The Persistence of Memories - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe (22 page)

His sudden question caught her off guard.
This apartment was truly his turf, and she'd just broken one of his
unspoken rules. She bit her tongue again, forcing herself not to
lie. She ended up waving the question away and a shifting in her
seat. She made sure, however, not to drop her eyes away. He may
have won, but she was not won over. Not yet.

“Forget it,” he said. “Not important, anyway.
Listen — I'm going to make your call, so you can either be here or
be on your way.”

“Excuse me?” she growled, hands balling into
fists. “Did you just dismiss me?”

He waved a hand at her. “Don't worry, Caren.
I'm on your side. I accept this little job you have for me.”

“I haven’t offered you anything,” she said.
“And I’m not your fucking helper here, kid, so watch your damn
tongue.”

Matthew nodded, forcing himself not to smile.
“You have, emha Shalei,” he said. “You've just hired Vigil to
ensure that the Ninth Embodiment of the One of All Sacred fulfills
her duty the best she can.”

Before she could respond, Matthew stood,
excused himself from the room, and headed towards the front of the
apartment, and she quickly got up to follow. He was already out the
front door when she got to the kitchen area, and double-timed her
steps to catch up. He had left the door open. She stopped just
outside the apartment, looking down both hallways, having
temporarily lost sight of him. She could hear footsteps in both
directions, but could not tell which were his. She stood there,
confused and pissed off. What the hell was Matthew trying to pull?
She was half-tempted to give up and walk away, but her spirit knew
better than that. He'd acted this way on purpose, to test her.
Well, she was in no mood to be tested right now. She closed her
eyes —

“Good afternoon, Miss Johnson,” a voice said
to her left, startling her. She lifted her eyes again, and saw a
young woman walking up towards her. She had a head full of dark,
curly hair that reached well past her shoulders, and she was
dressed conservatively, as if she’d just gotten off work. She
looked familiar, yet she couldn't quite place her. A neighbor,
perhaps? A Mendaihu?

A Shenaihu?

“Do I know you?” Caren said.

“Sure you do,” the woman smiled, and entered
the apartment. She did not close it, nor did she say anything
else.

Caren shook her head and forced out a breath.
“Pashyo…”

“Please,” the woman said after a few moments.
“Come on in. Don't mind Matthew. He gets like this when he’s
stressed out and completely forgets not to be an asshole. Just
humor him. Would you like some tea?”

Caren threw her hands up and gave in. The
woman was in the kitchen, already brewing hot water on the stove.
Caren smirked at the antique range, surprised it still worked. Even
stranger how the woman used an old steel teakettle instead of the
ceramic cylinders everyone used nowadays.

“Tea...” she said, and nodded. “Tea sounds
good.”

“Welcome to Vigil,” the woman said. “I'm Jenn
Underwood.”

Caren gaped. She did know her! “Goddess! From
Glover Court? Chris Gorecki used to babysit you?”

Jenn laughed. “One and the same.” She waved
her into the kitchen and gestured towards a pair of stools near the
breakfast nook. “Come on in.”

She slid onto one of the stools and leaned up
against the tabletop. She glanced at Jenn, judged her to be in her
early twenties. “I remember bits and pieces,” Caren offered. “I
think it was the hair that gave it away. I do remember an overly
curious preteen with impossibly black curls nosing around
Christine's office now and again.”

Jenn joined her at the nook, taking the other
stool. “Yes, that was me. I was the little shit who wanted to be a
private investigator when she grew up.”

“So are you?” Caren asked.

“Close,” she said. “I work at the DRL up on
Pendergast Boulevard. Doing a lot of dry data research, but it pays
the bills.”

“That would explain a few things,” Caren
said. “Makes perfect sense that you'd run with someone such as
Matthew. My condolences for putting up with him.”

Jenn shrugged. “Well, the pros outweigh the
cons by far. I'd rather be doing Vigil work than working a
questionable government job. No offense, of course.”

“None taken,” Caren said. “I question it all
the time.”

“Pressing business with Vigil, then? Let me
guess…you need our help with the new season of Embodiment. You want
us to make sure things remain stable, like we did with the
Ascension.”

