“I didn’t know if he wanted you to have it,” Dita confessed with a smile.
“Would you mind running down to the bar to get me a drink? I’m simply parched!” Annie rolled her eyes. “I’m sure one of your… followers… would be happy to do it.” She glanced around at the throng of onlookers, who were quietly watching them both. “I just want to know where Eric is. Tell me and I’ll go.”
“Now dearest…” Dita put her arm around Annie’s shoulders and steered her toward the stairwell. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Just be a love and run down to the bar and ask the white-haired gentleman back there for a Black Death.”
“A… what?” Annie frowned at the older woman. If that was a drink, it was one she had never heard of.
“A Black Death,” Dita repeated clearly. “And if he tries to make it with vodka, be sure to tell him you want the real thing.” Annie shook her head and sighed as she tromped her way back down the stairs. She found herself standing dutifully at the bar, waiting in line for a drink.
Just like a good little girl. Her face burned and she looked down at the glass in the bartender’s hand, her mood darkening as she moved to the front of the line.
“Can I have a Black Death, please?” Annie asked the white-haired bartender. She had made sure she was in his line, just like Dita had directed. He lifted the hood covering his snowy head and raised his eyebrows at her. All the bartenders were dressed in black robes with hoods, probably to accentuate the whole River Styx theme, she mused, as the old man stood and blinked at her.
“Sure thing.” A martini glass was up on the bar before Annie could even blink and she saw him take the cap off a dark-colored bottle of vodka.
“Oh, wait—” She smiled apologetically and placed her hand over the rim of the glass. “Dita told me to tell you, if you started to make it with vodka, that she wanted the real thing. I’m sorry. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Dita?” His eyebrows rose further and he put the cap back onto the bottle.
“Indeed. Does it mean anything to you?”
Annie shook her head, giving him a puzzled look as he lifted the gate at the end of the bar and stepped out from behind.
“If you want the real thing, you must pay your passage.”
“Passage?” Annie sighed. Of course she would end up getting stuck with the bill. “I don’t suppose Dita has a tab running here?” The old man smiled, easing his hood back slightly. “Those unlucky souls who come without coin are denied, I’m afraid.”
Unlucky souls? See a penny, pick it up, and all the day, you’ll have good luck. Annie opened her hand, still closed around the penny Herman had placed there. She had forgotten about it entirely.
“Ah… yes.” The man plucked the coin from her palm and Annie only saw a brief glimpse, but it didn’t look like a penny to her. No longer a small copper thing, it seemed to glimmer gold in the blue light from above as he held it up to briefly inspect it before putting it into a pocket in his robe. “Follow me,” he directed, waving her toward a door next to the bar that swung on its hinges as they walked through. The corridor was dimly lit, and Annie took a few hesitant steps and then stopped.
“Excuse me,” Annie called. “Where exactly are we going? All I wanted was a mixed drink…”
The old man stopped and took something off a hook on the wall, handing it to her. “Put this on.” It was a black robe, like his.
“Look…” Annie frowned at the material filling her hands. “I’ve had a really weird day, and it just seems to be getting weirder. All I want—”
“Do you seek the Black Death?” His voice seemed deeper back here. Was there an echo? Glancing back toward the door, Annie could hear the pounding sound of the music and remembered Dita’s request. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. That’s what she had said. Okay, Eric, whatever I need to do to find you.
“I… guess so.”
He gave her a curt nod. “Then you must come as the others, hooded and veiled. Only death knows the secret of eternal beauty.” Annie frowned, shrugging on the robe and pulling it together in front of her.
The hood was large and fell into her eyes, and she had to push it back.
“Follow me.” They were traveling down the corridor again, and she followed when he made a sharp left and took her down a steep flight of cement stairs that turned halfway down to the right again. Great, I’m following some guy into the basement of a bar, and I’m probably going to end up on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow as the victim of some grisly axe murder.
Annie checked her intuition and discovered that she wasn’t afraid of the old man. There was definitely something strange about all of this, but she didn’t think he was going to hurt her. The door at the bottom of the stairs led into another long, dimly lit corridor. This passageway was much wider than the one upstairs.
She remembered Herman telling her this was once a distillery as they passed the rows of barrels lining the basement walls. When the hooded man stopped at the door and turned to her, Annie gasped and took a step back, her heart pounding. He didn’t look at her. Instead, he reached for something around his neck and pulled a skeleton key hanging on a leather thong over his head.
He looked at her, and asked, “Who are we?”
Stunned, Annie stared back at him, not sure what to say. He repeated the question. His tone wasn’t threatening. It was just a simple question. “Who are we?”
She was about to say she didn’t know when she saw the characters carved over the door: <???????>.
“The Order of Gabriel,” Annie breathed, her eyes wide. The old man gave a nod, turned, and put the key into the lock. She stumbled after him, amazed at how quickly he was walking now. The dark hood kept falling into her eyes, and she had to push it back to see where they were going. They weren’t alone down here, she was sure of it. She could hear the sounds of people talking and faint laughter. Was it an echo from upstairs? On her left was a doorway and she caught a shadowy glimpse of two figures locked together in an embrace. They were kissing—were they kissing? Are you sure?
“What do we protect?” the old man asked, turning to face her again as they came to another locked door.
Annie glanced over her shoulder, her head still filled with the shadowy vision of the couple. What were they doing-really?
“What do we protect?” He repeated the question and Annie turned to him, glancing over the door. There was the symbol again, the same one Herman had tattooed on his upper arm.
“The Order of Gabriel…” She swallowed as she met his rheumy eyes.
They were sunk deep into his skull. She remembered Herman’s words, and continued. “The Order of Gabriel protected… the secret of life and death.” The old man gave another nod and unlocked the second door with his skeleton key. This corridor stretched longer than the last, and now Annie was sure she could hear people. There were moans of pleasure-or pain-she wasn’t sure which, coming from the rooms on either side of the hallway, and the high sound of laughter. She strained to catch a glimpse as they passed, but with her hood falling over her eyes and the pace the old man had set, she couldn’t see much. Each image was just a brief impression-a shadowy, hooded figure bending over the writhing, nude body of a woman; a man bound and gagged, hanging from the ceiling, his fingertips brushing the floor. A pulsing red glow emanated from one room along with a smell of something sickly sweet, like garlic gone sour.
“What is the secret?” The old man turned and asked her the question, the key poised at the lock. He assumed she knew the answer, since she had known all the others. Thanks, Herman. The coincidence was too eerie and Annie shivered.
“Death is not the end.” Annie’s words were lost as someone down the hall screamed.