“It must have its advantages.”

“It certainly does. You meet people in need of thinning their excessive inherited disposable income on articles they don’t understand or want. It also cures you of any romantic notions you might entertain about the self-appointed elites of this country. And the brandy is superb. Besides, this is a wonderful place for social archaeology. Over a million people live in Barcelona, but when it comes to the crunch, barely four hundred of them hold the keys to every door. This is a city of closed doors where everything depends on who has the key, who the key holder will allow through the door, and on what side of the door one will end up. But I doubt any of this is news to you, Señora Larraz. Is there anything I can offer you, apart from speeches and sermons from an old bookseller?”

Alicia shook her head.

“Of course. No beating around the bush, right?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“On the contrary. Did you bring the book?”

Alicia opened her bag, pulled out the copy of Ariadna and the Scarlet Prince, wrapped in a silk scarf, and handed it to him. Barceló took it with both hands. As soon as his fingers touched the cover, his eyes lit up and a smile of pleasure spread over his lips.

“The Labyrinth of the Spirits . . . ,” he murmured. “I suppose you’re not going to tell me how you obtained it.”

“The owner would rather that was kept secret.”

“I understand. If you’ll allow me . . .”

Don Gustavo opened the book and turned the pages slowly, relishing the finding like a gourmet taking pleasure in a unique and unrepeatable dish. Alicia was beginning to suspect that the old bookseller, lost in the pages of the volume, had forgotten her when he suddenly looked up and threw her a questioning glance.

“Pardon my boldness, Señora Larraz, but I have to admit that I can’t understand why someone—in this case the collector you are representing—would want to get rid of a piece like this.”

“Do you think it would be difficult to find a buyer?”

“Not at all. Give me a phone, and in twenty minutes I’ll present you with at least five offers at the high end, minus my ten percent commission. That’s not the point.”

“And what is the point, Don Gustavo, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Barceló downed his glass of brandy. “The point is whether you really want to sell this piece, Señora Larraz.” Barceló stressed the fictitious surname ironically.

Alicia just smiled timidly. Barceló gave a nod. “There’s no need to reply, nor do you need to give me your real name.”

“My name is Alicia.”

“Did you know that Ariadna, the main character in the series of The Labyrinth of the Spirits, is a homage to another Alice, the Lewis Carroll one with her Wonderland, which in this case is Barcelona?”

Alicia feigned surprise, shaking her head slowly.

“In the first book of the series, Ariadna finds a book of magic spells in the attic of a large old house in Vallvidrera where she lives with her parents until they disappear mysteriously one stormy night. Believing that if she could exorcize a spirit from the shadows, she might be able to find them, Ariadna, without realizing it, opens a door between the real Barcelona and its reverse, the accursed reflection of the city. The City of Mirrors . . . The floor cracks beneath her feet, and Ariadna falls down an interminable spiral staircase into the dark until she reaches that other Barcelona, the labyrinth of the spirits, where she is condemned to wander through the circles of hell built by the Scarlet Prince. There she meets ill-fated souls and tries to save them while she searches for her lost parents.”