Zinnia

Chapter 16

She had overreacted, Zinnia told herself later that evening while she held the focus for an accountant. It was all right. Perfectly understandable. There was no need to chastise herself for the emotional outburst and the tears. She had been temporarily overcome by events. That sort of thing happened. One could not always control one's emotions, although certain people seemed to think they could do just that.

The important thing was that it would not happen again.

She had herself together now and she would not allow Nick Chastain to destroy her composure so thoroughly a second time. Sleeping with him had obviously been a grave mistake, but she prided herself on learning from her mistakes.

She forced herself to concentrate on the job at hand. Not that it took a great deal of attention. She estimated Martin Quintana to be approximately a class-three matrix. He had been retained by a midsized manufacturing corporation to find evidence on a suspected embezzler. To that end he had been poring over voluminous computer printouts of various financial transactions all evening, searching for patterns.

He was humming to himself. In typical matrix fashion he was lost in a design that only he could fully appreciate. Zinnia could glimpse some of the rhythms that Quintana perceived because she was holding the focus for him. But to her the subtle ebb and flow of the endless tide of numbers on the printouts were mere curiosities, not compelling puzzles. Only a matrix would find them fascinating.

She glanced at her watch. It was getting late. Clementine had warned her that Quintana only wanted to pay for three hours' worth of focus time. They were well into the fourth hour. Zinnia was getting stiff from sitting still for so long. She was also hungry. She had missed dinner again.

She cleared her throat politely. "Mr. Quintana?"

He did not seem to hear her. He was busily entering a string of figures into his computer.

"Excuse me, Mr. Quintana, but your time is up. I'll have to ask you to stop now."

"What's that?" He jerked his head around to peer at her over the rims of his reading glasses. "Oh, yes, Miss Spring. Three hours I believe I said."

"Yes. If you want to contract for more time, I'm sure my boss can arrange it."

"No need. Can't justify charging the expense to my client." He lounged back into his chair with a long sigh. "I've got all the information I need to nail the perpetrator of the fraud. Had that an hour ago. I'm afraid I was merely entertaining myself."

"I understand." Zinnia gave him a sympathetic smile. Clementine got annoyed with her because she frequently allowed her matrix clients to fool around in the pattern for a while after the agreed-upon allotment of time. It was hard to tell a matrix who was having a good time that things had to come to a halt. "I'm glad you got what you wanted from the printouts."

"Oh, yes, it's all there. I take a great deal of satisfaction in my work at times like this." Quintana riffled through the stack of papers. "Money always leaves a trail, you see. It's almost impossible to hide the traces when one knows where to look."

"I see. Well, I'd better be going." Zinnia rose from her chair and picked up her shoulder bag. "Psynergy, Inc. will bill you within a week."

"Of course. I'll see you to your car." Quintana stood and stretched. "Always a pleasure to work with you, Miss Spring. So few prisms can focus properly for a matrix. And even fewer can do it for long periods of time."

"Thanks. Be sure to tell my boss."

"I most certainly will."

He escorted her out the door and walked with her to where her car was parked at the curb. It was the only vehicle left on the street. Zinnia could barely see it through the fog that had coalesced during the past few hours.

She glanced at the darkened windows and doorways and automatically took a firmer grip on her purse. This was a quiet neighborhood of small businesses and shops that was buttoned up tight after closing time.

"Allow me." Quintana gallantly opened the car door. "The fog has grown worse, hasn't it? Do drive carefully, won't you, Miss Spring?"

"I will." She slid behind the steering bar and smiled up at him. "What about you?"

"I'm going to go back inside and write my final report. Then I'll go home. Goodnight, Miss Spring."

"Goodnight, Mr. Quintana."

Zinnia waited until he closed the door and then she made certain that all the locks were set. She activated the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

She tried to remember what she had at home in the icerator. Extended periods of focus work took a considerable amount of energy. Granted, it was psychic energy, but energy was energy. She was starving.

Glumly she recalled the dinner invitation from Nick that she had summarily turned down over the phone that afternoon.