Caren nodded. “How did you know?”

Jenn touched her arm and shook her head.
“Emha, at the DRL it's hard not to see trends as they develop.
We've been getting constant research requests since before
Awakening Day. It's been another twenty-five years since the last
insurrection, and this time they want to be ready for it.”

“It's very unpredictable,” she said. “I seem
to recall about a hundred twenty-five years ago, it was confined to
an eight-block radius in the south edge of the Waterfront sector
and lasted a whole month. The next time out it lasted just a few
days but we had a near-massacre taking up the Waterfront all the
way down to South City.”

“Ah, yes,” Jenn said. “The Coastal War. Odd
season, that. One of the few where it lost steam all on its own,
rather than the Special Forces taking over.”

Caren nodded. This girl knew her stuff. “Any
predictions?” she asked, perhaps more flippant than she should have
been.

Jenn arched a brow at her, but the sharp
whistle of the steam forcing its way out of the teakettle
interrupted her answer. She held that thought and left for the
kitchen. Caren was reminded of that night with Denni, when she had
come home, exhausted and at wits' end, and her sister had made tea
for her. That was the same night she learned Ampryss had been
calling for her from within. And the night she had told Denni the
truth about her parents.

“It's hard to tell,” Jenn said, returning
with two mugs of black tea. “This isn't like any other season I've
researched.”

“Care to hazard a guess?”

Jenn sipped from her cup and thought it over.
“It really is hard to say. All those points of violence almost from
day one: St. Patrick's, Sculler’s Crossing, the DRL — which I
happened to witness — and the random events popping up around town
recently? I can't seem to find any patterns or reasons. It's almost
reactionary, the way it's panning out. No one can figure it out,
not even Vigil.”

“ARU is feeling the same way,” Caren said. “I
can't tell if the nuhm'ndah are deliberately undermining us or just
wasting everyone’s time. That's really why I'm here. I'm wondering
if Vigil sees something we can’t.”

Jenn nodded and placed the cup down. “We're
already on it. Matthew's been digging into files and working with
outside channels.”

“I won't ask who.”

“Much appreciated,” she continued.
“Regardless, we have the same intel you have right now. There may
even be a chance we're just reading too much into it.”

“I don't think so,” Caren said, and sipped
from her own cup. “We awakened the One of All Sacred, Jenn.
Something that important wasn’t on accident. She's safe and
surrounded by a city full of protection, but I still fear for her
life. The threat is still out there. Why would the nuhm'ndah
not
want to react to an awakening of a major deity, or the
entire city for that matter?”

“Perhaps they revere her as much as we
do?”

“Maybe so,” she said. “But why would they
keep her ascension from taking place?”

Jenn nearly dropped her mug and stared at
her. “What did you just say?”

“The Ascension failed,” Caren said warily.
“It was forcibly stopped, pretty much at the last minute. Denni
isn’t quite sure how, but she knows the nuhm’ndah were behind it.
Or at least the Dahné. I thought Vigil already knew.”

“We do, but…” Jenn swallowed, then blinked.
“Pashyo...that could be it.”

“What?”

Jenn pushed off the stool, knocking it over
in the process. She nearly tripped over it as she backed away from
her, staring now, not at her but in the vacant space between them.
She lifted up a wavering hand, gesturing for her to wait, and
rushed out of the kitchen and down the hall towards Matthew's war
room.

“Jenn?” Caren called out. “What's wrong?”

There was no answer. Then—

Without an Ascension, there is no eternal
savior.

Jenn was speaking to her from within. Caren
shuddered, the words unexpected. She stood up and started making
her way down to that far left master bedroom, into the control
room. She knew Jenn was in there now, furiously typing away at one
of the keyboards.

What do you mean?
she called out.
Jenn, what’s wrong?

Without an Ascension, there is no eternal
savior,
she repeated.

Without an eternal savior, there is no
eternity.

Without an eternity, time ceases to
exist.

And we are all left in space.

Caren knew that from somewhere. It was Kelley
James, the Crimson-Null Foundation councillor, who had written
that. James was a brilliant leader, but also one of the most
original and creative writers of this era, his work beloved by
Gharné and Meraladhza alike. Jenn was quoting the last stanza of
his poem “The Persistence of Memories,” and Caren remembered it now
as words on a forgotten plaque hidden somewhere within the Mirades
Tower.

