The Cybersybils present Enter the Jackalope

Episode Two

Jackal & Hide

If an astral traveler
sees a horse (Mars)
or a jackal (Luna)
in the sphere of Netzach (Venus),
one would know there is a confusion
of plane and the vision is not reliable.
Dion Fortune

Crossing cobblestones, soon within the walls of the charming eatery known as the Three Fish, Miss Olivia and Ms. Madeline took a seat at a small, linen draped table, lit by a votive and graced with a small vase of field flowers. Maddie glanced about furtively, then said, "I'll be right back, just stay out of trouble and don't insult anyone."

"Fine, we'll order after you take a slash."

"So disgusting," Maddie muttered as she walked away, wondering how she was going to get through lunch with her vulgar American companion.

Olivia settled into the chair, fumbled in a breeches pocket and produced a cigarette, bent over casually and began to draw on the weak candle flame.

Nearby, a flamboyantly dressed man sat in a corner speaking rapidly into his cell, "Yes, I want to go to the hotel! Oui, the spa at Versailles! Don't be such a fussy bitch, Bruce."

By another quirk of fate, a trio of merry lasses also gossiped in English, an oddity that immediately attracted Miss Olivia's attention. Bored, the inquisitive Peyton eavesdropped on their conversation, as well.

"She looks familiar, doesn't she? Sorta like that author...what's her name?"

"Which one? All you ever read are vampire novels! She doesn't look like Anne Rice..."

"Be quiet. She's...I know...she's in this magazine," and a frantic rustle was immediately produced.

"There," the third said with subdued excitement. "Posh..."

"Peyton," Olivia finished, standing and approaching her neighbors. "Give me that. And Mummy's books suck, especially Vampire of the Vatican. Give me a break, everyone knows the pope is a succubus!"

"Who do you think..." the redhead began, but stopped mid-sentence when she heard Olivia's devious cackle.

"Let's go, girls. Remember, the big Taco Twins concert is in Paris tonight. We need to get ready - and go see somebody really famous," the brunette with the overbite taunted. "My Daddy didn't send me all the way over here from Merry-Meet-Land to hang out in this hick town, anyway. He's a lawyer, you know."

"That Paris Match cost ten francs," the blonde stated, once the girls stood. "Give it back, unless you want me to tell my friend's father on you - and her brother is a big detective back in America, so there."

"Ooh, I'm shaking in my Hermes riding boots, and he's a G.O.D.," Olivia shot back, having fun for the first time in weeks. Closing the magazine, she glanced at the cover pic of a mysterious man. "Who's this dude?"

"That's Juan Carlos the Jackal," the most sassy-pants of the trinity offered, "the dreamiest man in all of Europe, maybe the world...cooler than even Vlad Pitts, so there! He's an assassin, that's why they call him the Jackal."

"No shite, really?" the girl raised on Frederick Forsythe novels taunted. "More like the Jackass, you stoopid twat! Or Carlos lo Zoppo but I forgot...you barely speak English, never mind the divine Dante's tongue...now....scram before I double-clown-punch you!" she snarled. "Oh, and here's twenty francs, go buy two tabloids," Miss O counseled as she tossed the money into the air. A brown banknote featuring the composer Claude Debussy's portrait soon floated to the ground, where it was eagerly retrieved by a flurry of glitter-painted fingernails.

"YOU suck big time, more than your mother!" came the retort before the door of the Three Fish slammed shut and a waiter dared approach the scene. Olivia grinned at the compliment, then took her seat and turned to the feature article, another smile of amusement appearing within seconds. As she read, the gentleman in the corner put down his BlackBerry and clapped with gusto.

"And you go, girl!" the stranger cheered, causing the waiter to drop an empty wine bottle he was carrying away from the recently vacated table.

Olivia looked up and noticed Ms. Madeline scurrying back from the restroom, a frown marring her usually blank visage.