A few minutes later (I was by now poking around in a large, intricately appointed armoire looking for secret doors), Mr. Hyslop appeared with the now very sweaty clerk in tow.

"Ms. Sluage," Mr. Hyslop said as he held out his hand. "It's so good to see you again. I trust you've been able to amuse yourself?"

As I backed out of the armoire and gave a little sneeze, Mr. Hyslop produced a handkerchief like a magician performing a trick.

"Bless you," he said as he pushed it into my hand. 'I always get the sneezes when I start looking into these old pieces. No matter how hard we try to keep up, they seem to bring the dust with them."

"That's quite all right," I said, taking the prof- fered hanky. "I was just investigating to see if I might want this piece."

"Take your time, take your time," Hyslop said as he waved his clerk away. The clerk slunk off to go harass a couple who'd just stepped inside from the sweltering October air.

"What I'd like to do is take a look at those items you've been keeping for me, and make some ar- rangements for their transport."

Hyslop looked a bit concerned. "Are you not sat- isfied with our arrangement?" he asked. "I thought that-"

"No, no," I said, cutting him off. "It's nothing like that. I've just finally settled down in one place and I'd like to spend some time enjoying the things I've bought."

"Of course," he replied. "How foolish of me. Please, this way."

I followed him through the shop into a series of dimly lit twisting and turning hallways. Then up three flights of narrow stairs painted over so many times there were lumpy bumps like Braille on the railing and walls. It was very quiet here. You couldn't hear any of the usual street noise that bub- bled through the Quarter day and night. He led me into his office, then fumbled around with his keys until he had the right one.

"Here we are," Hyslop said proudly as he flipped on the light switch.

The closet was small, but crammed to the top with arcana. Shelf after shelf with boxes labeled in a code we'd designed. One shelf held only boxes of books. Another, rare pottery. On yet another, articles of clothing. All had special significance. All were pre- cious only to those who knew what to look for.

I could feel the pull of the energy in that little closet.

"I doubt anyone has a better collection of oddities," Hyslop said. "I just recently added this." He pulled a small box from one of the shelves and opened it. Inside was a long white veil, the kind women wore for their weddings and first communions. "It is rumored to have belonged to Marie Laveau's daughter."

"I didn't know she had one," I said. "A daughter, that is."

Hyslop nodded vigorously. "She kept her hidden away. She was afraid that when she died, the whites might kill her to keep the Voodoo under control."

"More than likely to keep the people under con- trol," I said.

"That too, no doubt," Hyslop agreed.

"I'd like to look through these," I said, motioning to the closet.

"Of course," Hyslop said as he wiped his forehead with another clean white handkerchief. I wondered if he had a pocketful of them, magically pristine and freshly laundered.

"Alone," I said in a firm but kind voice. After all, I would need Hyslop and his unusual connections for some time to come.

"Of course," Hyslop said as he pocketed his hand- kerchief. "Just let me know when you're finished."

I smiled at him then, and he gave me a surprised smile back. I suppose I don't do that often. Smile, that is.

It took me the better part of the afternoon to go through the boxes. Most of the items were shams. The bones of some shamanistic practitioner, pur- ported to have special curative powers. Shrunken heads, embalmed monkey remains, fossilized eggs. Books supposedly written in Crowley's own hand detailing his cabalistic findings.

I'd taken care to hide my most precious finds among these harmless trifles. They would be over- looked with all the other folderol. One hopelessly obscure book of cabalistic writings revealed com- plexities of such an esoteric nature that even I had trouble following it. The challenge of it excited me.

There were other items as well: suspicious bones, the source of which I knew only too well. How had they come to this place again? And so obviously long ago.

There was also a small painting depicting a crea- ture I knew for a fact had not walked the face of this planet for at least seven thousand years. Yet here it was depicted in a piece that could not have been more than fifty years old.

I wrapped my treasures carefully and returned them to their innocuous hiding places.

I felt grimy and hungry all at once. It was almost five by Hyslop's grandfather clock. I pulled the chain to the light, then shut the closet door. It had an automatic lock, but I still jiggled the doorknob to see if it would open. It didn't.

On the whole, things were going well. I would have Hyslop crate everything up and ship it to my estate in Scotland. I'd already made the necessary arrangements with Customs^ so there would be little delay in my receiving them once I was back home. I felt quite smug and pleased with myself and de- cided that I needed a decadent dinner to celebrate. I picked up the phone on Hyslop's desk and made a reservation for one at Antoine's for eight o'clock. I would feast tonight.

Walking back to the Fairmont, I noticed a van parked on a comer of one of the side streets I passed. It was painted dull black and had reflector stick-on numbers on the back window: 666. I glanced inside the van as I passed. A man, about forty-five or -six with a scraggly beard, sat in the passenger-side seat. He had a large potbelly barely covered by a faded- gray T-shirt. Around his neck he wore a pentagram. I had obviously just seen-Satan's Van.

Uh oh, I thought. I better watch out because someone is going to come and carry me off in… Satan's Van. The Armageddon starts tonight be- cause-Satan's Van is in town. Oh, you better watch out, you better not cry, 'cause Satan's got his Van to- night. Satan's Van is coming to town.

I really needed dinner.

Antoine's was unchanged. I'd been coming there for years whenever I was in New Orleans. I knew it was a bit touristy, but I couldn't help myself. They had the most marvelous Baked Alaska.

The elderly maitre d' seated me at a small table in the front room. Like the rest of the buildings in the Quarter, Antoine's was made up of many rooms. People came through the front doors and disap- peared like they were going down Alice's rabbit hole. There was even a hidden door or two in the place.

I'd just ordered and was admiring myself in the mirror over my table when I saw him. The black T-shirt from the airport. Only he wasn't wearing a black T-shirt now. He never would have been al- lowed inside in that. He wore a black jacket over a white shirt and muddy green tie. The jeans had been set aside for dark trousers.

I didn't take my eyes away from his image in the mirror as he talked to the mattre d' for a moment, then walked toward me. I couldn't believe his brass.

"Dinner for one?" he asked. "That seems a lonely proposition."

"I like it," I said as I turned toward him. "And who the hell are you?"

"Ah," he said. "Well that's not as interesting as«who the hell you are."

"Look," I said, beginning to get impatient. "I don't know anything about you except that I saw you at O'Hare-and now you pop up here acting as though you know me. I don't like mysteries or peo- ple who think they're being clever when in fact they're just annoying."

He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite me.

"You haven't been invited," I said, frowning. "Go away."

"Now, now," he said. His voice had the faint twinge of British lower-class to it. "Someone your age shouldn't get so excited. It might not be good for your health."