And yet it had been so. In a village near Torrelavega, where the Cantabrian Mountains came down to meet the Bay of Biscay, the young Philina had laughed and danced and sang and flirted with the boys like any Spanish gypsy girl. Then abruptly it had all ended. The gypsies discovered that she had The Gift.
The Gift! The old woman made a rattling sound in her throat. The Curse would be closer to the truth. The Curse of Prophecy. When it became known that she could read what was in the hands, girlhood was over for Philina. The people either clamored after her, begging for a reading, or they shunned her to avoid one. She no longer had friends. And the young men who courted her wanted only to use her terrible power.
In the end she had fled from all of them and crossed the ocean to live by herself. She chose the mountains above Mazatlan because it reminded her of her home in Spain, where she had known her only happiness, for such a short time.
But of course she could not forever conceal The Gift. There were gypsies here, too, and they knew at once. Philina never went into the city, and she discouraged all who would come to her cabin, but still they sought her out. There were not so many now as in the early years, but still some came, like the two young Americans today. They would be the last.
The Gift. In how many hands over the years had she read the future? Happiness, grief, riches, pain, births, illness, and death. She had seen it all. To Philina the gypsy, all hands were windows to the future. All hands, save her own. Some merciful power withheld from those cursed with The Gift that one ability that might drive them mad - the ability to read their own futures.
And yet now Philina knew what lay ahead for her. She knew how short was the time she had left. Minutes. She had read it in the hands of the two young strangers. They had brought her death. They had done so innocently, but they had brought death as surely as though they had plunged a knife into her heart.
The old woman sighed. She was ready. She had lived a long time, and there was nothing left undone.
She heard death coming outside. It moved softly through the grass of the clearing before her cabin. Over the years Philina's sight had dimmed, but her ears were as keen as ever. She heard the snuffling sound as death approached. It stopped just outside her doorway, and she could hear the air rush in and out of its powerful lungs. Still the gypsy made no move.
The hide that covered the doorway was torn away as the wolf burst through. It hesitated a moment, snarling, feet braced on the hard dirt floor. Then it sprang.
Philina made no attempt to protect herself from the murderous teeth. It would have been no use anyway. She had lived a long time, and she was ready.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
By the following morning the news of the double murder had been widely reported, and the Palacio del Mar Hotel had become famous. Sightseers streamed in from Mazatlan, Culiacan, Durango, and even La Paz across the Gulf of California, for a look at the 'cabana de muerte,' as the newspapers were calling Number 12. Taxis came and left in a steady procession and at least one tour bus had been rerouted to include the Palacio.
There were still police on the scene, and along with the reporters and curiosity seekers, they gave a sense of great excitement to the normally quiet hotel. Senor Davila, the manager, apologized profusely to the regular guests for the inconvenience, but he was enterprising enough to hire extra help for the bar and double the size of the souvenir stand in the lobby.
The dining room that morning was the only part of the hotel that was relatively uncrowded. It was there that Karyn and Chris sat at a small table, talking in low, tense voices.
Chris leaned forward, ignoring the muddy coffee cooling in a cup before him. "If anybody had told me three years ago that one day I would be making plans based on the ravings of a gypsy fortuneteller, I'd have laughed in his face."
"But it's different now," Karyn said.
"A lot of things are different now."
"So what's our next move?"
"The gypsy said we had a chance if we arm ourselves as we did before."
"How can we do that, Chris? You don't have a gun here, do you?"
"No. And for a foreigner, it's just about impossible to get one. Let alone silver bullets. But the only things we have to fight them with is fire and silver. We can't control fire, so it will have to be a silver weapon of some kind. A knife, maybe."
"Can you get a silver knife?"
"I've got to. There's not much time. Did you check the calendar?"
"Yes. Tonight is the full moon."
"If the gypsy woman was right, and we might as well assume she was, then tonight it all comes to an end."
"One way or another," Karyn said.
"Right. One way or another."
There was an awkward pause. Chris looked at his watch. "I'd better get into town and see about the knife. While I'm gone, it might be best if you stayed in your room."
"No," Karyn said.
Chris looked up sharply. "What?"
"I'm not going to lock myself in like some frightened child. Let me go with you."
Chris shook his head. "I can move faster alone."
"All right, but I have to do something besides sit here."
He saw the look in her eye and relented. "At least don't go off anywhere by yourself."
"Maybe I'll take the cruise in the glass-bottomed boat. How would that be?"
"I'd feel a lot easier if you stayed locked in your room."
"There's nothing to worry about. I'll be with twenty other people. The boat leaves before noon and doesn't stay out more than an hour or so. That will get me back well before dark."
"I hope I'm back well before dark too," Chris said. "I'll make it as fast as I can. We'll stay together tonight and hope that the gypsy was right - that this will be the end of it."
"What about Audrey?"
"I don't have time to worry about Audrey's hurt feelings anymore. She'll just have to do the best she can." He pushed away from the table and stood up. "I've got to get started. See you."
"See you, Chris. Take care of yourself."
"You too." He squeezed her shoulder and went out, quickly disappearing in the crowd of people in the lobby.
Audrey was still in bed when Chris returned to the cabana. She lay on her stomach with her head turned to one side. Her skin was pale, and there was a film of perspiration on her forehead. The flesh under her eyes was faintly purple.
"How do you feel?" Chris asked as he crossed to the closet.
"Like death. What the hell is that Mexican booze made out of, anyway?"
"Cactus."
"I believe it." Groaning, she sat up in bed and watched Chris pull on a jacket. "Where are you going?"
"Into town."
"What do we have to do in town?"
"Not 'we,' me."
"You're going to leave me here alone again?"
"That's right."
Audrey threw back the sheet and got out of bed. She was still wearing the blue bikini panties she hadn't taken off the night before. She stood before Chris swaying slightly. The color surged back into her face.
"What the hell is going on, anyway?" she demanded. "You invite me to spend a couple of weeks in Mexico with you then you let me sit around this fucking room drinking this foul Mexican booze while you cozy it up with your old lady friend and go off on mysterious trips and - " Anger rose in her throat and choked off the words.
"Go back to bed," Chris said without looking at her. "The rest will do you good."