Read Child of a Rainless Year Online
Authors: Jane Lindskold
Child of a Rainless Year (40 page)
“Like a computer program or something?”
“More like a herd dog,” Mikey said. “A computer program is limited in what it can do. A herd dog is inventive and has the inbred imperative to herd.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “I had a friend who had a lovely border collie, but there aren’t a lot of sheep in my part of Ohio, so the poor dog took to herding anything it could—pigeons, small children, other dogs. When my friend had triplets, the dog was perfectly content keeping them in line.”
“Now imagine,” Mikey said seriously, “if the dog had been able to
make
your friend have triplets. That’s what we think Phineas House did to the later descendants of Aldo Pincas—restricted their ability to confuse her.”
make
your friend have triplets. That’s what we think Phineas House did to the later descendants of Aldo Pincas—restricted their ability to confuse her.”
I looked up at the ceiling. “She’s going to have trouble with me. I’m too old to start having kids. It wouldn’t be fair to them—even if I managed.”
“Right now,” Mikey replied, still very serious, “I don’t think it has occurred to her. She’s too happy to have someone living here. Tell me. Have you considered returning to Ohio permanently?”
“Several times. After all, I have friends there. It’s more my home than here.”
“But you haven’t gone. You even took a leave of absence from your job.”
I saw where he was headed, and didn’t like it much, even though the idea wasn’t completely unreasonable.
“And you think the House encouraged me to stay.”
“That’s right.”
I drew in a deep breath. “I’m not going to say that’s impossible. I can’t. It’s unsettling, though. What do you think will happen when the House realizes she has a middle-aged lady here, not a fecund maiden?”
“I don’t know,” Mikey said. “There’s a lot I don’t know. Let me continue telling you what I do.”
I nodded.
“There’s not too much else, and I wouldn’t even mention it except that it may relate to Colette’s eventual disappearance. I’m sure you realize that not everyone in Aldo Pincas’s family was happy with how the patriarch had set up matters of inheritance.”
“That’s natural. He took the family’s biggest asset and gave it to one person—even if he did make provisions for the others.”
“Right. In the first generation, there wasn’t too much of a problem. It was still a time when first-born regularly inherited most of the estate—though in the Spanish tradition, this was less common than in other parts of Europe. The next generation was a bit more of a problem.”
I mentally traced the family tree. “That’s the big group, the one where Isabela was the heir.”
“Right. Urbano was blind to liminal space, and there were other properties for him. Belinda married the older brother of Isabela’s husband. Her talents, combined with the fact that this was the boom time for Las Vegas, meant they were fairly well-to-do. The younger two, Guillermo and my own grandmother, Catarina, were less content. At the time, matters were eventually ameliorated by drawing two of the trustees from their offspring.”
“Two of my mother’s,” I said. “I’d thought Guillermo Jefferson was somehow related to Isabela, but I admit I was confused.”
“Natural, but it is not unheard-of for sisters to marry brothers, and that’s what happened there.”
“And everything worked out with your family, too,” I asked, a bit anxiously, I admit. I’d gotten to like Mikey, and didn’t really want to be at odds over something a common great-great-whatever grandfather had done.”
“All fine,” Mikey assured me. “I rather prefer not having to live in Las Vegas, to be honest. But back when the resentment was more current, efforts were made to dilute the effects of Phineas House. We skipped over discussing the Montezuma Hotel earlier, but it, too, fits into the story. All the histories say that it was built by the Santa Fe Railroad, and that is correct, but only as far as it goes. Part of the reason the hotel was built where it was, and as elaborately as it was, was in an effort to counter the effects of Phineas House.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely. What do you know of the Montezuma’s history?”
“A fair amount, actually. Domingo and I went and played tourist a couple weeks ago. He knew the background of the place pretty well.”
I thought about mentioning how Domingo had worked on the renovation, then remembered Domingo’s own odd superstition that Phineas House might not like that he’d done that Given what I’d just heard about the House’s rather proactive role in the lives of my family, I no longer thought the superstition odd.
