by AnonYMous
It was almost eleven o’clock before she found some further information. The narrative was still centred on Xavier and was now set in the winter of the year 1537. While travelling around Central America, Xavier had stumbled across one of the monks from the Egyptian temple. The monk had been a young novice when they had first met, but was now a fully grown man. More importantly, as far as Xavier was concerned, this monk, Ishmael, had been banished from the temple after falling foul of Father Gaius. Although the book was annoyingly vague about the reasons, it was clear that Ishmael had broken one of the monks’ sacred vows, and in doing so had compromised the secret hiding place of the Eye of the Moon. The story then continued rather slowly, with Xavier and Ishmael becoming inseparable and travelling together in search of the Holy Grail. Again the Mystic Lady found herself getting sidetracked as it became more and more apparent that Xavier and his newfound friend were extremely close to locating the so-called ‘Cup of Christ’. Then, just as it seemed they were within an ace of finding it, the author changed again, literally in mid-sentence. A completely different handwriting took up the narrative, and there was no more mention of the Holy Grail.
The new writer never referred to himself by name but was quite certainly a man. The Mystic Lady had sensed this from the way he spoke of a battle against the forces of evil, and a quest to find the Eye of the Moon before the ‘Dark Lord’. There had been no mention of any Dark Lord up to this point, or at least none that she had noticed. This author told exciting tales of adventure upon the high seas and expeditions through deserts. It was all good, heroic stuff, right up until the author suddenly fell in love. Bored by the sentiments that now swamped the tale, the Mystic Lady tried to flick past this part. The author droned on and on about how he had fallen for a girl named Maria, and how he had given up his right to return home because of his forbidden love for her.
The tediousness of the love story began to make the Mystic Lady feel rather drowsy, so shortly before midnight she made herself a mug of coffee. But the caffeine boost did little to stimulate her brain, and so she therefore decided to get a few hours’ sleep. She pulled a thin black leather bookmark from a drawer in her table and placed it on the page where she had stopped reading. However, as she went to close the book it fell open at a page with a drawing on it. She had come across several maps and diagrams, as well as artefacts and buildings, scattered intermittently through the book. All of the authors had been particularly good at recording such things, but this picture was different. It was a drawing of a happy couple. Beneath it was a caption written in a fine italic hand. Blinking hard to keep her eyes open, the Mystic Lady peered down to read what it said:
‘The Dark Lord Xavier on his wedding day.’
There came a knock at her door. A loud booming knock. Caught unawares, the Mystic Lady started like a frightened deer. Her initial thought was to get up and answer the door so that she could hurl a torrent of abuse at whatever idiot had come knocking so late at night. Usually the only people ever to knock on her door at such a late hour were drunken teenagers or travellers who wanted their fortunes told. However, it being Lunar Festival, she decided to show a little caution before opening the door to someone she had yet to see.
‘Who’s there?’ she called out.
There was no answer. This was not, in fact, unusual. It often happened that some of the comedians who came to visit her didn’t reply when she asked ‘Who’s there?’ It was an unoriginal prank that some of the more small-minded visitors liked to play. ‘I thought you’d know it was me,’ they would say when she answered the door. ‘What kind of a fortune teller are you if you didn’t know it was me?’ and so on – feeble jokes that she had heard a thousand times over the years.
It was with a little trepidation and a great deal of annoyance that she got up from her table and went to the door. As carefully and quietly as she could, she unlocked it and peered out, ready to fire off some abuse at whatever idiot was out there. What she saw came as her second surprise of the last few minutes.
Standing outside in the cold night was a young woman dressed all in black. The Mystic Lady almost didn’t see her in the dark. Had her face not been so pale, she would have been all but invisible in the night.
‘Do you know what time it is?’ she asked the young woman, crossly.
‘I am sorry. It’s just that I really need your help with something,’ her visitor replied.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Jessica.’
‘Well, Jessica, might I recommend that you come back tomorrow during the day? I’m closed right now, and I’m about ready to go to bed.’