She was several blocks away from Quintana's office when a sputtering sound from the car's engine immediately took her attention off the matter of food. Startled, she surveyed the small number of simple gauges on the dashboard. She had plenty of fuel and nothing appeared to be amiss with the ignition system. Jelly-ice engines were as reliable as the sunrise.

The sputtering grew louder. She felt the car hesitate. She increased the flow of jelly-ice but nothing happened. With one last jerk and a cough, the engine shut down. She hastily turned the steering bar to guide the coasting vehicle to the side of the deserted street.

The sudden silence was more alarming than any noise could have been at that moment. The fog swirled around the car, silently menacing.

She tried to prod the engine back to life, but there was no response. A chill of dread shot through her as she surveyed her surroundings. As luck would have it she was in a section of town that had been slated for redevelopment for some time. But to date little had been done. The few windows that she could see through the mist were boarded up and several of the street lamps were out. She could not see a telephone booth.

The only sign of life was an eerie blue glow in the distance. She gazed at it for a long time. There was something vaguely familiar about that particular shade of blue light.

She considered her options and realized she only had two. She could remain in the locked vehicle until a police cruiser happened by, which could be hours from now, or she could get out and search for a phone booth. Neither choice held much appeal.

She looked at the glowing blue light in the distance again, pondering the sense of familiarity. Then she realized why she recognized it. The light was the same shade of azure blue that the Children of Earth, one of the largest of the Return cults, used to illuminate its temples.

This was just the sort of neighborhood the cult favored, she thought. She had read in the business pages that the Children of Earth had begun acquiring cheap real estate in depressed areas.

She hesitated a while longer and then made up her mind. She opened the door and got out. There was no sign of anyone around. She buttoned her coat, locked the car and pocketed the keys.

She set off briskly through the fog toward the beckoning blue light.

She did not hear the echo of a second set of footsteps behind her until she paused at an intersection. She froze at the hollow sound.

The footsteps halted.

She made herself whirl around and stare into the misty darkness. The dim beam of one of the few functioning street lamps revealed nothing.

She tightened her grip on the strap of her purse and stepped off the curb. The footsteps followed, moving more swiftly now, moving with purpose.

A thick fear rose in her throat. She broke into a run, heading toward the welcoming blue glow. She tried not to think about what she would do if the beacon turned out to be the lights of a billboard.

The footsteps picked up speed. Something about the solid ring of leather on stone told her that it was a man who pursued her. What's more, he was gaining. She knew that if she stayed on the sidewalk, he would likely overtake her.

She forced herself to think. He could not see any better in this fog than she could. He was using her footsteps to track her.

She veered off the sidewalk into what had once been someone's front yard. Her shoes made no sound on the bare ground which had been softened by a recent rain. She plunged into the darkness that separated two dilapidated buildings.

The footsteps paused on the sidewalk. She prayed that she had confused her pursuer.

A moment later, when she emerged into an overgrown backyard, she was relieved to see that the blue glow was much closer now. It illuminated a globe-shaped roof that rose above the empty single-story houses around it. The music of a horn-harp reached her. Definitely a Children of Earth temple. Surely the monks would let her use a phone.

She made her way cautiously across the yard. The last thing she wanted to do now was trip over an old fence or fall into an abandoned pool. She listened intently, but she could not hear any more footsteps. There was no way to know if her pursuer had given up or if he was now moving silently over the damp ground, just as she was.

A frisson of awareness clawed at the nape of her neck with icy fingers just as she started across another backyard. When she glanced over her shoulder she thought she detected a shadow moving in the fog. Panic threatened to engulf her. She broke into a full run, heedless of hidden obstacles.

Panting for breath, she raced around the corner of another abandoned house. The bright blue lights of the temple blazed straight ahead. She could see a number of people dressed in a variety of colorful hooded robes. They were milling casually about on the front steps.

She was safe. Whoever had followed her was hardly likely to try to grab her in front of so many witnesses.

