Joe was in the lobby when he realized he’d been unbearably rude. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the rise of nausea in his stomach. Maybe later. He had to get back to the apartment. Joe hailed a taxi, not caring for once about expense. Once inside, he settled deeply in the backseat, gave directions to the driver, then took another deep breath. Alone, he could admit the truth. Something was wrong. Did he catch a virus or something? His hand shot to his neck but he stopped himself from touching the wounds and raked his fingers through his hair instead. What was going on?

The driver braked to a halt outside the apartment. Joe leaned forward and paid him, then got out of the cab. Joe glanced up at the stars and remembered vividly for just a minute, a hot sultry night, strange rustlings in the jungle just out of sight. Then he remembered running into the tree. Absently, he touched the scar and realized somehow that was how she knew the truth. He’d seen it in her eyes.

He made his way up to his apartment and unlocked the door. He went in and found it still warm and he shed the long-sleeved shirt. With a world-weary sigh he sat down at the kitchen table—and froze. The cup of tea sat there, a thin murkiness on top, the sugar congealed on the bottom. Tea...right—last night...last night. Ailsa. “God, Ailsa.” Joe muttered, propping his elbows on the table and running the fingers of both hands through his hair in one hard jerky motion. The cup rattled, then tilted over spilling the tea.

The tea pooled on the table, a single rivulet running to his left. Joe watched it with a strange fascination, flashing back to Ailsa....the blood....Joe jerked away from the rivulet so fast that his chair tilted and he nearly fell. He got to his feet. God, what was wrong with him. He took a deep breath and his stomach growled loudly. He hadn’t eaten lunch, he remembered vaguely. But the thought of food made his gorge rise. What was wrong with him? He had things to do. He needed to eat.

He went further into the kitchen and searched the meager contents of the refrigerator and cabinets for something to eat. Joe groaned. He really should have gone shopping today. But he didn’t have much interest in that either. He’d go eat out, decided Joe, turning around. At his favorite cafe’. Joe started for the bathroom when a bottle caught his eye. It was sitting on the kitchen counter, half-hidden by the overhanging cabinets.

Joe frowned. He didn’t remember leaving the brandy there. The glass he’d used was right next to the bottle. Without thinking, he poured himself a drink. What harm could a little brandy do, anyway? He sipped and scowled. Was it spoiled? He took another sip. It wasn’t brandy, he realized. It was overly sweet with an odd metallic taste to it. It was a curious taste. He gulped down the glassful.

Curious, he examined the bottle. No markings or designs. What was it? Suddenly, his throat closed up. He felt the urge to spit it out but forced himself to swallow it. Strange, how it burned going down---A sudden attack of vertigo made him grip the edges of the counter and close his eyes. What the hell was that stuff? A high-pitched ringing made his ears hurt. It was a long moment before he realized it was the telephone.

He groaned and tried to ignore the noise. The idea of moving even an inch made him gag. The answering machine ran the message, then beeped. “Mr. Varick,” came an exotic voice—a very familiar voice. “you are invited to a private dinner party later tonight. Dress appropriately.”

Joe shook his head carefully, but the movement still made him queasy. No dinner, no food. Tonight? No....no, he had---Joe opened his eyes. Oh shit---tonight. Letting go of the counter with one hand, he wiped the sweat from his face. He noticed his hand was shaking and he felt chilled. There was no way. Not tonight. His eyes focused on the bottle for a long moment, then he grabbed it by the neck and tossed it in the sink. The bottle shattered and it’s contents spilled down the drain. For good measure, he threw the glass in the sink, too.

Joe did a double-take at the liquid sluggishly going down the drain. Trick of the light, he told himself. It was a dark—nearly black—red, thicker than water but not yet congealed. No, it wasn’t..It couldn’t be blood. Using the counter, then the wall for support, he made it to the bed and crashed. Never before was he so glad the one-room apartment was so small. Before the thought was finished, he was unconscious...