‘Please, miss, I only need five minutes of your time,’ the girl pleaded.
She looked extremely cold and tired, as well as somewhat desperate. More importantly, though, she looked sober, and she had pleading eyes, so the Mystic Lady took pity on her. Surely this pretty and innocent-looking girl couldn’t be a prankster?
‘I was hoping you could tell me who I am,’ Jessica went on. ‘You see, I’ve been in a coma for five years, and I seem to be suffering from amnesia.’
Hmm, the old woman thought to herself, perhaps she was a prankster after all. She replied crisply, ‘Oh, what rubbish. Honestly, couldn’t you come up with something better than that?’
‘Please, ma’am, you must believe me. I keep having visions … you know … flashbacks. I think a man called the Bourbon Kid may be coming to kill me. It’s all something to do with the Eye of the Moon.’
The Eye of the Moon! What were the chances? Mention of the Bourbon Kid and the Eye of the Moon was just about the only reason for which the Mystic Lady would let anyone into her home at this late hour. She wanted as much information about the Eye as she could get, and felt that to turn this young woman away and risk never seeing her again was too big a chance to take.
‘All right,’ she relented. ‘Come in. Just five minutes, mind.’
‘Oh, thank you. You’re so kind.’
The Mystic Lady led the girl into her narrow room and gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs at her table. Jessica did as instructed.
‘What’s the book you’re reading?’ she asked.
‘Never you mind.’ The fortune teller scowled.
The Mystic Lady had no wish to become too heavily involved with the comings and goings of the people who were pursuing the stone. If Jessica turned out to be a fraud – or worse – then the last thing the fortune teller wanted was for the girl to know that she herself was taking an over-zealous interest in the Eye of the Moon. She closed the book and placed it on the floor under the desk, then took up her usual position in the tall-backed wooden chair across the table from Jessica.
‘So, then, Jessica. What do you know about yourself?’
‘Not much. I’ve been too afraid to ask around in case anyone sees me as a soft touch and tries to take advantage. People see a young woman and find out she knows no one and no one knows her, they start to get ideas, you know?’
‘Well, that’s true,’ the Mystic Lady agreed. ‘So you know nothing, then?’
‘No, I do know a little. I know that a man called the Bourbon Kid tried to kill me about five years ago, and that’s why I was in a coma. Now I suspect he’s after me again, but I don’t know why. I don’t know what it is I’ve done to upset him. Do you think you can help me? My friend Jefe suggested I ask for your help.’
‘Jefe, you say?’ the Mystic Lady inquired, recognizing the name of the feared bounty hunter.
‘Yes. Do you know him?’
‘A little. He’s been here once or twice.’
‘So … is he right? Can you help me?’
‘Maybe. Let’s look into my crystal ball and see what we can find.’
The Mystic Lady leaned forward, lifted the black silk cover off the crystal ball on her table and dropped it on to the book on the floor at her feet. Then she began to rub her hands slowly over the ball, as if trying to warm it. The curious mist swirled around inside for a few moments, before slowly cl
earing. Gradually the silhouette of a man began to appear in the heart of the glass sphere.
‘Oh … I see the hooded man … the Bourbon Kid,’ the old woman gasped. ‘I think you’re right. I think he may be coming for you.’ She stopped peering into the ball and stared up into Jessica’s eyes to see how she reacted. ‘This man is bad news. Very bad news. He killed a lot of people in this town five years ago. If he’s coming after you, then I suggest you get as far away from Santa Mondega as you possibly can.’
Jessica looked horrified, and deeply worried. There was no faking such a reaction. So she’s not a fraud, the fortune teller thought, as the girl spoke.
‘Do you know why he wants to kill me? Does your ball tell you that? Or can it tell you anything about me? Where do I come from? How did I survive last time?’
