The Obsidian Mirror, page 12
She stood, frozen, listening. She heard a steady drip, like water dripping down stone. Nothing else. The pounding of her heart was so loud she was sure the creature in the dark could hear it, too. She was cold, too cold, but willed herself not to shiver. She strained to hear, but aside from the dripping, she could hear nothing but the rush of blood in her ears.
She remembered the colored flames that Quetzalcoatl had awoken in her mind. Where is my power? I need it now! She strained to feel some sort of strength to resist this terror, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.
For long moments she stood motionless, barely breathing for fear Mahaha would locate her by the sound of air hissing in and out of her lungs. Still she heard nothing. Finally, she put out a cautious hand, feeling for a wall or a familiar piece of bedroom furniture. Her hand encountered damp, cold rock, and as she touched it, several bits flaked away and clattered to the ground. In the deathly silence, their fall sounded like a small avalanche.
Light flared abruptly, and she saw the ice demon spring at her, fanged mouth open, claws outstretched. She shrieked and threw up her hands to defend herself and Mahaha hit her hard, knocking her to the stone floor. The icy cold of its breath rolled over her.
Then there was nothing. As she cowered on the ground, eyes squeezed shut in terror, nothing attacked. There was no sound, and the icy cold diminished to mere coolness. She opened her eyes cautiously, taking in the torches ensconced on the rock walls of the all-too-familiar stone hall. A voice whispered, “You thought there was only one Mahaha? Only one messenger? I have many servants, they are everywhere. There’s a part of me in you now, Sierra. I’ll always be a part of you. Always. Always…”
The voice came from the other end of the great hall, where the great black mirror stood. Running along either side of the hall were the loathsome murals, just as before. And she saw with despair, but no surprise, a stone altar standing before the mirror.
“Come, Sierra,” said the voice, seeming to beckon her closer to the altar and to the mirror. “Come serve me. I can give you anything. Everything.”
She saw there was a knife resting on the altar, a large leaf-shaped blade fashioned from obsidian, dark and shining in the torchlight. The knife was meant for her, she thought. All had been prepared for her. She had only to take a few steps to the altar and it would all be over…
“No,” said the voice. “This is not for you. I have a purpose for you, and I will reward you for fulfilling that purpose. The knife is for the one who must be sacrificed. Bring him to me, Sierra, and you shall have everything you want—this I promise! Everything.”
Sierra found her voice. “I’m not bringing anybody to be sacrificed,” she said. “And whatever you’ve got to give, I don’t want it.”
“Then die!” hissed the voice, inhuman in its rage and intensity. She felt herself impelled toward the grim altar and its wicked blade, as though sucked into a riptide. She flung herself to the rough stone floor and scrabbled with her fingernails to find a grip, but there was nothing to hang on to as she was dragged sobbing across the rough stone.
In some corner of her terrified mind, a rational voice spoke. This isn’t happening. It’s a nightmare. Wake up!
Sierra woke shivering in the gray dawn. She was soaked with sweat and breathing hard. It had seemed so real, but it was a nightmare. Wasn’t it? What was it the voice had demanded? A sacrifice? It never said who was to be sacrificed. But dreams never made sense, and this was only a dream. Sierra shuddered and decided that the idea of going back to sleep was impossible and even repugnant. She showered, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and went quietly downstairs to make coffee. By the time Chaco and Fred were up, the birds were singing, it was a fine spring day with a blue-washed sky and wispy clouds, and Sierra had all but forgotten her nightmare.
She waited until ten o’clock to call Kaylee, hoping this was enough time for Kaylee to have made some discreet inquiries about Clancy. At ten sharp, she dialed Kaylee’s number at work.
“Kaylee Shore,” said a crisp and professional voice.
“Kaylee, it’s Sierra.”
“Yes, hello. May I call you back? I’m in a meeting at the moment.”
“Sure,” said Sierra. She hung up and waited another long, long hour. Finally, the phone rang.
“Sierra? It’s Kaylee. Sorry I couldn’t talk earlier.”
