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subtle streaks of silver in her hair. I was grey,too, with a bald patch the size of a buckwheat pancake. I had a little more chin, too, although not so much as Aleister Crowley.
    I took hold of her hands, and gently squeezed them. She was real, not an illusion.
    â€˜You’re still doing it, then?’ she asked me. ‘The fortune-telling.’
    â€˜Oh, yes, for sure. I tried motel management for a while, up at White Plains, but that didn’t really pan out. I can’t be unctuous twenty-four hours a day, that’s my problem. Then I tried a mobile disco. Erskine’s Electric Experience. I lost over nine thousand dollars on that I guess this is the only work that I’ve ever been cut out for.’
    â€˜Harry,’ she said, ‘something bad’s happened. Not to me, but to some friends of mine. They’ve tried everything. Police, doctors, rabbis. But nobody really believes them. I’m not so sure I believe them myself.’
    â€˜I see. So you came looking for the one man in the world who’s wacky enough to believe anything?’
    â€˜Don’t say that,’ she chided me.
    â€˜All right,’ I said. ‘What about a drink?’
    â€˜I thought you were too busy.’
    â€˜I always say that. As a matter of fact my next client isn’t due until …’ I checked my Russian wristwatch ‘… Thursday.’
    â€˜Oh, Harry! You haven’t changed, have you?’
    I checked my wallet to make sure that I had enough money for a drink, then opened the front door and said, ‘I’ve changed, Karen, believe me. Number one, I never take anything for granted any more. Number two, I never wear tasselled loafers with a business suit.’
    â€˜Before we go,’ she said, ‘lift up my hair.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Lift up my hair … here, at the back.’
    Slowly I approached her and lifted up her fine, soft hair.On the back of her neck, running down between her shoulder blades, was a thin silvery scar about seven inches long. I ran my fingertip down it, and then let her hair fall back.
    â€˜It
did
happen,’ she said, turning around.
    I nodded. ‘I know. I keep trying to convince myself that it was nothing but a weird dream. Or maybe it was something that I imagined when I was drunk. Maybe it was a movie I saw, or a book I read. That’s why I never came to see you. I knew that if I saw you, I wouldn’t be able to pretend that it hadn’t happened.’
    â€˜This isn’t as bad, this thing that’s happened to my friends.’
    I smiled. ‘
Nothing
could ever be as bad as Misquamacus. Nothing.’
    Karen slowly lifted her hand and pressed it against the scar. Her eyes were wide with remembered fear. ‘Don’t mention that name to me again, ever.’

Two
    We sat in a booth at Maude’s, on the first floor of the Summit Hotel. It was crowded and noisy with the lunchtime crowd, and we were lucky to find somewhere to wedge ourselves in. Karen had a frozen daiquiri and I had the usual: an Erskine Explosion. Maude’s bar was the only bar that would make it for me. Or at least they were the only bar who knew how to make it properly. It was basically a Suffering Bastard with bourbon added. You only had to drink one and the world suddenly seemed to be a happier place. Better still, it suddenly seemed to be the
only
place. When you’ve glimpsed other worlds, like tarot worlds, orworlds where invisible things go rushing down the walls, a little self-delusion can help to steady the mental boat.
    I noticed a gold band on Karen’s left hand.
    â€˜You’re married?’ I asked her.
    She shook her head. ‘I was. A college professor from Hartford. He was very kind to me. His name’s Jim.’
    â€˜So you’re not Karen Tandy any more — you’re Mrs Jim?’
    â€˜Mrs van Hooven.’
    â€˜Oh, so you changed your nationality, too. What