“Excuse me! Sorry! Hey, you, move out of the way!” I shouted.
I elbowed people, stepped on someone’s big toe with my heel, and made my way through the crowd, following the letters on the ground.
THESORT-
“Make way!” Bastian shouted, going along with me.
THESORTIJA
The full name of the place where Enzo had told me to meethim. The name of this maze of streets…
“Why are there three letters in a different colour?” I asked Bastian.
He stared at the ground while stretching his arms to keep people from passing by. The first L was in a bright yellow, just like the last J, both As. The letters in the middle were orange, much brighter than the other three.
SORTI
“Sorti,” Bastian said, with a perfect Parisian accent.
“Out,” I translated.
People started crowding around us again. Bastian grabbed my hand. I looked in all directions, hoping to see my friend or Enzo.
“We need to get out of here.”
Bastian led me through the square at a brisk pace, just as Enzo had done hours earlier. I thought we were heading to the maze of mirrors, but just before reaching it, we turned left into an alley I hadn’t seen before. This alley was narrower than the other five, a shadowy corridor with hardly anyone around. Only two booths broke the darkness—one at the entrance and the other at the far end. No sign marked the street, just an empty stretch that felt like an afterthought. It was the exit of Club Montari. As I stepped further in, my gaze fell on the first booth, half-hidden in the shadows. A woman with a carnival mask and a long, voluptuous dress sat in a cushioned armchair. The curtain covering her back read elle est sortie. Upon seeing us, she stood up.
I approached.
“I’m Madame Bovary, dear,” she said, with a sweet voice and a crimson smile. “Tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll tell you if I have it.”
I noticed Bastian next to me. This booth seemed similar to the ones Gina and I had passed in the main alleys, filled with gemstones and gold arranged in intricate designs. I looked at the woman’s face. There was something different about her, something that the other merchants in the club didn’t have. Besides the diamonds embedded in her teeth, of course. The woman wore pearls in her ears, jewelled piercings on her cheeks, and she sparkled. Like…
“A sortija,” I said slowly. “That’s what I’m looking for.”
“Whatwe’re looking for,” Bastian corrected.
The woman tilted her head.
“Is that all?”
I nodded. She extended her hand.
“The price for entry is whatever you consider fair.”
I paid for both Bastian and me. How much? Ten thousand? I don’t remember. I didn’t care. I would have given away all my money there if Bastian weren’t following me like a loyal puppy. Then the woman gestured with her hand. The door behind her opened.
“Welcome to the Sortija,” she said, sitting back down. “The Ringlet. You have half an hour.”
Bastian was tense.
“You should know,” he said as we approached the entrance the woman had indicated, “I didn’t think this was a real place.”
Inside, the room smelled of incense and old age.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
The door closed behind us. The room was elongated and dark, despite being illuminated by an amber cascade of light in each corner.
