Wolf Moon Rising (34 page)

does not see he is about to fall from the precipice high above the

water. Do you think he is afraid?”

“I don’t know,” said David, staring hard at the image.

“Aha, the Chariot,” the gypsy said, taking up another of

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David’s cards. “It is a powerful prince, riding beneath a starry

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canopy. He sits in a swift carriage, and it is pulled by Sphinxes,

one black and one white, defi ning the two sides of his nature,

the conscious and the unconscious.”

“Are Sphinxes like Phoenixes?” David said sarcastically.

“Th

e card suggests a trip of some nature, usually by car, over

land and water, leaving his kingdom behind to perhaps drive

through the gates of hell where Inanna descended. As you can

see it is a lonely card and evokes the myth of Phaethon, who

stole his father’s chariot of the sun—”

“Hey, wait a minute!’ ” cried David, jerking up out of his

chair. “Where did all that come from?”

“I told you, she sees things,” whispered Jackie.

“It’s some kind of trick.” David became more restless as he

watched the gypsy shuffl

e the cards again.

She turned to Jackie. “And now young lady, what have you

here?” Jackie’s hands were shaking, and David could tell she was

beginning to question her choice because she pulled out two

cards and put them back. Th

en at last she laid out her two, sat

back, and bit her thumbnail.

“It’s only a game,” said David. But Jackie’s face was clouded,

and her lips were pressed together.

“Ah, the Lovers,” said the gypsy, glancing at the two of

them. “An angel with scarlet wings and hair afl ame hovers over

a boy and a girl standing— naked and vulnerable.” And she

traced the image with the yellowed nail of her index fi nger, as

Jackie studied the card with David looking over her shoulder, his

hand on her arm. “Th

is card goes with the Fool,” said the gypsy,

smiling at David. “Do you see how the trees bear fruit and

fl owers? Do you think this is their exile from the Garden?”

Jackie nodded, her eyes wide. “I— I think so.”

“A temptation of the heart. Listen carefully, young lady. One

partner is chosen and another rejected.”

“How can I choose between two if there is only one?” Jackie

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said, and David studied her face even though she did not look at

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him.

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“What ever the choice,” said Magda, tapping the card, “it

must not be made lightly.”

It was all too solemn, and again David felt the walls of the

library were closing in, as if the leather volumes were nearer

than before. Th

e gypsy’s fawning manner annoyed him. He

knew a fortuneteller preyed on gullibility and superstition, and

that what ever she said could be said to anyone who would take

it to heart.

But Magda was already holding Jackie’s second card in her

hand and shaking her head, mumbling, “Great diffi

culty. A hard

road ahead for the lovers.”

“Why? What is it?” said Jackie, a stricken look in her eyes,

for she had already seen the image of the furry- legged and

bearded satyr who had goat horns and the wings of a bat. “Th

e

Dev il!” she whispered.

“Yes,” breathed the gypsy, “it is the Dev il. A challenging

card meaning many things when paired with the Lovers, be-

cause you see they are matching.”

David and Jackie both stared in dismay at the two cards side

by side as Magda spoke in a cautionary tone. “Both the Angel

and the Dev il fl y above the innocent couple. Both spirits are

winged. But, whereas in the Lovers we see innocence and hope,

in the Dev il’s card the two lovers are transformed into creatures

of the underworld.”

Jackie became agitated. “Th

ey have chains around their

necks, and they have sprouted horns! What does it mean?” she

asked.

Magda sighed and her dark eyes were glittering when she

spoke in a harsh tone that was almost reproachful.

“Why do you ask me? In your heart you must already know.”

She tapped the Dev

il’s picture with her yellow fi ngernail.

“What do bat’s wings mean to you?”

Jackie’s eyes fi lled with tears. “Bat’s wings? I— I don’t

know. His face . . . his face is evil, his ears pointed like a wolf ’s.”

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She sucked in her breath. “He’s so ugly.”

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Th

e gypsy leaned in, eager to connect with Jackie, who was

shivering now. Again David tugged at her to leave, but she was

so caught up in the reading that she simply shook her head and

remained transfi xed, her face a mixture of fascination and fear.

“But do you see the chains are loose?” Magda said gently.

“Escape is possible.” And she patted Jackie’s hand.

David had stopped listening because he sensed Jackie’s dis-

tress. Now he was feeling dizzy, the incense was overpowering,

and the gypsy’s face was composed of cubist shapes that glowed

in the lamplight.

When he looked up from the card, Jackie had vanished.

Th

anking the gypsy, he stood quickly and turned to go,

hoping to catch Jackie in the hallway.

“Young man?” Magda was calling him back. “One more

word . . .”

David hesitated, then, not wanting to be rude, returned to

the table. In the lamplight the gypsy’s skin seemed darker, her

nose more beaked, her odor more rank. Her black curls fell

around her face and her beady eyes still held the same certainty

mixed with the same craving for admiration. He wondered

whether she meant to keep him there all night.

“I did not tell you the truth about the portrait.”

“You know where it is?”

“It is in the green car.”

“You don’t mean that horrible painting—

the one of a

werewolf— but it was eaten by rats.”

“Th

en there is great danger. To Quentin and to you.”

David hesitated, then— searching Magda’s eyes for some

clue— fi nally asked her, “Do you know how we can get out of

this . . . this
time
?”

