The Demi-Monde: Winter (21 page)

‘But surely people aren’t fooled by a bit of luminous cloth? Don’t you have customers grabbing at it?’

Vanka gave a derisive laugh. ‘What you’ve got to understand, Miss Thomas, is that people go to séances in a frame of mind that makes them want to believe in the supernatural. The last thing they want is to come away disappointed: they want to experience something special, to feel something marvellous has happened, and if that involves them mentally turning a blind eye to the grubby reality of everyday magic, then so be it. As a
psychic all I’ve got to do is to give them the chance to convince themselves, to let their own desperation to believe persuade them to ignore the crudity of it all.’

‘That seems a little cynical.’

‘Possibly because I am a little cynical.’ Vanka paused to light one of his foul French cigarettes. ‘No, that’s wrong: I’m very cynical. And regarding your other well-made point about people making a grab for the ectoplasm, that’s why, at the beginning of the séance, I always tell my audience that to make contact with the Spirit World we need to have all joined hands and hence to be physically and spiritually united with one another. Then I go on to say that anyone deliberately breaking the circle will bring the wrath of the Spirits down on their head. That’s usually enough to stop even the bravest punter from letting go of their partner’s hand.’

‘So you rely on the customers convincing themselves that what they are seeing at one of your séances really is magic.’

Vanka warmed his hands by the fire. ‘Exactly. But it is magic in a way, in that I cast a spell over the audience. And it’s the same when I do cold readings, when I make predictions about people without having met them before. At any individual reading I might make twenty educated guesses about a subject and eighteen of them will be wrong, but what the customer goes home remembering are the two I guessed right. It’s called “selective memory”.’

‘And it really works?’

‘Let me show you: I’ve got to begin your training as a PsyChick sometime and now’s as good a time as any.’ He sat down next to Ella on the couch. ‘I want you to pretend you’ve come to me for a psychic reading.’

Ella nodded but kept as much space between her and Vanka as the couch allowed. The man was a rascal and she was determined
to keep their relationship strictly professional. After all was said and done he was just a Dupe, even if he was a particularly handsome Dupe.

Stop it, Ella: the man’s a Dupe, if that isn’t a contradiction in terms.

Vanka’s soft voice brought her out of her daydream. ‘As I’m a psychic who specialises in contacting the dead, in all probability you’ll have come to consult with me because someone close to you has recently died. Now, even before I ask you a question I know a lot about you: you’re young, attractive, well-dressed, well-spoken and you’re not wearing a wedding ring or an engagement ring.’

‘So what?’

‘Think about it. At your time of life, Miss Thomas, probably the only people whose death would warrant a consultation with a psychic would be your father, your mother or a sweetheart. In the case of a girl as young as you I’d put my money on your coming to see me to contact the Spirit of a boy who died in the Troubles.’

‘Okay, that seems reasonable but how would you find out for sure?’

‘I’d ask.’

‘But you’re meant to be the psychic.’

‘Just bear with me a moment. When I do a reading I always ask the client to place their hands in mine.’ Vanka took Ella’s hands gently in his. She tried as best she could to still the tremor of excitement she felt as his fingers closed on hers. It was difficult to keep reminding herself that he was just a computer-generated Dupe. ‘I can tell immediately that you’re well-to-do.’

‘How?’

‘No calluses.’

‘You haven’t got any either.’

‘I’m allergic to hard work, Miss Thomas, just as I’m allergic to girls who keep interrupting me.’

Ella took the hint and kept quiet.

‘But there’s more to holding your hands than that. When a person is being asked questions or is listening to statements being made about themselves or their loved ones their body reacts. These aren’t deliberate reactions but automatic – autonomic – reactions the client is often unaware that they are making. Often these reactions, these tell-tales, are almost undetectable but with practice a good cold reader can spot them. Do you want to try?’

‘Sure.’

‘May I call you Ella while I ask my questions? It’s a little less formal.’

‘You may.’ She was pleased by this development, though she immediately worried that her reaction had been communicated to Vanka.

‘Good. So if you were here to have me contact a “dear departed”, I’d probably start with a general statement, something like “I see a man in a red jacket”.’

‘Why a red jacket?’