“No problem. Were you able find out anything about Clancy?”
“Yes, indeed. Let’s see. He’s not married, but I couldn’t find out if he ever has been…”
“Not that! Come on, Kaylee. I mean what kind of person is he? Do you think he’s safe?”
“Safe? What do you mean? D’you think he’s a homicidal maniac or something?” Kaylee sounded taken aback, and Sierra reflected on how many things had happened just since saying goodbye to Kaylee the previous day. No wonder she sounded odd to her friend. Paranoid, Aiden had said.
“No, that’s not what I mean. I just want to know if you think he’s…. working for the opposition.”
“The opposition? Oh. Right. Um, it’s not that easy to tell, Sierra. I mean, I don’t know if he donates to Greenpeace, you know? Here’s what I’ve been able to find out…”
Kaylee told Sierra that Clancy had worked for BDSC for five years. He was the chief of security for the company. He had a lot of access and authority throughout the company.
“People generally think he’s a nice guy, but tough. Not someone to mess around with. But he’s not a jerk; he’s reasonable and easy to deal with as long as you don’t start bashing heads with him. Sort of a cop mentality, but a good cop.”
“I suppose the cop mentality goes with the job,” commented Sierra. “What did he do before he joined BDSC?”
“Don’t know. He’s been here longer than most folks. You know how people move around here in the Valley.” Kaylee was right. Five years was a long time in the restless, upwardly mobile environment of Silicon Valley.
“Did you get his email or phone extension?”
“Yes.” Kaylee gave Sierra the information. “Sorry I didn’t get more on him personally. The people who work for him probably know more, but I didn’t want to seem like I was snooping. Even though I was.”
“That’s all right. Thanks for finding out as much as you did. So, people generally think he’s OK?”
“Yes. Professionally, anyway.”
Sierra thanked Kaylee and hung up. She sat for a moment, thinking. What on earth did he want with her? Well, she’d find out soon enough. In an couple of hours, she’d be meeting him for lunch. She shook herself briskly and went to her computer, where she spent a productive hour checking the job boards.
When she had finished putting her resume online at various job sites, and sent off a few applications, Sierra went to Google News to check the news headlines.
“President Pulls Teeth of Endangered Species Act,” read one headline. “Nuclear Power Plan Sails through Congress,” read another. Sierra sighed. So much to do. Was she supposed to turn this tide of destruction?
Chapter 13
Sierra had arranged to meet Clancy at an unpretentious lunch spot in Santa Clara. The food was unremarkable but the surroundings were gorgeous. The café was located in an older industrial park. Land had been cheaper in the good old days, and the developers had planted a grove of towering redwoods amid the glass-walled office buildings. In the midst of the grove there was an artificial waterfall that ran over real-enough rocks into a large pond. The surrounding gentle slopes were bursting with flowers, and there was a large, flat lawn that enjoyed both sun and shade during the day.
Sierra arrived early and sat on the outside patio at a table under a green umbrella, with a perfect view of the little oasis tucked away amid the halls of industry. She sipped an iced tea and watched the ducks paddle around the pond. She wondered if they made any distinction between this tiny, perfectly groomed imitation of nature and some scummy, but genuine pond out in the woods. Then she wondered if she could tell the difference between reality and illusion. Given the latest events in her life, this was a valid question, she thought. Maybe she was just like the ducks, blissfully paddling around, unaware that beyond the flowery borders of her vision, there was another, quite different, reality.
As she was pondering this, lost in thought, Clancy placed a hand on her shoulder. She startled, spilling her drink into her lap.
“Oh, shit!” she yelped, then blushed and clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, sorry, Clancy. I didn’t mean to say that. I was startled.”
Clancy handed her a wad of paper napkins from a dispenser on the table, and then sat down opposite her. “I think I’ve heard that word before,” he said, amiably. “Checking…checking. No, I don’t think you shocked me.”
Sierra, who was fortunately wearing jeans and not white linen trousers, mopped up the tea. “Well, sorry anyway. I’m trying to cut back on the profanities, but they pop out sometimes.”
