“Have you ever seen anything like this?” asked Vargas.

Alicia shook her head slowly. For about two minutes she immersed herself in the strange universe projected by those pages. Images of a traveling circus populated by creatures who shunned the light; of an endless cemetery standing with its swarm of mausoleums and souls rising up to heaven, passing through clouds; of a ship stranded on a beach strewn with wreckage and a huge tide of corpses trapped beneath the water’s surface. And ruling over that ghostly Barcelona from the top of the cathedral’s lantern tower, gazing at the streets that swirled below, a silhouette clad in a tunic that fluttered in the wind, an angel’s face with wolfish eyes: the Scarlet Prince.

Alicia closed the book, intoxicated by the strange and perverse power it exuded. Only then did she realize that what she was holding in her hands was only a children’s storybook.

9

As they walked down the tower staircase, Vargas took Alicia’s arm gently and stopped her. “We’ll have to tell Doña Mariana that we found this book and we’re taking it with us.”

She fixed her eyes on his hand, and he removed it apologetically. “I thought I heard her say she would rather not be bothered again.”

“Well, at least it will have to be included in the report . . .”

Alicia gave him an impenetrable look. In the half-light, Vargas thought, those green eyes shone like coins sinking into a pond, lending their mistress a somewhat spectral air.

“I mean as evidence,” the policeman specified.

“Of what?” Alicia’s tone was cold, cutting.

“What the police find during an investigation . . .”

“Technically the police didn’t find it. I found it. All you’ve done is act as locksmith.”

“Listen . . .”

Alicia sailed down the stairs before he could reply.

Vargas groped his way down behind her. “Alicia . . .”

When they reached the garden, they were greeted by a drizzle that clung to their clothes like powdered glass. One of the maids had lent them an umbrella, but before Vargas was able to open it, Alicia headed for the garage without waiting for him.

The policeman hurried after her and managed to cover her with the umbrella. “You’re welcome,” he said.

Alicia limped slightly, he noticed, and was pressing her lips together.

“What the matter?”

“Nothing. It’s an old wound. The damp doesn’t help. It’s not important.”

“If you like, you can wait here, and I’ll go and get the car.”

Once again, Alicia didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes were lost in the distance as she stared at a vision between the trees: a structure veiled by the rain.

“What?” asked Vargas.

She walked off, leaving him holding the umbrella.

“For God’s sake,” mumbled the policeman, following her again.

When he caught up with her, Alicia only pointed toward what looked like a conservatory buried in the depths of the garden. “There was someone there,” she said. “Watching us.”