He gave her an odd, quizzical look. ‘Because all soldiers in the ForthRight army wear red coats. I’m surprised you didn’t know that, Ella.’

She tried to mask her annoyance at making such a silly mistake. PINC had already told her that.

‘I’d immediately follow this up with the question “Does this signify anything to you?” You see, if my guess is correct you’re amazed at my perspicacity and if it isn’t, well … I’ll just frown and move on. Shall we see if it works with you?’

‘Why not?’

‘So … I can see an older person in your life, Ella, someone who
is directing you: a mother, a father, a teacher, a professor …’ He smiled. ‘Eureka: I got the most subtle of flinches from your fingers when I mentioned the word “professor”, so that encourages me to pursue that line of questioning. I sense, Ella, that sometimes your relationship with your professor isn’t all that it should be.’

‘Whose relationship with their professor is ever perfect?’

‘True, true. But the message I am receiving is that you are very unhappy with what he has asked you to do. You feel as though he’s put you in danger.’

Try as she might, she couldn’t quell the start she gave in reaction to the word ‘danger’.

‘Now that is a positive reaction. So you feel endangered because of what your professor has asked you to do?’

Alarm bells started to sound. He was finding out too much about her. ‘Look, I’m really not comfortable with this.’

‘I’m just trying to show you how cold reading works, Ella,’ he said in an oh-so-reasonable voice. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of. Maybe if I just ask a few, more specific, questions. After all, I know very little about you and we are going to be partners. Where shall I start? Tell me, which part of the Yank Sector are you from?’

‘Why do you think I’m a Yank?’

‘Your accent for one, the way you use your fork when you eat for another. The trouble is, you’re a Shade.’

‘I don’t like the word “Shade”, it’s demeaning.’

He laughed. ‘I can tell. So what should I call you: darkie, black, sambo, coon, nigger …?’

‘Stop! I’m a woman of colour.’

‘Very well: the trouble is I’ve never met a Yank
woman of colour
before. You’re a real enigma, Ella, you look like you’re a NoirVillian but you sound like you come from Washington.’

For an instant she didn’t quite know what to answer. Fortunately PINC cut in and her faux life history flashed before her. ‘I was born in NoirVille but adopted by a Yank couple. I was brought up in Fairmont Heights.’

‘Interesting,’ murmured Vanka as he caressed her fingers between his. It was really quite distracting. ‘So your family must have been caught up in the Troubles. There was some vicious fighting in and around Washington.’

‘I’m an orphan. My adoptive family died when I was a baby.’

‘Of course.’

Ella ignored the sarcasm. ‘I went to school in London during the Troubles.’

‘But you never lost your Yank accent?’

‘No.’

‘It must be difficult to be a Yank
and
a Shade amongst the Anglos. The Yanks were the most fervent of all the Royalists: they were the last to surrender to the Party during the Troubles. As I understood it the Anglos hate the Yanks and animosities in the ForthRight die hard. And as for how Anglos view Shades … sorry, people of colour …’

‘London had its moments, but I’ve never had any real problems.’

‘Until a few days ago when you had your little contretemps with the Checkya.’

She shrugged.

‘Why are you so interested in Daemons, Ella?’

‘I’m not!’

‘Then why did you tear out that article about them from yesterday’s Stormer?’

Cursing herself for leaving the newspaper lying around, Ella pulled her hands away from Vanka’s and glowered at him.

He selected another cigarette, lit it and blew smoke towards
the ceiling. ‘That’s something else you’ll need to understand about doing cold readings: lies are almost invariably signalled by a pause before they are made. Even the most accomplished of liars need a moment to get their lies in order before they answer. You have been lying to me, Ella.’ He flicked some ash into the fire. ‘As I say, you’re an enigma. You’re a woman of colour, born in NoirVille but adopted by Yanks who had the distinct lack of consideration to die when you were a baby. You’re a fashionable girl brought up in fashionable London but who didn’t adopt a fashionable Anglo accent. You went to a school in London when I know for a fact that none of them would ever accept a Sha – a girl of colour – as a pupil. And yet, having been brought up in London, you are still unaware that ForthRight soldiers wear red coats. You have a professor who you are more than a little frightened of and who you believe has placed you in danger. You have a peculiar interest in Daemons but you want to keep that interest a secret. You don’t believe in Spiritualism but you are the only true clairvoyant I’ve ever met. And, last but not least, you are being pursued by the Checkya. What an enigma you are, Ella, what an enigma you are.’