She slowed her pace and tried to catch her breath as she crossed the street. A group of Children of Earth monks dressed in green robes turned to stare as she hurried toward them. She noticed that everyone who wore green had shaved his or her head. Those who were dressed in black wore their hair in long pony-tails. The handful of people garbed in yellow wore braids that were coiled on top of their heads. Obviously there was a hierarchy here, she thought. She wondered who outranked whom.

One of the men dressed in green came down the steps to greet her. "Welcome, Seeker. I am called Hiram." He folded his arms and bowed from the waist. "Will you join us for tonight's Curtain Call?"

Zinnia came to a breathless halt and pushed her hair back off her face. "No, not exactly. My car stalled a few blocks from here. May I please use your phone?"

"Of course. The Children of Earth offer assistance to all who seek. Please come inside." Hiram gestured toward the wide doors of the temple.

"Thanks, Hiram. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

"The ways of the Curtain are often obscure. Perhaps you have been summoned." Hiram ascended the steps and led her into the dimly lit entry hall of the temple.

"I don't think so." Zinnia wrinkled her nose at the scent of incense. She had never been inside a Return cult temple. Few people who were not members had.

Intelligent people ignored the cults as much as possible, dismissing them as financial shams. The Children of Earth were considered weird at best and diabolical at worst. But those families which had lost offspring to the temples favored legal action to put the Children of Earth out of business.

The outlandish attire of the cult members together with their use of aggressive panhandling to raise funds were enough to irritate the average person. Their ridiculous, wholly unscientific theories about the energy Curtain that had once provided a gateway between Old Earth and St. Helens disgusted scientists and outraged the academic crowd. The mainstream churches were appalled by what they saw as more than a passing flirtation with the occult.

Zinnia discovered that she was willing to be very tolerant tonight in exchange for the use of a telephone.

On the far side of the hushed entry hall she saw two great swaths of azure blue velvet draped across the entrance to the temple's auditorium. She peeked between the folds and caught a glimpse of several tiers of blue seats. They were arranged in a semicircle around an elevated stage. Behind the stage hung a white velvet curtain. It framed a massive painting; an artist's rendition of Old Earth.

Zinnia had seen many similar pictures in textbooks when she was in school. No one could be absolutely certain what the old planet looked like because all of the original pictures and photos had been lost when the First Generation data banks crumbled into dust. The Founders had left sketches and paintings and descriptions, however, which had been reinterpreted by generations of artists. During the past two hundred years since the closing of the Curtain, any number of variations on the theme had appeared.

Judging from the paintings and drawings she had seen, Zinnia supposed that Earth was a pretty enough planet, but she doubted that it could be as beautiful as the lush green world of St. Helens. Like most people, she had no desire to return to the mother world. It was little more than a legend. St. Helens was home.

Only the Return cults obsessed on the possibility that the Curtain would someday reopen. Their members had convinced themselves that Old Earth was a Utopian place, a perfect world fit for perfect people.

"You should consider the possibility that you were deliberately chosen to be summoned here tonight, Miss Spring. The Call of the Curtain often comes in mysterious ways." Hiram's robes swayed gently as he walked beside Zinnia down a thickly carpeted corridor. "Seekers are led here by many different avenues."

"I'm sure they are. I came by way of High View Street, myself. With a couple of detours through some backyards."

Hiram smiled patiently. "Perhaps the fact that your car stalled in our neighborhood will prove to be an example of the Curtain Call in action."

"Anything's possible, I suppose." Zinnia did not want to insult him. "But at the moment the only urge I feel is a need to call someone who can give me a ride home."

"Earth is our true home, Miss Spring." Hiram's expression was infused with the serenity of an inner vision. "But only those who are pure of heart and spirit will return when the Curtain rises once again."

"Uh-huh." The last thing she wanted to do was argue theology with Hiram. "Where is your phone?"

"In here, Miss Spring." He ushered her through another door and into a surprisingly ordinary office. "Help yourself. I must leave to assist with the preparations for this evening's services."

"Thank you, Hiram. You've been very kind."

