s bar table. I collect a bottle of wine from the bar―a nice vintage from Italy, not expensive enough to give away my in-depth knowledge of wines, something Jeremy likely doesn’t have―and join her. She is well-versed in pleasant chit-chat, and conversation flows easily along light topics. Eventually, I turn the conversation to my reason for this escapade.

  “What’s your take on palm reading?” I say after a sip of my wine. March purses her lips.

  “As with any of the spiritual arts, it takes the right practitioner, the right invocations, the right amulet, or the right practice. And forecasting the future is often fraught with pitfalls. There are so many ways it can go, how can you be sure that you are interpreting the path that will be, or that by illuminating that path, you aren’t influencing your steps so that you will not walk that path after all? It’s a difficult art, to be sure.”