CHAPTER XVI
I let myself into Anna’s apartment with the keys that I haven’t yet returned. It’s not as if Anna will need them in the next few hours. I, on the other hand, need a quiet place to make an important phone call.
I settle onto the couch and put my feet up on the table. Might as well get comfortable—I’m calling a rambler.
I find the number in my contacts and press “send.” After three rings, a woman’s voice answers in Spanish.
“Happy Valleys Care Home, Rosa speaking.”
I answer in my rusty but serviceable Spanish. It’s been a few decades since I’ve used it with any regularity, but I have a flair for languages and a long memory.
“Hello. May I speak with Braulio Fernandez? You can tell him it’s Merlo Nuanez.”
“I’ll see if he’s up already. One moment, please.”
He’ll be up. I remember him lamenting bitterly in the sixties when his sleep changed, from the up-all-night, sleep-all-day pattern of his youth to the respectable schedule of middle age. Idly, I look down to my center, where my chocolate brown lauvan twist together with Braulio’s terra cotta-colored ones. The resultant rope drifts south through the apartment wall. It’s a solid rope—we’ve been friends for a long time.
The phone clicks.
“Merlo, you old dog,” Braulio says in English, his raspy voice filled with warmth. “You haven’t frozen yet up in the Arctic?”
“Braulio,” I say, my smile wide. “You’ve never understood. When the winter is cold, the girls need help warming up.”
Braulio guffaws.
“Always the same. Do you remember that time on the beach near Puntarenas, with those two sisters?”
“What, when you tried to body surf to show off and almost drowned? When I pulled you out of the water like a gasping fish?”
“Yes, and the younger sister nursed me back to life. Lots of life.” Braulio laughs. “Those were good times.” There’s a quiet pause before he adds, “But the ladies here outnumber the men ten to one, so it’s not all bad.”
I laugh.
“Rascal to the end. What is it now, ninety-five?”
“Ninety-six,” Braulio corrects me, a trace of his old youthful cockiness in his voice. “I’m going for one of those records. The beer one, you know?”
“What, a Guinness world record for oldest man?”
“That’s the one. I’ll win, no problem.”
“Cocky bastard.” Braulio is in good health, or as good as can be expected at ninety-six. I can envision him flipping the bird at time and marching on for another ten years. “You’ll probably do it, too.” I switch the topic to the reason I called. “Braulio, I need your advice.”
“Of course you do,” he replies promptly. He’s amazing—still sharp as a tack, and as arrogant as ever. I find myself missing forties-era Central America. We were such a good team.
“Well, I hate to admit this, even once, but—you were right.”
“Of course I was,” he replies. A pause, and then, “About what?”
“About the spirit world. It exists. I saw them.”
“Ha!” If Braulio’s legs could still carry him, I have no doubt he’d be jumping around in glee. “Ha! I’ve been telling you that for years!”
“Yeah, yeah, rub it in.”
I called Braulio, not only because he’s one of the few people alive who actually knows who I am, the whole story. I also called him because he’s spent the last fifty years collecting knowledge, legends, traditions, and hearsay about the spirit world, from all different cultures and times. He says he was inspired by me and my powers. I’ve helped him out from time to time in his more far-flung pursuits, but I made it clear that I didn’t think it existed. He always persevered, doggedly, stubbornly, with the complete conviction that he was right.
And now it seems he was.
“I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
“No,” Braulio says. “This is a beautiful moment that I will never forget. You were wrong, anciano, and I was right.”
“If you’re quite finished gloating, I need to ask you something. There’s a woman here—”
“Isn’t there always?”
“Just listen. This woman, Anna, she has an amulet that somehow lets her communicate with the spirit world.”
“What does it look like? The amulet, I mean?” Braulio’s voice is eager.
“I don’t know. It was covered in orange lauvan.”
“Oh Merlo, you’re useless.”