Hiram folded his hands and bowed low. "May the Curtain rise for you, Miss Spring."

She nodded politely as he backed out the door.

As soon as she was alone, she seized the phone. She had punched in the first two digits of Nick's private line before she realized what she was doing.

"Five hells." She slammed the receiver down. She had no intention of calling Nick. She had planned to call a cab.

Then she thought about the footsteps in the fog. Someone had definitely followed her, and it was quite possible that whoever it was knew that she was searching for information related to the death of Morris Fenwick. That meant that this evening's events were linked to the Chastain journal.

Anything that involved the journal, involved Nick.

"Five hells," she said again. With a groan, she picked up the phone and punched in the number.

Nick answered on the first ring.

A dangerous combination of anger and relief simmered within him as he climbed out of the Synchron in front of the floodlit temple. Beneath both equally intense sensations, he was aware of a cold chill in his gut. Protecting Zinnia had become the most important element in the matrix but he was not doing a good job of it. Then again, she was not making it easy for him.

The dissonant notes of a horn-harp greeted Nick as he started up the broad steps that led to the temple's massive front doors. There was no one standing around outside, he noticed. Apparently the evening service had begun.

The day was not going well, he thought as he stalked into the dim entry hall. Thus far he had exposed Zinnia to the humiliation of a front-page photo in Synsation, gotten himself punched in the mouth, discovered more evidence that his uncle was involved in the conspiracy surrounding the Chastain journal, and had Zinnia slam the phone down in his ear.

Now this.

The matrix of his life had been considerably less complex before Zinnia Spring had become a factor in it, he reflected.

A deep sonorous voice issued forth from behind heavy blue velvet curtains.

"Welcome, Seekers. Welcome to all those who seek to purify themselves so that they may be fit to return to the world from whence the Founders came. The Curtain calls and those of you in this chamber tonight have answered. Earth awaits her children."

The horn-harp music swelled. Nick winced.

"Mr. Chastain?" A figure in a green robe detached itself from the shadows near a hallway. "I am Hiram. I presume you are here to assist Miss Spring?"

"Where is she?"

"This way." Hiram's robes swirled gently as he turned to start down the corridor. "We invited her to attend the last Curtain Call of the evening but she declined."

"Can't imagine why."

"Some people take longer than others to answer the Call." Hiram opened a door. "Mr. Chastain is here, Miss Spring."

"Nick." Zinnia leaped up from a chair and started toward him.

For a few hopeful seconds he thought that she would throw herself into his arms. But the expression of bright relief that had leaped in her eyes when she saw him in the doorway vanished quickly. She came to an abrupt halt a short distance away.

He stifled a small sigh of regret. What had he expected, he wondered. The fact that she had called him tonight when she was in trouble did not mean that she was not still furious.

"Are you all right?" he asked brusquely.

"Yes, of course." Zinnia's smile was composed and polite. "Hiram has been very kind."

"Good. Let's get out of here."

"Right." She started toward the door and then stopped. "Uh, Nick?"

"What is it?" He frowned when he saw that Hiram was standing squarely in the opening. There was a large metal collection plate in the monk's hand. "I probably should have seen this coming." He reached for his wallet.

"We who seek to Return to the mother world strive to be generous," Hiram said smoothly. "But we do have certain expenses."

"Yeah." Nick tossed fifty dollars into the plate. "Picking up real estate all over town at bargain rates takes capital, doesn't it?"

Hiram pocketed the fifty, unperturbed. "The Children of Earth must invest in the future."

"Why bother investing here on St. Helens if you're all going back to Earth?" Nick asked.

Zinnia gave him a reproachful look. "Now, Nick, Hiram has been very hospitable."

"I was most happy to help you in your hour of need, Miss Spring," Hiram stepped aside. "You are welcome to join us in our Return to Earth. All it requires is a pure heart and a mind that is open to the truth."

"I'm sure Earth would be a very nice place to visit," Zinnia said politely.

"Yeah, but who'd want to live there?" Nick said as he took her arm.