There were a few more lines after that, and
Jenn hadn't spoken them:

Here lies fate, my friend.

Here lies fate.

And the persistence of memories.

“Huh,” she said aloud, in the absence of the
chill she’d expected. That had to be the source of the tag, and
Jenn had just made the connection as well. Caren stopped in the
doorway and watched her for a few moments. She risked a quick scan
of Jenn's thoughts and found them scattered and running every which
way, questions and theories getting thrown about but never quite
making purchase. She immediately backed away, left breathless by
the effect. Her thought processes were going at least twice as fast
and in more directions than her own.

“I...I’ll be in touch,” Caren said quietly,
and backed away.

Crittiqila will call you this evening,
Jenn said.
I'm sorry about this. I really am.

“Nothing to feel sorry about,” she said.
“Thanks.”

Jenn didn't answer. Caren left her alone and
headed back up the hallway, and stopped at the front door. She had
been here just moments before, feeling just as confused, just as
frustrated...

Just as lonely.

“Pashyo...” she muttered, and walked out.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Admission

Nick rested an elbow on the open car window
and watched the Sprawl pass by as they sped towards South City.
Sheila was distracted, adjusting the car radio in an attempt to
find a decent music station, with little result. She was certainly
acting strange today…he couldn't tell if she was on edge or simply
restless. She'd been this way ever since Denni's failed Ascension,
and it only seemed to be getting worse.

After their daily visit to Moulding Warehouse
to make rounds, they'd made a quick detour back to the intersection
of Guyton West and Sandison, just to check up on the area. Nothing
new had changed since yesterday; no spiritual residue, no secondary
attacks, no graffiti. Nick wondered why they'd even stopped there.
Now they were heading to Nulltech Alley to answer a call about a
suspicious person well out of their own jurisdiction. Nick thought
it rather odd that the ARU had been called in to investigate a
non-spiritual issue. Security was notoriously tight down there;
he’d been a South City BMPD officer in this area not that long ago,
so he knew they were already well covered.

The caller had been Kindeiya Shalei from KJS,
however, and had specifically requested Sheila and himself. He was
Caren's frustrating reality seer and Nehalé Usarai's former
employer. He didn’t like this situation at all.

“Damn channels,” Sheila growled at the radio.
“Nothing decent comes in on the freeway. And all the clear ones are
playing crap.”

Nick winced at her. “You okay over there,
Sheila?”

“I'm fine,” she huffed. “Just irritated.”

“What about?”

“You really want to know? Where should I
start?” She paused, a deep scowl crossing her face as she tried to
find the right words. She gave up a moment later, her shoulders
sagging but the fire in her eyes remaining. “I just feel really
pissed off today, and I’m not sure why. I know, it sounds stupid,
but…”

“Sheila —” he started.

“I'm am
not
going to see a counselor,
Nick,” she interrupted. “I told you, it's the side effects from the
Ascension. Something I have to deal with on my own terms. I'll be
fine. It wears off.”

“Come on, don’t lie to your own partner,” he
said. “Something's got to you. It’s already compromising our
work.”

She eyed him icily. “Don't make me pull this
car over and kick your ass.”

“Won't be the first time,” he shot back. “The
Parkway exit is coming up, we can continue this later. I'm just
concerned, all right? You’ve been way too distant at HQ lately, and
to be brutally honest, other agents are starting to notice. You’re
lucky Farraway hasn’t said anything.”

She exhaled and side-eyed him. “Fine,” she
said. “I owe you that much.” She reached out and touched him on the
arm, squeezing it briefly. “Sorry about that.”

“No need for apologies,” he said, covering
her hand. “I just worry about you.”

She flashed a smile at him. After a few
moments of uncomfortable silence while Sheila approached the
cloverleaf onto Bridgetown Parkway, she finally spoke again. “So
we're on the lookout for a suspicious person. Not that I don't want
to make a cynical joke out of that, but why would edha Kindeiya
want to contact us?”