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«Why is it tomorrow?»

«One hour later, the Moon will be in very tense aspect with Uranus: volatility and nervousness will not contribute to your conversation. Don\'t burn your fingers twice, Boris. Yah! Here is a such transit to Neptune happening… No. He will not accept you. Im-pos-si-ble. He will be very sleepy and tired. In best case.»

«And in worst?» caught his word Arseny.

«Let\'s stop on that … It is similar to the effect of drugs, to hallucinations. In one hour he will be out of shape.» 

Verhny Khutorok Village, June 26, 2009 evening.

«Not even a one move» admitted Ilya after letting branch of nut tree into his open window.

However, voices down below alerted him.

Hey! That was a guard chewing the rag. With someone of those locals…

He could hear only clumps of phrases. Burst of laughter suddenly broke infused by gummy fluids, ominous air. And after sharp whipping words:

«The man went nuts… Only doctor can help…»

Ilya recoiled. Looked around. He felt for it.

Hastily made «cosmetics» highlighted the shabbiness of his place; from freshly painted walls the smell of varnish materials guttered brain into pain. He left in rush forgetting bottle of favorite perfume. It had thrown him off the aesthete image, but apparently didn’t wipe it out completely.

«Back to Moscow! To home!» His heart fluttered.

But then stung by accusations: everything there recall the past. About Inessa. Shacked off unwanted tears. Gasped breath. Even the sky in compassion squeezed a few tears out, but hard to breath.

Inessa … It shouldn’t happen even to a dog. Barcelona. Hotel. Fire. Seventeen victims and Inessa among them.

He killed her, because the idea has to be material. Didn’t thought about all of the pros and cons. Such a fool. Got involved in an adventure with Maestro, with the «flying killer». The price of freedom…

Freedom?! A week after he got an e-mail:

The work is done. It is recommended not delaying with the payment. Maestro.

Ilya was taken aback: even paparazzi, who eager for smell of draught, sadly had to agree with investigators: it was an accident.

Ilya sent him to hell…

In response, Maestro pulled off some… a couple of illustrations from the series of «Under aim of Fate» of «CT» fresh issue.

The first one had shown Inessa in her «role» of Joan of Arc, engulfed by the fire. One sec. This is an err! You know, Joan was burned in Rouen. And here … In the background, in dreamy haze, you can see the outline of old catalonian roofs. And to the right there is five centuries long mistake! In watery skies emerged the Gothic Cathedral, the immortal creation of Gaudy. Visit Card of Barcelona. Barcelona!

He suddenly got it: a riot of flame and forks of fire will not shade out milky white skin and green eyes of red-haired Inessa. But will eat her alive! And the look is not of Joan of Arc anymore, but of Inessa! Taken by horrible pain … Burnt alive. In Barcelona. Two months ago.

The revelation fell like snowball onto his head: in the second picture … He himself. In an image of Marat. Bleeding. In the bath …

A lapidary you are the next had plunged Ilya into a shock.

He is here.

How could he manage to find his shack in province of blossom, where there no bathrooms but shower rooms (meter by meter in size). Well, it doesn\'t matter. Ilya has solved the riddle. Maestro lost! Outside of necessary entourage the Devil in the Flesh is pathetic.

…Shabby bearded man suddenly turned to a laptop, passed fingers through a keyboard typing: «Have you prayed at night, Desdemona?».

The message has been sent, Zvezditsky is doomed!

The smile intended to the recipient. But mirror in the frame said «you are a freak»! He crumpled his face into grimace and a moment later, released a smile. Easier and touching one. The mirror replied with a grin. He snorted: time for smiles didn\'t come yet. Patience. Patience. Here we go… And the mirror heeded his owner\'s desires.

His hair turned gray in couple of months, his shoulders buckled as if under load beyond a human force, vertical wrinkles are folding face like scars. Why? Old Age? Nope. Gravy thoughts. Global project burns the liver.

Suddenly for a moment the look got brighter under his chubby eyebrows and eyes had flashed in an even light. Reflection trembled, blurring: he seem to be slimmer now, the features had softened turning into an eminent figure. The thought had draw the triumph image with a bright dabs: who would know! Who could think of!! Under the mask of photographer from «Corridors of Time» magazine acting the Maestro himself. Maestro of Resonance.

Damn news from Maestro caused frustration. The victory seemed to be of Pyrrhic. Especially now, on unbearably hot evening. Ilya didn\'t take a favorite perfume with scent of bergamot on purpose. Not give himself a reason to relax, not to fall in love with his own self, not to feel as esthete again. Ah, desire for bath is so irresistible, for bath with herbs and aroma.

So what am I waiting for? Suites of Sunrise are around the corner.

Rain of cats and dogs bursted suddenly. Purring and growling like a voracious beast, spilling bubbles out. An alert? Damn it.

Lightning came to act, raging in fury. Thunder echoes in awesome growl… Damn it.

Wind, playing with a window, broke a glass.

Damn it!

Now the light went out. An edgy blow of signs? In pitch darkness a branch of tree began squeaking, ringing with the broken glass\' fragments.

Damn it!

What if Maestro is a myth? Someone\'s stupid joke?! Oh my God, his fuse is blown. As one had say : if Jupiter would punish he would deprive a man of reason .

«For that reason I\'ve been appointed as stroke of fate to turn everything back to order. The mask of mercenary is merely a mask for the Carnival of life. Yet the essence of the brand is to lead the ball, you can\'t just pull the mask off. Yet. So much worse for those who forgot to pay. And the killer\'s mask dictates to careless: the work is done you must to pay! Didn\'t pay in three days — you\'ve got to wait! I\'ll take the payment myself. And not in Franklin\'s portraits but in life.