An Evil Guest by Gene Wolfe

hand took the box from Cassie.
“I need to speak to you privately. I’ll meet you at the front desk downstairs in twenty minutes.”
Reis’s whisper was a trifle hoarse, deep yet sibilant.
    India was using the mike to field questions about
Dating the Volcano God
. No, she had not seen the songs yet, but she knew they would be good. As the show now stood, there would be seven major parts, a dozen minor ones, and perhaps forty parts for dancers and singers who would play male and female natives, missionaries, and seamen. There was no hard casting date yet, but it would begin soon.
    That question had been from Palma; as Cassie returned to his table, India asked him to stand. “I want Wally to see you. I know he’s seen you already onstage, Vince; but I’d like him to see you again without makeup. Think you might be loose?”
    Palma licked his lips. “You’ll direct, India?”
    Reis rumbled, “Absolutely. Tomorrow I’ll have her under contract.”
    “In which case,” Palma declared, “I shall cancel my commitments.”
    “Reading the synopsis,” India told him, “I kept seeing you as the Volcano God.” She turned to Reis. “How about it, Wally? What do you think?”
    “I’d certainly like to see you try out for it. How tall are you, sir?”
    “Six feet four, and . . .”
    Cassie did not hear the rest. She had the bracelet off and was handing it to Margaret. “Keep this for me. I’m leaving now, but I want you to stay right here. Stay here for at least another hour. Understand?”
    Margaret nodded. She was looking at the bracelet.
    “You can go to the restroom or change tables, but that’s it. Have you got a pen?”
    Margaret did, taking the pen from her purse and putting the bracelet into it.
    “Here.” Cassie scribbled her cell phone number on a napkin. “Call me tomorrow afternoon.”
    She was gone before Margaret could reply.
    Ebony stopped her on the way out. “You look like death warmed over.”
    “I had a scare, that’s all. Well, no, it isn’t. Not really. Have you heard about Jimmy?”
    “Sure. Heart attack or something. It’s a damned shame.”
    Cassie nodded. “I liked him, and two people sprung it on me fast. I was shaky already, and now—well, I’m going home.”
    “You’re going down to the bar with me,” Ebony said firmly. “You need a drink and some quiet talk.”
    “I’ve had two drinks, and the second one would peel paint. I think I drank about half, and my head’s swimming. So no.”
    “So yes.” Ebony followed her. “You can have a Coke or something. I need to talk to you.”
    Cassie stopped abruptly. “God knows I need to talk to somebody. Listen, Ebony. I promised someone—a man I like a lot—that I’d do him a little favor. It—well, it was easy to promise then. Now I’m . . .”
    “Afraid.”
    Mutely, Cassie nodded.
    “You need to talk it out, that’s all. You need—”
    A deep, hoarse voice interrupted. “What she needs,” Bill Reis said firmly, “is a strong friend, an intelligent and resourceful friend. She has one. Come with me, Miss Casey. I’ve a limousine outside.”
    The night had turned cool. Rusterman’s white and gold canopy sheltered them from the light rain, but not from the wind. “Fall soon,” Cassie muttered.
    “Our show won’t be ready for this season,” Reis told her. “We’ll need scenery.”
    A uniformed chauffeur opened the limousine’s wide rear door.
    “And rehearsals.” Thinking of things she had heard the night before, Cassie shuddered.
    “You’re cold. Have you a fur coat? Mink? Ermine, perhaps?”
    “Wool. But it’s real wool and looks nice on me. I like it.”
    “Get in, please. I’ll go around.”
    She did, and the chauffeur closed the door with the merest whisper of sound.
    At once, or so it seemed, Reis was sitting beside her. “Blue mink, I would say. I hopped here today to meet you. You cannot have known that, Cassie, but I did. One hour from Berlin in a friend’s hopper. Have you been into space