“So you know that the hotel suffered a rather astonishing series of disasters.”
“At least two wholly destructive fires,” I said, “despite the fact that the architect’s designs were specifically designed to be fireproof. It seems to me that Domingo also said—or maybe it was in one of the books I read—that the hotels showed an incredible inability to turn a profit.”
“Right. And, yet, despite this, the Montezuma Hotel was not only repeatedly rebuilt, but repeatedly invested in, and monumental efforts have been made to keep it open.”
“You’re saying that this persistent desire to keep a structure on that site had something to do with Phineas House—or rather, an attempt to counterbalance Phineas House.”
Mikey nodded, and I noticed he was beginning to look tired. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was getting late.
“Did the attempt work?” I asked.
“It may have,” Mikey said. “It’s one of those largely theoretical matters, since it’s hard to find a control for the experiment.”
I noted he said “hard” without irony or humor, and wondered if perhaps somewhere in liminal space it might be possible to find a control for that experiment. Why not? It seemed as reasonable as a house doing genetic engineering on its occupants.
“However,” Mikey went on, “it did seem that the Montezuma resented being used as a ‘for-profit’ venture. This may have to do with the nature of its mission. It has done much better since it’s been turned to not-for-profit or educational uses.”
“You’re kidding …” I began, then stopped myself. He wasn’t, and I was being an idiot if I didn’t admit the possibility. “No, you’re not, but I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Phineas House was built to enable Aldo Pincas and his descendants to profit from the charged qualities of the surrounding area,” Mikey explained. “The Montezuma was built to counter Phineas House. My best guess is that in their desire to counter Phineas House, the builders of the Montezuma inadvertently gave the ‘spirit’ of the Montezuma a sense that profiting from the area’s qualities was somehow wrong.”
“So it kept burning itself down?”
“Not quite,” Mikey chuckled. “My guess is that the fires were … well, not started, but rather instigated by the friction between Phineas House and her rival.”
I blinked. That was a lot to take. Mikey saw my expression and began to clarify.
“Phineas House is specifically positioned to exploit the area. Even when the House’s geomantic qualities were reduced by selling off portions of her lot, she was still a potent force. The Montezuma was a newcomer—and her site was initially not well-chosen.”
“That’s right,” I said. “After the first fire, the hotel was moved further up the hill, but that one burnt, too.”
“Because of badly positioned fire hoses,” Mikey said, almost dreamily. “I’d love to see a roster of the builder’s crews. Did someone deliberately do that, maybe by choice, maybe coaxed in a dream?”
“That’s creepy,” I said.
“It is,” Mikey agreed, “but Phineas House is a tool, capable of being used for either creation or destruction.”
I nodded, feeling a trace of the uneasiness I had felt when I had first learned how my grandfather had died. I decided to change the subject, just a little.
“You said the Montezuma Hotel might have had something to do with Colette’s disappearance.”
“I did. As you certainly have noticed, when she vanished, she was reported as driving her gig in the direction of the Montezuma Hotel. That may not have been her final destination, but she was heading in that direction. At that date, the Castle was in use as a Catholic seminary. That would not have kept it from serving as a damper on Phineas House’s power. I have often wondered, was Colette going to the Montezuma Hotel?”
“Could she have been meeting someone there?”
“Possibly,” Mikey said, “though as the Hotel was not constructed as a channel—as Phineas House is—there is no benefit to be gained by living there. If anything, someone with the ability to use liminal space might find it obscurely dampened.”
I was just tired enough myself to be blunt. “So if you don’t think she was meeting someone, what is it you’re hinting about?”
Mikey sighed, and I saw his gaze flicker up to the ceiling, as if he was trying to see if Phineas House was paying attention to his words.
“I have wondered,” he said slowly, “if she might have been intending to use the Montezuma’s qualities to her own advantage. If so, what did Colette intend to do that she did not want Phineas House—or possibly those tuned to Phineas’s House—to know about?”
It was a startling conjecture.