“No problem,” returned Clancy. “That was quite a leap you made when I touched you. Is something wrong?”
“Oh. No. Nothing wrong!” said Sierra, who disliked lying. “Let’s order, shall we?”
They ordered their sandwiches and drinks (Sierra opting for plain water this time around) and sat for a few minutes in silence. Finally, Clancy broke the awkward silence.
“Some people take… termination… rather hard, you know. Your boyfriend said you were indisposed when I called,” he said, carefully.
“Chaco isn’t my boyfriend,” Sierra hastily interjected, then regretted it because she had no other explanation ready. “He’s, ah, a friend of, eh, a friend.” Clancy was quiet for a heartbeat.
“How nice of him to take care of you while you were ill,” he said carefully.
“It was nothing,” Sierra said. “Just a cold or something. Chaco stopped by to, to return a book.”
“I see. I got the wrong idea, then. Your friend gave me the impression you were really quite sick.”
“Well, yes. A very bad cold,” said Sierra, wishing desperately that Clancy would move on to something else. “But I’m fine, now.”
“Well, I’m very glad to hear it,” said Clancy, and he really did sound pleased. His tone had lightened, and he had a smile in his voice. Sierra reflected for an instant how odd it is that you could tell someone was smiling even when you couldn’t see that person. Something about the timbre of the voice changed, she thought.
There was another moment of silence, then Sierra said, “So you called to see if I was slitting my wrists because I got fired?” Too bristly. Too in-your-face. “Sorry, Clancy. That came out wrong. I mean, it was nice of you to call and check to see if I was OK. Really. Very nice.” Shut up now.
“I didn’t think you would slit your wrists,” he replied, apparently not offended. “You didn’t seem like the type.”
“Good call. I’m not. I’m taking a little time off before I start looking for another job. To think things over. You know,” she said abruptly, “I did not get canned because I was doing a bad job or because I was stealing paper clips.”
“I know,” said Clancy in his pleasant tenor voice.
“You do?”
“Yes. You had a good record at BDSC. And people liked you. I heard a lot of muttering from people who thought it was a shame you were terminated. They don’t understand it.”
“Should you be telling me this?” asked Sierra, genuinely surprised.
“Probably not,” he admitted cheerfully. “And I probably shouldn’t have checked your employment record, either, but I did.”
“Why did you?”
“I was interested. Usually, when someone is terminated, I know the reason. Nobody said a word about why you were let go. And when I first met you, I liked the way you handled yourself. So when you were laid off, I asked around a little bit and looked through your files. Couldn’t find a thing wrong. So I thought that was odd. In my line of work, I don’t like mysteries.”
Sierra smiled to herself. “You mean you didn’t become a private cop because you read The Hardy Boys when you were a kid?”
“No. I never read mysteries. The police procedure ones annoy me, and the cozies annoy me even more. I’m more of a non-fiction kind of guy.”
“Really?” Sierra said. “Me too! What do you like to read? I’d guess history. Or world politics.”
“You’re all wrong about me,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. In the light of the midday sun, his eyes were a clear, jade green. She stared back, momentarily at a loss for words.
“I mean,” he said, taking his eyes from hers to concentrate on making inroads into his sandwich, “About my taste in literature.”
“Oh, that,” said Sierra, relieved at finally having something to say. “Well what do you like to read, then?”
“Byawphugee,” he said, seriously impeded by a mouthful of chicken-breast-with-goat-cheese.
Sierra leaned closer, as though that would somehow make him more intelligible. “What?”
Clancy chewed hard and swallowed. “Biology. Natural history. Earth studies. That kind of thing.”
Sierra sat up straighter. “Really? And why do you like reading about natural history and so forth?”
“Hmm. I don’t really have a reason for liking it. But I could make one up, if you like.”
Sierra smiled, tickled by his reply. “OK. Make one up.”
“It seems to me that the more we know about the way things work in this world, the more likely we are to make better decisions about things. Take BDSC, for example.”