“Anyway,” I say, ignoring Braulio’s comment. “Anna has, for some unknown reason, told renegade spirits to tangle and sicken the lauvan around a center here. The thing is, that center is now an active volcano because of their meddling. If I don’t figure out how to untangle the lauvan and heal their sickness, the volcano will erupt and people may die.”
“Hmm.” Braulio’s tone is contemplative. I was hoping he would attack the problem with a little more urgency. “Where did this Anna get an amulet of power like that? How was it formed?”
“I don’t know.” I tap my fingers on the couch arm, willing myself into patience. Braulio is an old man, after all, and things never seem to happen at any great speed with the elderly. I can sympathize, but I can’t relate. I’ll never experience that phase of life. I drum my fingers, waiting for Braulio to think, and reflect on the upsides of immortality.
“You know,” Braulio says. “What if you tried grounding the lauvan with a relic, or an object of power? Something elemental, that the spirits would recognize. I wonder—if these are renegade spirits as you say, and if my research is correct—as of course it is—then they may be of a certain elemental presence.”
“Meaning?”
“The spirits are probably one of the four elements. Try something representing earth or fire, since one of those two is likely affecting the volcano. I would guess fire, given the orange lauvan, but find an object of power that will cover both, just to be certain.”
“Huh.” I’m thinking hard, trying to get my head around all this new information that is changing my worldview. “So I ‘ground’ the lauvan, somehow—”
“That’s your department.”
“True. And I use a fire or earth object—dammit, I wish I weren’t so far from home, I have the perfect relic on my bookshelf—then what happens?”
“Then the presumably excess earth or fire energy that is making the lauvan sick will diffuse out into the Earth through the object. The lauvan should untangle and the pressure release.”
“That’s brilliant.”
“I know.” Braulio sounds pleased with himself. There’s a pause while I think through the implications of the plan. Braulio is obviously considering a different line of thought.
“Have you told anyone else lately?”
“About what, the volcano?”
“No, about you.”
I’m silent. Braulio continues.
“You haven’t told anyone since we met Josie.” A Spanish “j” softens the pet name he gave Josephine. “And now she’s gone, bless her soul, and I won’t be around forever.”
“I thought you were going to beat the records,” I say, trying to inject a lighter note to the conversation, but Braulio is undeterred.
“Yes, of course I am, but after that—you need to let someone else in, Merlo my friend. I know you. You need someone you can be yourself with. Otherwise, you get too moody. That’s no good, and you know it.” He pauses, as if waiting for an answer. When I don’t respond, he says, “Do you hear me, Merlo? You won’t let yourself get wrapped up in your own head?”
“Advice duly noted,” I say, but I hear him. He knows me too well for me to not pay heed to his words. But right now I have more important things to deal with—Mt. Linnigan, for example. Before I can sign off, Braulio speaks again.
“This woman—Anna—is she a looker?”
“Oh, yes,” I say without thinking, and then wince.
“You slept with her, didn’t you? You sly dog. You ne
ver learn, do you?”
“I guess not.”
“You stay away from her, anciano. You had your fun, and now be done. You need to find yourself another Josie.”
My jaw clenches. It’s time to end this conversation.
“Thanks for your advice, old friend. You’re the best, as usual.”
“As usual,” he agrees. “Will you call me when you solve the puzzle?”
“Of course. And clear your schedule for the end of June—I’m coming to visit.”
After we say our goodbyes, I hang up and stride to the door. I open it, turn left, and knock on 103. Sylvana answers it, now dressed in an oversized sweater and jeans.
“One more favor? I need to buy something from your shop.”
Sylvana looks so confused and wary that I almost feel sorry for her, but I don’t have the time or inclination to answer all her questions.
“What about Anna?”
“She’ll sleep for a few hours yet. She’ll be fine,” I reassure her.
Sylvana just looks at me, shaking her head in bewilderment.
***
We’re both quiet on the walk to the shop. I get the sense that Sylvana has so many questions that she doesn’t know where to begin asking them. I’m okay with that, because I’m not sure what to tell her.
