Zinnia (26 page)

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.”