Free The Geomancer's Compass by Melissa Hardy

Jaw, by moose.” He elbowed me across the divide. “Hear that, cuz? Almost there. We’ve been driving for forty minutes and I still haven’t been able to wring the reason we’re going to Moose Jaw out of you.”
    I sighed. You need to time-release information to Brian in manageable gobbets. Otherwise his brain explodes. “I did so tell you,” I said. “A-Ma wanted us to pay homage to The Grandfather’s brother at his grave site – you know, Qingming stuff.” Qingming Festival, a.k.a. Bright Festival, a.k.a. Tomb Sweeping Day, is when you drag the whole family out to the cemetery and perform prayers and ceremonies and rituals in honor of your ancestors so they won’t be pissed off at you andwreck your life. You also tidy up the grave and put fresh flowers out and set off firecrackers to ward off evil spirits. “I guess his grave, being out in Moose Jaw and all, hadn’t been swept for a long time and it was … I don’t know … preying on her conscience. She was, like, stressing out about it. Anyway, it was A-Ma’s dying wish and that’s why we’re here.” I wasn’t exactly lying. I’m sure A-Ma would have wanted us to sweep Qianfu’s tomb … once we found it.
    â€œ
C’mon
. There’s got to be more to it than that. And what was The Grandfather’s brother doing out in Moose Jaw in the first place?”
    â€œPeople don’t always stay in the same place,” I said vaguely.
    â€œTurn right in half a mile.” This from Hermione.
    Brian turned off the Trans-Canada onto Caribou Street. “Sure you don’t want some chips? They’re righteous.”
    â€œThey’re disgusting and very bad for you.” I glared at him as disapprovingly as a person who had consumed her body weight in cupcakes the night before could manage. Brian eats constantly. He had been eating when I met him at the arrivals gate in the airport and he was still eating. His backpack bulged with snacks, none of them healthy. So did the gazillion pockets of the khaki photographer’s vest he wore over an orange and peacock blue Hawaiian shirt featuring what looked like exploding palm trees. By rights he should have been the size of an elephant, but his hyperactivitycoupled with his height (he was nearly six feet tall to my five) kept his weight in check.
    â€œIn one quarter mile, turn right onto Main Street,” Hermione crooned.
    Brian turned onto Moose Jaw’s wide Main Street, four lanes separated by a brick median brimming with flowers and lined, for the most part, with heritage buildings dating from 1900 to the late 1920s – Italianate in style, constructed in stone or brick or faced with limestone. He was impressed. “Look at this architecture. I didn’t expect this.”
    â€œWhat did you expect?”
    â€œI don’t know … early grain elevator?”
    â€œYour destination is on the right,” Hermione advised.
    And there it was, the hotel Mom had booked for us, the Prairie Rose, an unprepossessing four-story walk-up built in the 1920s, drab and water stained.
    â€œNow, that,” said Brian, “
that
is early grain elevator.”
    I felt a tug of anxiety. What had Mom been thinking? It had looked so much better in the online photos. Would the bathroom be clean? What about bugs? Have I mentioned that I am just the teensiest bit germaphobic? I patted my knapsack. Relief at having brought along a travel pack of industrial-strength hand wipes washed over me.
    â€œMore prairie than rose, I think,” said Brian. “Well, it’s not as if we’re going to be spending much time here. Or are we? Just what are we doing in this burg, Randi?”
    I was beginning to feel a little shaky: hypoglycemia alert. The car smelled oppressively of potato chip; it was late morning, hot and stuffy, and in penance for last night’s cupcake orgy, I had skipped