“Yes,” Sierra said, dryly. “Take BDSC. Please.”
Clancy acknowledged her little joke with a quirk of his mouth. “Well, at BDSC, we use a lot of dangerous chemicals in processing. The ground underneath Silicon Valley is riddled with aquifers, which is where we get a lot of our drinking water. Chemicals that spill or leak sink into the ground and pollute the groundwater. We’ve seen that in the south of the county—there are plumes of jet propellant contaminating the aquifers from a manufacturing plant that’s no longer there. The people down there can't drink the tap water."
“OK,” Sierra said. “So how does that relate to anything that BDSC is doing?”
“Well, the company discovered that one of the chemicals it was using, which starts with an “N” and I can’t remember the name now, was a toxin that caused reproductive harm to humans. So the company immediately tried to find an alternative, which they did. They started using dilute oxalic acid in the same equipment, which meant they didn’t have to replace all the etching machinery, and it’s far less toxic. It was a win-win.”
“Oxalic acid,” said Sierra suspiciously. “That sounds toxic, too.”
Clancy took a drink of water. “You know that weed that comes up in the spring with bright yellow flowers and tastes sour?”
Sierra nodded. “We used to chew on it when I was a kid. We called it lemon grass. I found out it’s really not lemon grass, though.”
Clancy nodded. “It’s called oxalis. Because it contains oxalic acid.”
“Oh.” Sierra regarded him thoughtfully. “So BDSC substituted something that I actually ingested as a child to replace a real poison.”
“That’s it,” said Clancy. “But unless we understand these things, we can’t make good choices.”
“Right,” said Sierra, and gazed at him, thinking. Could she trust him? He was saying the right things. But what could she tell him that he would believe? What a quandary.
“So, why didn’t I ever hear about the oxalic acid change?” she asked. “You’d think it would make a good story for the press. You know, ’Black Diamond Semiconductor Switches to Green Process.’”
“I suppose the company didn’t want the press to point a finger at the other side of that story,” Clancy said. “You know, ‘Black Diamond Semiconductor Admits Use of Birth Defect Chemical.’”
“Hmmmm. Yes, the news media probably would take that angle,” she admitted, and subsided into a thoughtful silence.
“So,” said Clancy, trying to keep the conversation rolling. “What do you like to read?”
“Pretty much the same things,” Sierra responded, still distracted. “I also read about camping and hiking and wildflowers. When I go hiking in the spring, I like to identify flowers. I also read a lot about metallurgy and minerals.”
“Metallurgy and minerals? Why?”
Sierra came back to the present with a start. “Oh. I design and make jewelry. Silver jewelry. So I read about jewelry making, and techniques for working with metals, especially silver. And I guess I really got into making jewelry because I like the stones, so I read about them all the time. It helps me to develop new ideas for designs, and encourages me to try new techniques. Does that sound, um, odd?”
Clancy looked surprised. “No. Everyone needs interests, hobbies, whatever. I have an old friend that collects air sickness bags.”
Sierra looked at him skeptically. “Air sickness bags? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No,” protested Clancy. “Most of them are from the airlines. But he’s got a really rare one that was produced in honor of the nineteen-seventy-two Republican National Convention by something called the Neo-American Church of Florida. Jim’s very proud of that one.”
“I bet,” Sierra said. “And you say this guy is a friend of yours?”
“Well, someone I went to school with, anyway,” replied Clancy, looking a trifle sheepish.
“Whew. You had me worried there. And I thought pounding on metal in my garage was nerdy.”
“Well, I don’t think so,” responded Clancy, and they looked at each other for a few moments. Sierra noticed that his dark hair was threaded with silver, and his long-fingered hands looked strong. She flashed for a moment on what it would be like to have those strong hands running over her body… She shook her head, and her long braid bounced vigorously.
“What is it?” asked Clancy. The sunlight turned his eyes to translucent jade.
“You do not want to know," she said, feeling the heat in her cheeks. He gazed at her intently.
“Oh, but I do.”