*****

“Please,” Casi whispered, refusing to open her eyes and see the reality. “Don’t.”

As if startled, he pulled back and stared at her. The movement made her open her eyes. An odd look passed over his square-jawed face and his eyes went blank as if he were staring into the past. For a long moment, he stood there, so close she could smell his scent, something like cinnamon. “Aubrey...”

Casi stared at him, slowly shook her head. “I’m not Aubrey,” she whispered.

He seemed not to hear her. Pain and sadness crossed his pale face and for just a moment Casi was tempted to ask him what was wrong. As if someone else controlled his body, he took a careful step back. “Go....now,” he said hoarsely.

Casi scooted away from him as soon as he pushed away from the wall. She gauged the distance to the gate and then looked at him. “Why?”

He shook his head. “I will not be asked any questions.”

“Who’s Aubrey?”

“No one of any concern of yours.” He stiffened his shoulders and took another step back. “Go while you can.”

Casi moved cautiously to the wrought-iron gate as he moved away. She swallowed hard and already wondered if she hadn’t imagined the whole thing. She touched her hand to her neck and shuddered. She could still feel the imprint of his hand on her throat.

Then it hit her. Her body trembled and she sagged against the brick wall. Confusion swept over her. She’d seen the incisors, so much longer than the other teeth. Dear Heaven, they had looked real, felt real. She took a deep breath and felt her eyes fill with tears, a reaction from being scared she knew. She made her way inside the wrought-iron gate and up the path to the embassy. She had to get somewhere safe in case he came back, in case he changed his mind but when she reached the double front doors, she found them locked. A shudder passed over her and she glanced over her shoulder, thinking she saw Thayer coming back but the sidewalk was empty.

She had to return to the inn and calm down before her imagination got carried away. Vaguely she remembered she had a map. Sonja had been willing to show the way to the Embassy and from there to the inn. Casi looked down at her hands and found them empty. As she turned her gaze to the sidwalk again, something white fluttered across the cement, then lifted into the air. And just as suddenly stopped—in mid-air.

Startled, Casi started forward only to see Thayer standing there, holding the hand-drawn map in one hand. “Is this yours?”

Casi nodded mutely but made no move to get closer to take it.

The man cocked his head in an odd way that made him seem different than last time. His eyes weren’t so haunted now, they seemed cold. His lips curved into a slow smile. “Are you afraid of me?”

Casi studied him for a long moment and narrowed her eyes. He wasn’t wearing the cape. This time he wore a long button-down coat. “What’s my name?”

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

How could he not know her name? Something didn’t seem right here. The thought made her want to either cry or laugh hysterically. The whole night didn’t seem right. “Aubrey.”

“Aubrey.” The man looked bemused. “Nice old fashioned name.”

He’d called her Aubrey before, like the woman had been the love of his life. Now he showed no reaction—not to the name, not the blatant lie. Unless this man wasn’t the man she’d met only minutes before. How could it not be?

The man turned to point to a black carriage complete with driver dressed in black and horses the color of raven’s wings. “Shall I take you to your abode?”

“No.”

“It’s late. Only last night a poor girl was killed not far from here. Do you want to risk it?”

“I’m fine.”

He smiled. “And yet you huddle there, so far away from me. Am I that frightening?”

“I don’t trust strangers.”

The man bowed to her, mocking this time, no old-world genteelity in the motion. “Then I will leave you to your fate.” He started to walk across the street, then turned back around. “Your map.”

Casi saw she’d have to get close enough to take the piece of paper or either take her chances in trying to get back to the Hanul Manuc. She had the sudden thought that Chad was probably frantic. Cautiously, she made her way to the wrought-iron gate where Thayer stood just an arm’s length away. “Give it to me.”

He narrowed his black eyes. “Say please.”

Just for an instance, she flashed to a desert stronghold, sand, heat. Then the memory was gone. “I am only polite with people who are polite to me,” said Casi, wondering why she’d flashed to that memory. Something in the man’s voice—his accent didn’t sound quite the same.