“Did you investigate this theory?”
“As best as I could, but, Mira, there was a tremendous amount of turmoil then—and we had no more luck tracing Colette than did the police. Moreover, we had immediate problems to solve. If Colette was dead, then you would be heir to Phineas House, but control of the House did not transfer to you. Did that mean Colette was alive, or that she was dead, but that the House was unaware of her fate? Had someone harmed Colette, or had she voluntarily vanished? Some even theorized that she had finally fallen afoul of her tendency to go by routes more careful souls would avoid.”
“I see,” I said, then voiced only one of the many questions clamoring in my head. “Does the fact that Phineas House seems to be responding to me indicate that Colette is indeed dead?”
Mikey was blunt. “Quite possibly, but it also could mean that the House is lonely, that it feels abandoned—or that it hopes that with your return you will find Colette. You admit to feeling an imperative to do so, don’t you?”
“Imperative? I don’t know. Curiosity maybe.”
But I was remembering the vision I’d had while up on the ladder, the one of Colette in her plum satin gown, driving her gig steadily along a road. Had the House been trying to show me something? To give me a message? To get me to do something about that old mystery, now that I’d finally learned about liminal space?
The possibility made me uncomfortable. I honestly wanted to know what had happened to Colette, but I didn’t like the idea of being pushed into making those discoveries—not even by Phineas House.
It was late by now, and I could see that the hour was preying on my guest.
“Mikey, maybe we should resume this in the morning.”
He politely patted back a yawn. “I wouldn’t mind some sleep. It was a long trip, and excitement carried me along to this point, but even a good meal can’t replace honest sleep. When may I call tomorrow?”
“I’m usually up early. Domingo and I have breakfast and review the day’s work on the House. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Perhaps I will. However, I’d like the opportunity to sleep late. May I call after I’m awake and come over then, or would that be asking you to wait around for me?”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “I’m usually home. There’s quite a lot to do.”
“Then I will call,” he said. “Until tomorrow, then, Mira.”
“Until tomorrow,” I replied.
I went to bed that night, aware that I was digging in my mental heels. I’d wanted to learn what had happened to Colette. I still did—in a way—but I didn’t like the idea of doing so for any reasons other than my own. If Mikey Hart was to be believed, Aldo Pincas had attempted not only to shape, but to secure forces that by their very nature should neither be shaped, nor secured. That Grandfather Aldo had not anticipated the House evolving its own agenda seemed clear. Equally clear was that the House did have an agenda—an agenda that frightened me because I didn’t know where I fit in.
The kitchen was clean when I went in to check the lock on the back door. The coffee for tomorrow morning was already set up. I made a point of putting the coffee mugs Mikey and I had used in the dishwasher, along with the cookie plate. Before tonight, this would have been a quiet act of thanksgiving. Tonight a hint of rebellion underlay my actions. I appreciated Phineas House’s help, but I wasn’t dependent on it, not for cleaning, not for anything.
Wondering about Grandfather Nikolai’s death had become almost reflex whenever I went up or down the main staircase. Tonight, however, rather than asking myself did Colette push him or did the House itself do something on her behalf, I found myself wondering “And if Phineas House did help Colette, what then was the price?”
It was an unsettling thought. The Fenns had reared me with good, old-fashioned values, one of which was that nothing was free—there was always a price. Uncle Stan had even made clear that things that apparently had no cost—whether in accepting charity or letting someone else do what you knew you should be doing—was its own form of cost. In these cases many times the coin in which you paid was pride.
Other books
Melbourne Heat by Elizabeth Lapthorne
Demanded by Him (Wanted Series #3) by Hazel Kelly
The Publicist Book One and Two by George, Christina
Love Starts with Elle by Rachel Hauck
The Other Son by Alexander, Nick
Killer Flies by William D. Hicks
Eine Kleine Murder by Kaye George
December Heat by MacNeil, Joanie
Guess Who I Pulled Last Night? by Nikki Ashton
Las benévolas by Jonathan Littell