‘Please, dear, one question at a time,’ said the Mystic Lady, looking closer into the clouded sphere for answers. ‘This man, this Bourbon Kid, he has unfinished business with you,’ she said slowly, concentrating hard on the swirling images in the ball. ‘His desire to kill you is very, very strong. He’ll stop at nothing, and he’s been preparing himself for your return. My God, this man has foul intentions towards you. Only thing is, though, I can’t see why … No, hold on – something is coming to me.’
Very suddenly, she jumped back as if startled by something.
‘What? What is it?’ cried Jessica. ‘What have you seen?’ The old woman looked absolutely terrified. Her face had gone very white, and she was trembling slightly. Her voice quavered when she spoke again. ‘You say you really don’t know who you are?’ she asked Jessica.
‘Yes. Why? What have you seen? Who am I?’
‘I … I don’t know … I’m sorry. You should leave.’ All of a sudden it seemed that the fortune teller couldn’t wait to get rid of her.
‘Why? What did you see?’ ‘Nothing, I saw nothing, I tell you. Now go.’ The Mystic Lady was clearly lying. She knew it, and she knew that Jessica knew it. Normally she could cover up a lie as convincingly as the next fortune teller, but on this occasion she had slipped up. It was obvious from her reaction that she knew something, and the girl wasn’t going to let it go without a fight.
‘Bullshit! You saw something. I think you should tell me what you’ve seen. I could get nasty, you know? NOW WHAT HAVE YOU SEEN?’
The Mystic Lady jumped as Jessica shouted the last few words. She could feel her heart beating at an alarming rate. It seemed to be positively thumping against her breastbone in an attempt to flee her chest.
‘I … I saw the Bourbon Kid. He is coming here. He is coming to kill you right now. You should go. He could be upon us at any second now.’
‘Really?’ Jessica seemed astonished. ‘Are you telling me the truth?’ She was studying the Mystic Lady’s reaction closely to see if she was lying.
‘Yes. Honestly. That’s all I saw. Look, I don’t want that man coming here. Please, leave now.’
‘But why does he want to kill me?’
‘I don’t know. Now get out, for your own sake!’
Jessica stood up from her seat. This mad old gypsy had made it clear how keen she was to get rid of her, but she tried a last question. Very quietly, she asked, ‘Are you sure you didn’t see anything else … you know? … about me?’
‘No. I’m sorry. I can’t help you. Please go.’ There was a hard finality in her tone, and she was greatly relieved to see Jessica head for the door. The young woman didn’t seem especially scared by what she had just been told. She looked more confused than anything else.
‘Goodbye, Jessica,’ the Mystic Lady called after her. ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of the Lunar Festival.’
‘Yeah, thanks. Goodbye to you, too … Annabel.’
‘Excuse me? What did you call me?’
‘Annabel. That is your name isn’t it? Annabel de Frugyn?’
The fortune teller was very careful about giving out her name. It made her easily traceable by the taxman, for a start, so it was very rare for anyone not close to her to know it.
‘Yes. It is my name, but how did you know?’
Jessica gave the Mystic Lady a stare that suggested she too could withhold information when she chose to, but then answered anyway.
‘Jefe told me.’
As if that were her parting shot in an argument, Jessica swept aside the bead curtain, swung open the front door and stormed out in a fury. Much to the fortune teller’s annoyance she didn’t shut the door properly behind her either. It was very close to being shut, but even so it was still fractionally ajar. To a stranger unused to the door it would look closed, but Annabel de Frugyn knew the door well, and it wasn’t shut as firmly as she would like. Young people, in particular, had a habit of not closing the door properly, and at this time of night it was particularly unwelcome. There wasn’t a draught coming in just yet, but it was only a matter of time. Besides, she would have to lock it. If the Bourbon Kid really was coming, he would presumably pick up Jessica’s trail, and so by-pass the Mystic Lady’s tiny home. Even so, it would be foolish to leave the door unsecured.
