“Let us rather say real illusion.”

“Done. We will both sign this.” A gold-embellished contract on finest vellum unrolled from his walking stick and he passed it over to me. Angelina leaned over my shoulder and we read it together.

That was it. And there was nothing I could do about it. Now. But other ears than mine had heard us talking. The wall was thin, the inside doors flimsy. Bolivar must have heard every word spoken here. He would know that I could take care of myself, know…