effect, but since I didn't know ..."
"You found it on the porch?"
"I'm not in the habit of carrying a carving knife around with me." Adam looked askance at the weapon, which lay on the floor where he had dropped it. He didn't pick it up. Instead he peeled off a cable-knit sweater, exposing the next layer—tan, with a Fairlane pattern—and threw it over a chair.
"Don't put your dirty clothes on that chair," Rachel said automatically.
Adam swept the sweater and the jacket onto the floor. When he spoke again he had abandoned his defensive tone. "Suppose we start all over, omitting the superfluous accusations and apologies? Would you care to join me in a cup of coffee, or any other beverage that suits your fancy? Or a belated supper? I'll cook."
"Supper? It's one a.m."
"I'm hungry," Adam said.
The dogs were delighted to see them and even happier to share the food. Adam didn't cook; as he sat gnawing on a turkey drumstick, his hair in his eyes, and a green sweater (the third layer down) covering his torso, he reminded Rachel irresistibly of the "cavemen" she had studied in grade school.
"Where were you?" she asked, watching in awe as he reduced the drumstick to bare bones and dug into a bowl of salad. She knew she had no right to ask, but Adam answered promptly, if indistinctly, "At an Esbat."
"At a what?"
"Esbat. It's one of the Great Festivals of Witchcraft. They occur on May Eve, Hallowe'en, February first, and August first, plus the winter and summer solstices. Today is December twenty-first..."
His voice trailed away and he sat quite still, the fork poised in his hand. A piece of lettuce fell with a plop, spraying his front with oil and vinegar.
"I know what an Esbat is," Rachel said, still dumbfounded.
"Oh, yeah." Adam peered at her through his hair. His eyes were bright and narrowed, like those of a furtive animal looking through a hedge. "You're supposed to be studying folklore. Why did you—"
"And I thought you were supposed to be a teacher. Why are you hobnobbing with witches? Have you joined a coven?"
" I was researching for Pat," Adam answered. "Modern witches are a harmless crowd, bless their innocent little hearts—it's all white magic, or so they claim. But they don't enjoy being laughed at any more than the rest of us, and Pat has made fun of them in print too often. They wouldn't have admitted him to the ceremony."
" I can see why you'd blend right in," Rachel admitted.
Frowning, Adam changed the subject. "Did you hear anybody out there tonight?"
"Just you."
"Somebody was there who wasn't me. What about the dogs?"
"That is odd," Rachel said. "They barked when you came. Not before."
"If you were asleep you might not have heard them."
"I was asleep part of the time but it was on the couch—" She indicated that article of furniture with a gesture—"and they were in the same room. I couldn't have missed hearing them."
"Interesting."
"Maybe he arrived just before you did, and you scared him off. Where was the knife?"
He hesitated briefly before he said, "On the top step. Standing upright. It had been driven into the wood."
Rachel understood why he had been reluctant to tell her. The simple description presented a picture ugly with overtones. "A threat?" she said.
"That's one possibility."
"What other possibility is there? If he had meant to break in he wouldn't have abandoned a weapon. You should have left it where it was. There might have been fingerprints. You probably wiped them off."
"You're right," Adam admitted. "I should have left it in situ. I'm not very experienced at this sort of thing."
"Well, the damage is done. I'll call the police—that friend of Tony's—in the morning. No sense doing it now."
Adam pitched the turkey bones into the trash can, to the visible chagrin of dogs and cats, and opened the refrigerator. "Want a piece of pie?"
"No, I'm going to bed."
"Sleep tight."
"How can I not, with you on guard?"
And, somewhat to her surprise, she did.
I
Next morning
"You found it on the porch?"
"I'm not in the habit of carrying a carving knife around with me." Adam looked askance at the weapon, which lay on the floor where he had dropped it. He didn't pick it up. Instead he peeled off a cable-knit sweater, exposing the next layer—tan, with a Fairlane pattern—and threw it over a chair.
"Don't put your dirty clothes on that chair," Rachel said automatically.
Adam swept the sweater and the jacket onto the floor. When he spoke again he had abandoned his defensive tone. "Suppose we start all over, omitting the superfluous accusations and apologies? Would you care to join me in a cup of coffee, or any other beverage that suits your fancy? Or a belated supper? I'll cook."
"Supper? It's one a.m."
"I'm hungry," Adam said.
The dogs were delighted to see them and even happier to share the food. Adam didn't cook; as he sat gnawing on a turkey drumstick, his hair in his eyes, and a green sweater (the third layer down) covering his torso, he reminded Rachel irresistibly of the "cavemen" she had studied in grade school.
"Where were you?" she asked, watching in awe as he reduced the drumstick to bare bones and dug into a bowl of salad. She knew she had no right to ask, but Adam answered promptly, if indistinctly, "At an Esbat."
"At a what?"
"Esbat. It's one of the Great Festivals of Witchcraft. They occur on May Eve, Hallowe'en, February first, and August first, plus the winter and summer solstices. Today is December twenty-first..."
His voice trailed away and he sat quite still, the fork poised in his hand. A piece of lettuce fell with a plop, spraying his front with oil and vinegar.
"I know what an Esbat is," Rachel said, still dumbfounded.
"Oh, yeah." Adam peered at her through his hair. His eyes were bright and narrowed, like those of a furtive animal looking through a hedge. "You're supposed to be studying folklore. Why did you—"
"And I thought you were supposed to be a teacher. Why are you hobnobbing with witches? Have you joined a coven?"
" I was researching for Pat," Adam answered. "Modern witches are a harmless crowd, bless their innocent little hearts—it's all white magic, or so they claim. But they don't enjoy being laughed at any more than the rest of us, and Pat has made fun of them in print too often. They wouldn't have admitted him to the ceremony."
" I can see why you'd blend right in," Rachel admitted.
Frowning, Adam changed the subject. "Did you hear anybody out there tonight?"
"Just you."
"Somebody was there who wasn't me. What about the dogs?"
"That is odd," Rachel said. "They barked when you came. Not before."
"If you were asleep you might not have heard them."
"I was asleep part of the time but it was on the couch—" She indicated that article of furniture with a gesture—"and they were in the same room. I couldn't have missed hearing them."
"Interesting."
"Maybe he arrived just before you did, and you scared him off. Where was the knife?"
He hesitated briefly before he said, "On the top step. Standing upright. It had been driven into the wood."
Rachel understood why he had been reluctant to tell her. The simple description presented a picture ugly with overtones. "A threat?" she said.
"That's one possibility."
"What other possibility is there? If he had meant to break in he wouldn't have abandoned a weapon. You should have left it where it was. There might have been fingerprints. You probably wiped them off."
"You're right," Adam admitted. "I should have left it in situ. I'm not very experienced at this sort of thing."
"Well, the damage is done. I'll call the police—that friend of Tony's—in the morning. No sense doing it now."
Adam pitched the turkey bones into the trash can, to the visible chagrin of dogs and cats, and opened the refrigerator. "Want a piece of pie?"
"No, I'm going to bed."
"Sleep tight."
"How can I not, with you on guard?"
And, somewhat to her surprise, she did.
I
Next morning
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