Normally she would have got up and closed the door straight away, but she wanted first to remind herself quickly of the picture she had seen in the book. She reached down under the desk and lifted the black silk square from its resting place on the book and slipped it back over her crystal ball. That done, she reached back down under the desk and picked up the book. She opened it out on her table once more and tried to find the page with the drawing of Xavier on it. As she scoured numerous drawings on the pages, trying to find it, the gust of wind she had been expecting blew in from outside and turned a whole sheaf of pages for her. She had neither the time nor the patience for this irritation, so she got up to shut the door, which by now was almost fully open.
She took a step outside to see if Jessica was still in sight, in order to wave an angry fist at her behind her back, but there was no sign of her late-night visitor. There were no other strangers around either, and it was a relief to see that the streets outside were deserted for as far as she could see.
The wind had whipped up quite strongly and it took her some effort to shut the door. Once she had closed it she pulled the big rusty metal bolt across to keep it shut, then turned the small silver key in the lock until it would turn no more and she was certain the door was secured. With a yawn and a stretch of her tired arms she turned back to the book.
There followed the awful moment when she realized that she was no longer alone in her home. Someone was standing directly in front of her in the middle of the room, between her and the book. She jumped in fright and surprise, and it took her a few seconds to calm down just enough to get her breath back.
‘How did you get in?’ she asked the imposing figure in front of her.
The intruder gave no verbal response to the question. For the next twenty minutes the only sounds that could be heard from within the House of the Mystic Lady were her screams, but these were mostly drowned out by the howling wind outside, which had now reached gale force.
Annabel de Frugyn’s screaming eventually came to an end when her tongue was ripped from her throat.
Forty-Six
His captors had unceremoniously thrown Jensen on to the dirty, straw-littered stone floor after they had smuggled him safely into the barn in which he now found himself. Other than being in a barn, he had absolutely no idea where he was. The building could have been in the back garden of a house in the city centre, or it could have been out in the middle of the desert, for all he could tell. It was a very large barn with bales of straw piled up high against the back wall. There was no electricity, and it obviously wouldn’t be a good idea to use candles in an old wooden structure like this, so the only light came from the moon shining in through the open doorway.
The two big men kicked him a few times while he was on the floor, more to unsettle him than actually to inflict any pain. After a short but not too unpleasant kicking, they heaved him up, slung him on to a stack of bales
and sat him upright against another stack behind him. One of them then forcefully removed the gag from his mouth, so relieving a little of his discomfort. At least now he could take a deep breath of air to help to calm his nerves.
Now that there was a little light, and he was able to breathe more easily, Jensen finally had a chance to take a good look at his two captors. Their faces were still half in shadow, but nevertheless he recognized them from photos he had seen of them in some of his top-secret government files. These were El Santino’s henchmen, Carlito and Miguel. Both of them wore black suits with black shirts under their jackets, as though it were a designated uniform. It was well known locally that these two men always worked together. Rumour had it that they were homosexuals who hated to be parted and were fiercely loyal to each other. That loyalty was only surpassed by that which they felt for their boss, El Santino, who was said to be like a father to them. Indeed, there was a distinct possibility that he was a father to them. The pair of them were high on Jensen’s list of potential vampires. If El Santino was the head vampire, then these guys were his two high priests who did all of his dirty work for him. Their dirty work right now was either questioning Miles Jensen, disposing of his body, or both.
‘Right,’ said Carlito, whose body language and aggressive posture suggested that he was the more dominant of the two. ‘What the fuck were you doing hiding in the bushes outside El Santino’s estate?’
Jensen knew that he had to try to bullshit them first. They would probably know he was lying, but if he could get them to believe he hadn’t been staking out El Santino’s mansion, he had at least half a chance of getting out alive, or at least of stalling them until Somers worked out where he was.
‘My car broke down and I was waiting in the bushes to see if anyone might come along to give me a hand,’ he said, with a level of composure that surprised even him. ‘No one came, though. Not a single car came past. I was about to settle down to sleep in the bushes when you two appeared.’