‘You’ve just got a very suspicious mind, Vanka.’

‘Suspicious, perhaps, but being a suspicious bastard has kept me alive when some truly horrible people have been determined to kill me.’ He held up a hand to still her protests. ‘Look, young lady, I don’t know who you are but one thing I am certain of is that what you have just told me is a pack of lies. I’ve a real suspicion that you’re bad news, so let’s cut to the chase. I’ve been thinking about you a lot these last few days and my feeling is that you’re a crypto working for NoirVille. Am I right?’

Ella hesitated. It was impossible to admit who and what she really was, but she sensed that unless he got something
approximating to a believable explanation Vanka might, just might, throw her out onto the streets. But with a man as sharp as he was …

‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘I admit it: I’m a crypto, here in the ForthRight on a mission to rescue a Daemon who has been abducted by Aleister Crowley and take her to NoirVille.’

Vanka stared at Ella, dumbfounded, then slowly stood up, poured himself a tumbler full of Solution and downed it in one. ‘No wonder the Checkya are after you.’

‘Look, Vanka, I’ve been straight with you. The question is: will you help me?’

‘Quite frankly, Miss Thomas …’

Miss Thomas? What had happened to ‘Ella’?

‘… I don’t give a hoot about your politics, but what I most certainly do give a hoot about is my neck and ensuring Beria isn’t given an excuse to lengthen it. Therefore I think our partnership is destined to be a short one: I want nothing to do with rescuing Daemons in distress from Aleister Crowley. Crossing that bastard is as good as signing your own death warrant. You can stay here until the Checkya heat has died down and in return you’ll help me do a few séances. Let’s say a month.’ He gave Ella a lopsided grin. ‘Then, Miss Thomas, we go off in opposite directions and I never, ever want to meet up with you again. As you Yanks – and here I am assuming that you are a Yank – would say, do we have a deal?’

The look in his eyes convinced Ella that further demurral would be a waste of time. ‘It’s a deal. And thanks, Vanka.’

Case Red is to be undertaken by the ForthRight Army under the command of Comrade General Mikhail Skobelev. Commencing on the first day of Spring 1005, the campaign will last thirty-nine days. Case Red involves the invasion of the Coven, the defeat of the Covenite army and the imposition of total and uncompromised political, economic and military control on that Sector. Once said control is achieved the intelligentsia of the Coven is to be eliminated. Those eliminated are to include, inter alia: all members of Empress Wu’s Court, Imperial NoNs, army officers, politicians, government officials, HerEtical Priestesses, Suffer-O-Gettes, RaTionalists, scholars, teachers, businessFemmes, journalists, artists, playwrights, writers and others demonstrating leadership or creative potential.

– minutes of the PolitBuro meeting held under the guidance of the Great Leader on the 39th day of Winter, 1004

Vanka might have been a cynic when it came to the more supernatural aspects of Spiritualism but he was a professional cynic. And if Ella was to be his assistant then he demanded that she aspire to the same professional standards he evinced in his act.

Over the next few days he made Ella practise hard until she knew her cues, her lines and her tricks from back to front. As she discovered, her role as a PsyChick was something akin to being a stooge who helped Vanka do some of the things that added a little pizzazz to his performance as a psychic. Specifically she was to attend his séances posing as a customer, gasp in amazement at crucial points in the performance, use the toe of her boot to set the table rattling at the instant Vanka was possessed by his ‘Spirit Guide’, and, most importantly of all, produce the calico ectoplasm from where it was hidden in her bustle and wave it around in the darkness of the séance room.

Learning how to conjure and then handle the ectoplasm was tricky but it had educated her as to why all séances were conducted in the dark. To pull out the luminous calico from the back of her dress, extend the thin metal rod hidden under her skirts, attach one to the other and then wave the calico around high in the air without anybody noticing was a nightmare to master. It also required her to have the use of both her hands, so Vanka had to teach her how to trick the couple she was sitting between and hand in hand with at the séance table into believing that they had an unrelenting grip on her hands when, in fact, Ella had arranged things so that they were gripping each other’s hand.