“Th

ere will be a test. Of maturity. Of courage.” She tapped

the card of the Fool.

“Oh, please, that’s no answer.”

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“Th

en here is the answer you have been waiting for. Th

e

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artist who gave the painting to Quentin was named Charles

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Delaware Tate. I knew him well. For many years the painting

was in my possession.”

“Why you?”

“Th

at is another story. What I have to tell you is that the

artist could not bear to part with his masterpiece. It had robbed

him of his soul. And so, he painted another.”

“You mean there were two?”

Magda’s eyes fl ickered, then gleamed. She licked her lips as

though she was fi nally satisfi ed to have won his attention, and

David asked, “Is the artist . . . I mean, is he still alive?”

Th

e gypsy leaned in and whispered, “He lives in the tower.”

And she raised her eyes to the ceiling.

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F o u r t e e n

Curious now, David was on his way up the stairs when a har-

ried waiter handed him a tray piled high with empty glasses

and said, “Here. Take this to the kitchen.” David realized he

still wore the chauff eur’s jacket and he had been mistaken for a

servant. He was about to set the tray down when he reasoned a

servant’s garb might give him some secrecy while he searched

for Jackie and a way out of this nightmare. Maybe she was right.

If they had been sent back in time for a reason, and if he allowed

himself to be caught up in the unfolding drama, perhaps they

would fi nd some answers. On a whim, he reached for a still fi lled glass and drowned the contents; the champagne tasted like

fl owers.

He was astonished to fi nd the kitchen bustling with activ-

ity; at least twenty cooks were at work around a great cast iron

stove that was one he did not know, and the cabinets were not

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the tiled surfaces the house had now, but sanded wood. All the

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family silver that he had never seen anywhere but tarnishing in

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the buff et was polished and brimming with the fanciest off er-

ings. Silver trays overfl owed with canapés and crystal decanters

glowed with sherry. Swimming in a giant bowl was a frothy iced

punch, the elaborate silver ladle resting on a bed of gardenias.

Seeing his uniform was a way to remain unnoticed, he fi rst

fi lled his tray with glasses, then strolled into the drawing room.

It, too, exuded an air of gloss and refi nement; however, the

room was cluttered with glamorous objects from the Orient. He

was surprised to see much of the same furniture was there, but

there were also Art Deco rugs and elegant antiques that were

unfamiliar. Two huge porcelain leopards reclined by the fi re-

place, and palm trees sprouted from Chinese planters.

Above the mantel was a portrait of a beautiful young girl

with golden hair and a heart- shaped face, the one he had seen

dancing, and he realized she must belong to the family. Busying

himself with collecting glasses, David listened to three restless

young men who were talking boisterously. He could see they

were close to his own age and wore what must have been college

attire, white linen pants or knickers and sports coats with bow

ties. Th

ey appeared to be quite inebriated, and they ignored him

just as everyone else had done while they admired the girl in the

painting.

“What a doll,” said one.

“I’ve heard she’s already done two talkies. And left the

theater.”

“Well, she does have the voice for talkies, and she is

shameless.”

“Shameless and honest. Certainly not her father’s daughter.”

Th

ey all laughed and shook their heads, as if they had never

known such a woman. David wondered who she could be. “Too

bad she’ll get nabbed along with her bootlegging dad.”

“Damn, she don’t care. She’s so proud of her nerve, she’ll

probably drive you to the blind pig in her own roadster.”

“Shhhh, keep your voice down.” One of the men who wore

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a dark suit with a high collar glanced over at David, who turned

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quickly toward the kitchen, but the man reached for his tray

and took a glass of champagne.

Another man in a plaid sports coat and matching vest, com-

plete with a carnation in his lapel, turned to his companion, who

wore a pink waistcoat, a straw hat perched back on his head, and

puff ed on a cigar. David had an uncanny suspicion that they

were in disguise, that this was not their usual attire; he had a

feeling that they were plotting something.

“When do the boys get here?” said the man in the plaid

jacket.

“Ten- oh- fi ve. So be ready.”

“Yeah. We’ve nailed them three times in a row serving beer,

wine, and whiskey to more than a hundred guests.” He lifted

his glass in proof. “And the whiskey is all in the cellar of that

big empty house down the road?”

“What booty! Fifteen hundred cases of Canadian shipped

on a schooner from Rum Row and fl oated ashore.”

David was curious. He wondered if they were bootleggers.

“Well, it won’t be no tea party,” said the man in the pink

waistcoat, winking at his companion. “Do we get to take a little

home?”

“Nope. Just like in any ordinary speaker, every bottle is sup-

posed to be smashed.”

Th

e man in the plaid jacket looked over his shoulder at

David, who turned his back and set the glasses on the table.

Th

en the man leaned in to the third gentleman, the slim dark-

haired man in the black suit. He spoke in a whisper. “So, Jay,

are you with us to night?”

“Sorry. I don’t share the Klan’s thirst for violence.”

David was surprised at what he thought was a mention of

an infamous or ga ni za tion.

“What are you, one of those intellectually mongrelized lib-

erals? Or just a wet blanket?”

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Th

e man in the dark suit sighed and then took a swig of his

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champagne. “If a liberal is one who accepts Catholics, Jews,

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radicals, and foreigners in general, as well as the Negro, I sup-