“Why wouldn’t they?” says Charis.
Shanita tosses her hair—worn hanging down today in a single long shining curl—and gives her a scornful glance. “Three guesses,” she says.
They take a work break in the afternoon and Shanita makes them some Lemon Refresher from their stockroom and lays out the cards for Charis. “Big event, coming up soon,” she says. “What I see is—your card is the Queen of Cups, right? It’s the High Priestess crossing you. Does this mean a thing?”
“Yes,” says Charis. “Will I win?”
“What is this win?” says Shanita, smiling at her. “That’s the first time I ever heard that word from you! Maybe it’s time you started saying it:” She peers at the cards, lays down a few more. “Looks something like winning,” she says. “Anyway, you don’t lose. But! There’s a death. Just no way around it.”
“Not Augusta!” says Charis. She’s trying to see for herself the Tower; the Queen of Swords, the Magician, the Fool. But cards are a thing she’s never been able to do.
“No, no, nowhere near her,” says Shanita. “This is an older person. Older than her, I mean. Related to you somehow, though. You are not going to see this death happen, but you’re going to be the one finding it out.”
Charis is dismayed. Billy, it must be. She will go to see Zenia, and Zenia will tell her that Billy is dead. That’s what she’s always dreaded. But it will be better than not knowing. There’s a good side to it, as well, because when it’s her own turn to make the transition and she finds herself in the dark tunnel, in the cave, on the boat, and sees the light up ahead of her, it will be Billy’s voice she will hear first. He will be the one helping her, on the other side. They will be together, and he wouldn’t be able to meet her like that if he hadn’t died first.
It helps her, to know about the High Priestess crossing her. Also it fits, because now, finally, she’s come to the chosen day, the right day to confront Zenia. She realized it as soon as she got up, as soon as she stuck her daily pin into the Bible. It picked out Revelations Seventeen, the chapter about the Great Whore: And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication: And upon her forehead was written, MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH.
Behind Charis’s closed eyelids the form took shape, the outline—crimson around the edges, with scintillations of diamond-hard light. She couldn’t see the face; though who else could it be but Zenia?
“That’s why I thought it was such a—well, so right,” says Charis to Tony.
“That what was?” says Tony patiently.
“What you said. About Project Babylon. I mean, it couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it?”
Tony opens her mouth to say that it could be, but shuts it again because Roz has given her a nudge under the table. “Go on,” says Roz.
Charis wades through the city, breathing airborne sludge. Past the BamBoo Club with its hot-coloured Caribbean graphics, past Zephyr with its shells and crystals, a place where she usually browses, but today she pushes past it with hardly a look, past the Dragon Lady comic book shop, hurrying because she has a deadline. It’s her lunch break. She doesn’t usually take much time for lunch because lunchtime is the busiest time, but they’ve closed the store for a few days while the new counters and the brownpaper bows are being put in place, so today she can make an exception. She’s asked Shanita for an extra half-hour; she’ll make it up by staying later, some day after they’ve reopened. That will give her time to get to the Arnold Garden Hotel, to see Zenia and ask what she needs to ask, to extract the answer. Supposing Zenia is at the hotel, of course. She could always be out.
When she was getting dressed this morning, washing herself in her drafty bathroom, it occurred to Charis that although she knew the name of the hotel she didn’t know the room number. She could always go to the hotel and poke around, walk up and down the corridors feeling the doorknobs; perhaps she would be able to pick up the electrical currents by touching the metal, sense the presence of Zenia through her fingertips behind the right door. But the hotel would be full of people, and those other people would create static. She could so easily make a mistake.
Then it came to her during the ferry ride to the mainland that there was one person who would be sure to know what room Zenia was staying in. Roz’s son Larry would know, because Charis had seen the two of them go into the hotel together.
“This is the part I didn’t want to tell you,” says Charis to Roz. “That day at the Toxique? I waited in the Kafay Nwar, across the street. I saw them come out. I followed them. Zenia and Larry.”
“You followed them?” says Roz, as if somebody else has followed them too, and she knows who.
“I just wanted to ask her about Billy,” says Charis. Roz pats her hand. “Of course you did!” she says. “I saw them kissing, on the street,” says Charis, apologetically. “It’s okay, baby,” says Roz. “Don’t worry about me:”
“Charis!” says Tony, with admiration. “You’re a lot more cunning than I thought!” The idea of Charis tiptoeing around behind Zenia’s back fills her with pleasure, because it’s so unlikely. Whoever else Zenia might have suspected of shadowing her, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been Charis.
When Charis arrived at the store that morning, and after Shanita had gone out to pick up some small change from the bank, she called Roz’s house. If anyone answered at all it would be Larry, because by this time the twins would be at school and Roz would be at work. She was right, it was Larry.
“Hello, Larry, it’s Aunt Charis.” she said. She felt stupid calling herself Aunt Charis, but it was a custom Roz had begun when the kids were little and it had never been abandoned.
“Oh, hi, Aunt Charis,” said Larry. He sounded half asleep. “Mom’s at work:”
“Well, but it was you I wanted to talk to,” said Charis. “I’m looking for Zenia. You know, Zenia, maybe you remember her, from when you were little:’ (How little had Larry been? she wonders. Not that little. How much had Roz ever told him, about Zenia? She hopes not much.) “We were all at university together. I’m supposed to meet her at the Arnold Garden Hotel, but I’ve lost the room number.” This was a big lie; she felt guilty about it, and at the same time resentful towards Zenia for putting her in such a position. That was the thing about Zenia: she dragged you down to her own level.
There was a long pause. “Why ask me?” Larry said finally, guardedly.
“Oh,” said Charis, playing up her usual vagueness, “she knows what a bad memory I have! She knows I’m not the best organizer. She said if I lost it, to call you. She said you’d know. I’m sorry if I woke you up,” she added.
“That was pretty dumb of her,” said Larry. “I’m not her answering service. Why don’t you just phone the hotel?” This was strangely rude, for Larry. As a rule he was more polite.