He could feel the gaze of the green-robed monk on his back as he hauled Zinnia swiftly down the corridor to the entry hall.

"What about my car?" Zinnia said.

"I'll send Feather to take care of it." He glanced at her as they went through the imposing entrance and out onto the front steps. "Now tell me what in five hells happened tonight? Where were you, anyway? And what went wrong with the car?"

"I don't know what happened to the car." She angled her chin. "And as for where I was, I had a focus assignment."

"You didn't mention it earlier. What did you do? Call up your boss at Psynergy, Inc. and tell her you were suddenly free for the evening?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I did. As it happened, she'd just had a client call to ask for a prism who could work with a matrix."

"Sure she did."

"It's the truth." Zinnia smiled grimly. "And I was available."

"Only because you broke our date."

"We didn't have a date."

"You knew damn well I planned to see you this evening."

"Did I? How strange. Apparently I forgot to note the appointment on my calendar. I don't recall you mentioning a dinner engagement except in passing this afternoon after I found out that you'd gone sneaking off to find the forger."

"I did not sneak off to see Wilkes. I had your brother with me. Look, I didn't come here to argue with you."

"Could have fooled me. Oh, no." Zinnia halted abruptly halfway down the steps. "It's him."

"Who?" Nick glanced at the foot of the steps and saw a familiar figure. "Damn."

A camera flash exploded in the darkness.

"Great shot," Cedric Dexter called cheerfully. He whirled and raced off into the night. His footsteps echoed loudly on the sidewalk.

"I swear, I'm going to have that twerp's job in the morning," Nick vowed.

"Well, I think that answers the evening's most pressing question." Zinnia sounded chagrined.

"What's that?"

"It must have been Dexter's footsteps I heard earlier in the fog. He was the one who followed me here to the temple. If only I'd realized who it was. I would have told him exactly what I think of him and his lousy photography."

"It wouldn't have done any good. Anyone who works for Synsation has the delicate sensibilities of a rhino-phant." Nick tightened his grip on her arm and steered her down the remaining steps.

"Actually, it's a relief to find out that it was Dexter. At least we know what he's after."

"True." Nick opened the Synchron's door and bundled Zinnia inside. "And tomorrow he's going to be after a new job."

"Now, Nick, he's only doing what he's paid to do. You can't go around intimidating people."

He closed the door very deliberately before she could finish the lecture. He would take care of the twerp in the morning. Tonight he had other things to discuss with Zinnia.

He got in behind the steering bar and activated the engine. He pulled away from the curb and did a U-turn in the middle of the street.

"That's sort of illegal, Nick."

"So make a citizen's arrest."

She slanted him a speaking glance.

Nick wondered again how he had stumbled into this crazy unpredictable matrix where Zinnia seemed to establish most of the rules.

There were several beats of silence.

"Thanks for picking me up tonight," Zinnia said after a while.

Nick said nothing. He was fairly certain that any remark he might utter would make the situation worse.

"I called you because I was afraid the whole thing was connected to the journal. I didn't realize that it was only Dexter scaring me to death."

"We can't be sure yet that it wasn't related to the journal."

She glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"Have you been having trouble with your car lately?"

"No."

"It just quit on you tonight with no warning?"

"That's right." She crossed her arms. "A few sputters and then it stopped cold. Right in the middle of a deserted neighborhood."

"Not like a good jelly-ice engine to up and die without warning. I'll have a mechanic check it out tomorrow."

"Are you saying you think someone sabotaged it?"

"I'm saying it needs to be looked at. Once we have a mechanic's verdict, we'll take it from there."

"Even if someone did fool with it," she said, "that doesn't mean the someone in question wasn't good old Cedric trying to stage another photo op."

"I know. In which case, in addition to losing his job, he'll pay for the repairs."

"Nick, the best thing you can do is forget Dexter and Synsation. Trust me on this. I've been through scandals before. The only way to survive them is to ignore them. Eventually they go away. You can't buy respectability with a lawsuit against a tabloid photographer."