The deadbolt slides open with a loud clunk in the still morning air when Sylvana opens the door to her shop. The low angle of the sun slants in perfectly through the front windows, filtered only slightly by the colored scarves.
“What are you looking for?” Sylvana asks. She steps aside to allow me to pass into the shop, and jingles the keys in her hand nervously.
I step past her and pace around the room to examine its wares at each display. There are a lot of crystals which would easily work for the earth portion, but I need fire as well.
“I’m looking for an object that embodies or symbolizes both the power of earth and that of fire.” I hold a crystal closer to my face to study it. It’s not what I want and I place it back on its stand. “I need something of great spiritual value that you and others prize highly.”
“Umm…” Sylvana thinks for a moment, then walks over to a display near the register. There are five objects carefully laid out on a tablecloth of crushed black velvet. Three of them are so thickly covered in lauvan that I can’t even see their physical shape. Sylvana looks at me questioningly. “What about these?”
“Yes.” I walk swiftly to the table and run my fingers over the nearest object. The vibration of a thousand lauvan hums on my skin and rainbow hues swirl over the surface of the crystal. I immediately dismiss the two I can see—agate and quartz, neither of which symbolize fire—and focus on the other three.
“What’s this one?” I ask, pointing at the rightmost object.
“It’s a rare raspberry-red bixbite,” Sylvana says, a reverent hush to her words. “Very unusual, and used with great effect to recover from chronic illnesses.”
Hmm. Not very fiery. I point at the middle object.
“And this one?”
She frowns at me.
“Surely you can recognize an amethyst when you see one? This one in particular is renowned for its spiritual cleansing properties.”
I consider Sylvana for a moment. She looks uncomfortable with the scrutiny.
“I can see—” How can I put it so Sylvana will best understand? I continue carefully. “I see the energies around an object of power. It’s an ability I was born with. And sometimes when the energies are strong, I can’t see past them to the object beneath.”
Sylvana stares at me open-mouthed, an awestruck glint in her eyes.
“For real? That’s incredible. That must be why I had such a strange reaction when I read your aura.” She frowns as if struck by an unwelcome thought. “Does Anna know?”
“God, no. I don’t go around telling everyone I meet.”
“Well, I’m honored. What a tremendous gift you have.”
“Yeah, well.” I gesture at the table. “Sometimes it makes life difficult.” I point at the leftmost object. “What about that one?”
“That’s a fire opal. I wish you could see it—it’s quite spectacular in the light.” Sylvana picks up the opal reverentially and holds it up to the sun’s rays. The lauvan glitter with all the colors of the spectrum. I sigh with relief.
“Yes. It’s perfect.” Stone of earth, lit with fire within, and spiritually valued by the multitudes that have owned it or been in contact with it in the past—if this doesn’t ground the errant lauvan, nothing will. “I’ll take it. How much do I owe you?”
Sylvana looks indecisive.
“You should just take it. Fix Mt. Linnigan. Save our town.” She bites her lip and looks at the opal. It’s obviously worth a lot to her, both monetarily and spiritually. I shake my head firmly.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s inventory you paid good money for, and I can afford it. Ring it up.”
Sylvana hurries to the counter, trying to hide the relief in her eyes. Once my credit card processes, she hands me the receipt and the opal.
“You can really do this, can’t you?” Her wide-set eyes are lit with hope and awe. She’s not afraid or unsettled by me, and I now realize why—I’m a validation of her beliefs. She confirms my suspicions when she says, “You did something to Anna’s aura, her energies, didn’t you? I saw you hovering over her before you left.” She smiles and shakes her head. “You’re so fortunate.”
I raise my eyebrow.
“I don’t know if ‘fortunate’ is the word I would use.” I slip the opal into my jeans pocket. “Wish me luck—I hope to have this volcano business in the bag by the end of the day.”