He looked ready to do violence, then as if giving up the game, he tossed the map in her direction. Casi snatched it out of the air before the wind pulled it away forever. Casi gave a nod of her head. “Thank you.”

He frowned, then strode across the street and got into the carriage. With a clatter of hooves, the carriage moved away. Casi took a deep breath and clutched the map close. She used the intermittant lighting from streetlamps to study the map, then she headed back to the inn, trying to figure the entire evening’s eerie events out. Something was so wrong here.

***

29 October 2003

Bucaresti, Romania

7:28 pm

A single flickering candle illuminated the deck of cards. She shuffled the cards, her mind centered. Sonja Stavisceasu slowly opened her eyes. The night was silent except for the faint sputter of the flame. She stopped shuffling, split the deck, then focused. She laid the first card down, carefully. “This covers you,” she said quietly. She paused to study the card. Five of Wands, reversed. Internal conflict, lack of faith in one’s ability to compete, feeling overwhelmed takes a toll on your health.

“This crosses you for ill or for good.” The second card was Justice reversed. Being judged unfairly; unfair treatment, injustice, manipulation. Sonja frowned, uneasy. The reading seemed almost sinister somehow. She had been thinking of her afternoon visitor ever since Casi had left. All through her solitary dinner, he rmind had been on Casi. Finally, she had decided to do a reading. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Taking a deep breath, she laid down the third card. “This is beneath you.” Ten of Swords reversed. The worst is yet to come; drastic change, life-threatening illness, death, disruption. She cleared her throat. “This is behind you.” The fourth card was the Moon. Self-deception, confusion, muddled thinking, unforeseen or unpredictable dangers; things are not always what they seem.

Sonja shook her head slowly and placed the fifth card down. “This crowns you.” It was the Knight of Swords. Forthrightness; sudden changes, singlemindedness. It also warned against impulsive or rash behavior. To her right, she laid down the sixth card. “This is before you.” Five of Swords reversed. Vindication, degradation. It meant being cleared of wrongdoing, treachery revealed. But she knew in such a negative reading, it could also mean underhandedness, deception, weakness, a turn for the worse.

“This is your Self,” she continued softly, laying down the seventh card. It was the Empress. It meant fruitfulness....healing. For a man, the woman of his dreams. She frowned, wondering just who she might be reading for.

“This is your environment.” It was the Four of Cups. Dissatisfied, reassessment, turning inward, silence, looking within...Are you cutting yourself off from other people unnecessarily?...Sonja shivered and laid down the ninth card. “This is your hopes and expectations.” Knight of Cups reversed. The trickey-dick card—illusion, trickery, fantasy, fear of commitment.

“This is the outcome.” She laid down the tenth and final card. The Sun reversed. Delayed or partial success. A clouded future, misunderstandings in its negative aspect. Sonja sat back in her chair, feeling unsettled. She pulled five cards out of the deck and laid them face up for clarification. The Star—inspiration, luck, trust, promise, help, protection. The Seven of Swords—doing the unexpected, guile, duplicity, trickery, cleverness. Wheel of Fortune reversed—what goes up must come down, feeling out of sync. The Heirophant—tradition, convention, conventional wisdom, prayer, places of worship, the search for meaning. And the last card, Death—major transformation, necessary and profound change, leaving the past behind, entering in a new way of life.

Her hand was on the deck before she realized it. Automatically, she pulled three more cards. Two of Cups—a happy union, marriage or partnership. Page of Pentacles—a small financial gain, the beginnings of solid foundation. Ten of Wands—burdens of success, work-related stress, overwork....overload.

Sonja narrowed her eyes. It didn’t seem that she was reading for Casi this time. Could it be the one person instrinsically connected to Casi’s soul? Sonja scanned the cards one last time and her uneasiness grew stronger. Casi had been right. He was in trouble. But how could she help?

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The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.