Page 62 of Andalusia Dogs
“Near traumatising foursome?”
“Nowthatwould have been a title. Too late now, sadly.”
Alex shrugged. “Maria says the guest list is full. If people show—”
Vicente was on his feet and hugging him before he could finish. “Let’s focus on that first bit, okay? Guest. List. Is. Full. It’s gonna be great, my friend. Si-Man’s psychic advisor promised me that.”
“Si-Man’s psychic…”
Vicente grinned.
“You’re going to Hell.”
“Can’t be hotter than in here. I’m going to get some water. Do you want anything?”
“Have you seen Jago?”
Vicente frowned at him. “You mean you haven’t? He was backstage half an hour ago, talking with Joanna.”
Alex let his jaw go slack before biting his lip.
“Look, umm…” Vicente shuffled his feet. “Maybe we should talk after the show?”
“Vis?”
“I’m sure it’s fine. The guy’s weird, we both know that.”
“A witch? Weird?” Alex smirked. “Yeah, isn’t he?”
They left the booth and went their separate ways, Vicente to the lobby and Alex backstage. He disappeared behind the flats they’d hastily repainted in the style of what Alex had always thought was one of Cordoba’s prettiest streets. Blue flower pots dotted whitewashed houses, all standing out against a cloudless sky, a black cat weaving its way along a terrace. It was idealistic—cartoonish, even. Perhaps some pretentious Madrileño critic would tear him apart for it, but so what? Once the show started, there would be no argument. In this house, the dogs from Andalusia did the tearing.
He crossed the space that buffered the sound between the stage and the dressing room, trying to hide his nerves as he rapped on the door.
“Come in!” Joanna sounded positively overjoyed.
When Alex saw her, she looked even better despite her unblended makeup, glowing as if the spirit of the show itself had imbued her. Sitting next to her with a glass of red wine, Jago looked tired by comparison, sitting low in his seat, his white shirt unbuttoned almost to the navel while—miraculously—notshowing a spot of red wine. He stood up, taking Alex in a warm hug and kissing both his cheeks.
“I’d offer the same,” Joanna said, turning back to the mirror. “But I’m halfway done, and I fear I’d leave your shirt looking like the Shroud of Turin if Jesus was a drag queen.”
“To date, we’ve little evidence that he wasn’t,” said Jago. “How’s it looking out there?”
“Empty so far, but Maria says the guest list is full, so… Where the hell have you been?”
“Here.” Jago stared at him blankly as if this were a complete answer to the world’s most obvious question. “Sorry, I meant to come find you, but by the time you arrived, we were deep into our conversation.”
“Jago’s been telling me marvellous things about his trip.” Joanna grinned, blending her rouge. “Been making me quite homesick, if I’m honest. Have you been to Zugarramurdi, Alex?”
Alex noticed Jago’s face darken, if only for a second. “Never heard of it.”
“We should go, the four of us, together. I’ve heard about the Basque witches, of course, but I’ve always dismissed those stories as the church being the church when it came to opinionated, inconvenient women.”
Jago gave them both a patient nod. “The history’s quite real, I assure you. Most of it, anyway. The fire caves are something to see.”
“Fire caves?”
“Most caves are shaped by water. It’s said that to be imbued with magickal properties, they must then be refined by fire.”Jago turned to Alex with a smirk. “It’s not as if I’ve witnessed the process first-hand.”
“I thought you went to San Sebastián?”