“Good luck,” Sylvana says, gazing at me with her big, hope-filled eyes. Then she frowns. “Wait, what should I tell Anna?”
“Say—say I found her stumbling into her apartment early this morning, just before she passed out. I had to go, but I asked you to look after her. Neither of us knows what she was up to.” I fish out Anna’s keys and hand them over to Sylvana. “You’d better put these in her pocket. Sound good?”
Sylvana nods.
“Good luck.”
***
I pick up my car from the hotel parking lot. Its doors are open, and I retrieve the keys from their home in the glove compartment. I don’t bother locking either this or my apartment, mainly because I never really got into the habit after centuries of not owning a locking door. It drives Jen crazy, but I rarely have an issue with break-ins.
At the trucker gas station on the highway I grab a muffin and gulp down coffee. I’m starving and the muffin hardly makes a dent, but it will have to do. Once my breakfast is down the hatch, I zoom out onto the highway in the direction of the Three Peaks, ready to take on the mountain.
Wisps of mist cling to the steep peaks of the three mountains before me, but quickly burn away with the rising sun. When I drive past the road that leads to the base camp, a van turns onto the main road. Inside are three sleepy-looking figures, obviously some scientists coming off the graveyard shift. I suppose the volcano never sleeps, so neither does the monitoring team. A pang of guilt hits me. I push it back with the justification that if I hadn’t slept with Anna and got to know her, I’d still be in the dark as to the cause of Mt. Linnigan’s awakening.
I can’t lie to myself—I was lucky, not smart. But I can change that now. I can undo the spirits’ meddling and stop the eruption.
I drive farther and turn onto an overgrown logging road that is half-hidden by a fallen tree. This is where I pulled out last night with Anna in the backseat. It will take me right to a trailhead, which leads directly to the main trail around the mountain. I could have flown, I suppose, but this back road is so convenient that I might as well use it. I expect today will be a tiring one, and I need to save my strength for dealing with the mountain. The car parked, I hike to the trail and strike out in the direction of the lauvan-cable I worked on yesterday. It’s a mere ten-minute walk through the morning forest f
illed with birdsong. I pat my pocket nervously but the fire opal is still there, an unyielding lump at my hip.
Okay, it’s time to wrap this up. I’ve had just about enough of Mt. Linnigan. I want to stabilize this situation, get out of Wallerton, and start studying everything I can about the spirit world. Maybe I can go see Sylvana’s Aunt Bethany and examine this spirit-conduit amulet more closely.
In any event, it’s time to end this. When I reach the lauvan-cable, I take off my coat and roll up my sleeves. The air is still too cool for shirtsleeves-only, but I know I’ll get warm enough soon. I leave the coat hanging on a nearby branch and get to work.
The cable section I untangled yesterday is half-knotted up again as predicted. I avoid touching the cable, and walk to the edge of the trees where the lauvan fan out to extend across the surface of the mountain. I don’t want to alert the presence I felt yesterday to my work here today. I reason that if I stick to touching individual lauvan, the presence will be less likely to notice me. That’s the theory, anyway. But even if it does sense me, there’s little it can do from a lauvan alone. Yesterday, the presence harnessed the power of the cable to push me away. It won’t have nearly the same strength from a lauvan.
Here’s hoping. This is all new territory. I’m outside my usual knowledge base, which is a distinctly uncomfortable sensation. I’m not used to it, and I’m not a fan. Braulio and I will have to have a long chat when I visit him in June, so he can teach me what he knows. He’ll love that.
I squat and begin to pluck sick lauvan from the sea of glittering strands that surrounds me where the lauvan dissipate from the end of the cable. I keep them bundled in my right hand and select with my left. When my hand fills up, as it does all too quickly—there are so many sick lauvan—I twist one of my own floating lauvan around the bundle to keep it close to me and gathered together. The contact only intensifies the nausea I’m already feeling from handling the lauvan, but it’s the easiest way to keep them from drifting away from their bundling.
Ignition Page 13
