Read Online The Djinn by Graham Masterton - Free Book Online Page A

In the restaurant, there was Californian burgundy,
plenty of hot rolls, piped music, laughter, plush decor, and reality.
    After the
events of the day, reality was something that both Anna and I sorely needed.
    “Look at it
this way,” I said through a mouthful of steak. “Just because Max Greaves had
the jar of djinns in the house, that doesn’t mean that the jar was responsible
for his behavior. If you ask me, it was the other way around. Max went off his
head and made everybody think it was the jar that was doing it”
    Anna shrugged.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m trying to keep an open mind. You have to admit
that he went to an awful lot of trouble to seal up the jar in the authentic
ancient way.”
    “Of course he
did. Eccentrics always do. They have a passion for detail. Half the time, he
probably thought he was a Persian magician from the fifth century B.C.”
    “I’d like to
know more about the faces,” said Anna.
    “What faces?”
    “The portraits,
the pipe, and all those magazines with the pictures cut out. His own face, if
it comes to that. There must have been a reason for it.”
    “We could
always ask Dr. Jarvis.”
    “Is he the
family doctor?”
    I nodded. “He’s
been looking after Max and Marjorie for a coon’s age. I think if I talk to him
in just the right way, he might tell me what happened. I had measles once when
I was staying at Winter Sails, and I kind of made friends with him. He’s very
proper, but if I tell him I’m worried about Marjorie...”
    Anna grated
some black pepper over her steak. “It’s worth a try. If you do that, I’ll have
a talk with Professor Qualt out at New Bedford.”
    “Qualt? Who’s he?”
    “You must have
heard of Gordon Qualt. He’s America’s foremost expert in ancient folklore and
Middle Eastern culture.”
    “Why the hell
should I have heard of him?”
    Anna smiled.
“Don’t get so offended. He was in the newspapers not long ago when they turned
up that marble-smuggling racket out of Iraq. He’s very keen on keeping
treasures in the environment where they were originally created/’
    I stabbed a
piece of pickle. “I agree with him. I hate to see people losing their marbles.”
    “You’re
impossible,” laughed Anna. “I’m glad I found out what you were like before I
asked you to read my fortune. I might have believed it.”
    “Were you going
to ask me to read your fortune?”
    She made big
foxy eyes at me. They sparkled in the soft candlelight, and somehow I had the
feeling that she was thinking of making a play for me. Don’t ask me how, it was
just one of those remarkable intuitions that we clairvoyants are prone to.
    “Well,” I said,
“you mustn’t let my naturally suspicious nature put you off. I do tell a very
mean fortune.”
    “Will you read
mine?”
    “Sure, what do
you want? Palm reading, Tarot, tea leaves, or crystal ball? I can even read the
bumps on your head.”
    She laughed.
“What are you best at?”
    “After I’ve
read your fortune, I’ll show you.”
    We finished our
steaks and ordered Irish coffee. The piped music was playing a treacly version
of “Samba Pa Ti,” and at the next table, a man with a loud tie and a large
mustache was laughing in great uncontrolled shouts. A middle-aged woman wobbled
past us in purple nylon ski pants, silver shoes, and a green-rinsed, gray,
beehive hairdo. Her husband, in yellow and red plaid, looked like a character
out of the Sunday funnies.
    “What kind of a
guy is Qualt?” I asked Anna. “Do you know him personally? I mean, do you think
he’ll help us?”
    “He’s very
sensitive and very understanding. I used to have a crush on him at the university.
I guess Qualt is one reason why I’m doing the job I’m doing. I was always
interested in antiques, but he really turned me on to this whole thing of
restoring Middle Eastern antiquities to their rightful owners.”
    I lit a
cigarette. “What’s he working on now? Giving Manhattan back to the