"I'll deal with Dexter later. Zinnia, we have to talk."

"Yes." She gazed straight ahead through the windshield. "I suppose we do. What did you discover today when you went to the forger's house?"

He frowned. "That wasn't what I wanted to discuss."

"Do you want our partnership to continue?" she asked much too sweetly.

"Damn it, yes, I want the partnership to continue."

He realized he was struggling to hold on to his temper. "But we're also lovers now and that's what I want to talk about tonight."

"I'd rather not," she said primly.

A strange kind of panic seized him. "You were disappointed, weren't you? You waited a long time to have sex and the experience didn't live up to your expectations. Look, I'm sorry. I rushed things. Next time-"

"For heaven's sake, will you stop talking about sex?" She half turned in her seat. Her eyes blazed in the shadows. "Sex has nothing to do with this."

He tried to assimilate that. "It doesn't?"

"Can't you get it through that thick matrix-talent head of yours that I'm not mad because the sex was a disappointment? It was what happened afterward that upset me."

"Afterward?" Nick relaxed slightly. This he could handle. "Right. The photo in this morning's paper. I'm very sorry about that. I thought I had got the film out of Dexter's camera. Obviously it was a decoy roll. I promise I'll take care of him tomorrow."

"For a supposedly brilliant matrix, you're as dumb as a bowl of jelly-ice when it comes to some things. Listen to me, Nick Chastain, it wasn't the photo that annoyed me."

He sighed. "You're angry because I went to see the forger with Leo and didn't take you along."

"Congratulations on the stunning flash of insight."

"I explained that. I had to move quickly. There wasn't time to call you and arrange an appointment with Wilkes."

She drummed her fingers on her jean-clad leg. "Did you find anything of significance?"

"Maybe." He eyed her warily, uncertain of her mood.

"Talk, Chastain."

"I told you that Wilkes had skipped out before we arrived."

"And someone had searched his workshop?"

"Yes. Looking for financial records related to the forgery of the Chastain journal."

She turned her head to study him. "How can you be sure of that?"

He hesitated and then reached into the pocket of his jacket. "Leo and I didn't find any useful financial data, but I did discover this."

He put the cuff link in her palm. It gleamed in the lights of the dash.

"I don't understand." Zinnia examined the small gold link. "Do you think it belongs to Wilkes or to the man who searched his workshop?"

"It belongs to my uncle, Orrin Chastain."

Zinnia sucked in a deep breath. "The head of Chastain, Inc.?"

"Yes."

"What was it doing in the forger's workshop?"

"Good question," Nick said. "I haven't had a chance to ask him. I intend to do so tomorrow. This isn't the first time his name has come up in connection with this mess."

She closed her hand around the cuff link. "You didn't mention that little fact."

He felt a sudden need to explain his silence on the subject. "I didn't say anything because-hell, I don't know why I didn't tell you. But it wasn't because I'm a paranoid matrix. I just wanted to think about the situation for a while, that's all."

She raised one shoulder in a small shrug. "You didn't tell me because it was a family thing. Your first instinct was to protect your uncle until you knew what was going on. Perfectly understandable. I'd have done the same in your place."

He was startled. Then he tightened his hands on the bar. "Don't make me into a saint over this. Orrin and I can barely stand the sight of each other. There's no love lost between us."

"But you are family."

"Not in his view."

"Never mind. You did what you had to do. I can respect that."

"You can?"

She smiled for the first time since he had collected her from the temple office. "I know it must have been difficult for you to share this information with me. But because you did, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. You can consider our partnership to be reinstated."

He took a deep breath. "What about our affair?"

"I'm going to have to think about that. To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure if it's a good idea for me to have an affair with you."

He felt as if he had just been run over by a fast-moving glacier. He struggled to breathe. The air was so cold it froze in his lungs.

"I see," he managed after an eternity had passed. "Let me know when you've made up your mind."

"I'll do that." She gave him an unreadable look. "But for the record, I wasn't disappointed last night."