appeared to have given up the ghost long ago. It hung lethargically on its hinges. Someone or something had kicked a hole in the bottom part of the screen. No one had bothered to repair it. There was no light in any of the windows.
Zac quietly walked through the backyard of a vacant house next door to what had once been the Sandwick place. He assumed the house was vacant because of the for sale sign in the front yard, but he didn't take any chances. About half the houses in the neighborhood had for sale signs in the front yards. So far he had been lucky enough not to arouse any dogs in the area, and he was hoping to keep it that way.
The neighborhood was one of the streets near Capitol Hill that had not yet been rehabilitated by the upwardly mobile types who had been moving into the district in droves during the past few years. The Sandwick house was slightly more run-down-looking than its neighbors but not significantly so. Whoever had paid cash for it several months ago had obviously not had a lot left over to effect even minor repairs.
Moving quietly and without the aid of a flashlight, Zac made his way around to the rear of the house Adair and his friends had once used for their occult games. When he reached the back steps, he paused and glanced up at the unlit windows with a certain morose resignation.
This wasn't, Zac decided, the kind of investigation he thought appropriate to the newly emerging image of Free Enterprise Security, Inc. It was his firm's mission to cater to the security needs of sophisticated businesses. He was supposed to be a consultant, for God's sake. One who charged very large fees in return for reports bound in genuine, simulated leather binders. This business of sneaking through decaying neighborhoods to spy on an old house that once might or might not have been used for witchcraft definitely came under the heading of tacky. Very low-class. And it was all Guinevere's fault.
He thought of Guinevere as he had left her over half an hour ago. She had been lying in the tousled bed, her dark hair tumbling around her bare shoulders, eyes wide and a little worried in the shadows. Zac admitted to himself that he rather liked it when she became anxious on his behalf. He couldn't remember anyone else in recent history who had ever really worried about him. Already he was looking forward to the coffee and concern that would be waiting for him when he returned from this sortie into the wilds of Capitol Hill. A man could get used to the idea of someone waiting for him.
No use putting off the inevitable. The sooner he was finished here, the sooner he could collect both the coffee and Guinevere. Silently Zac started up the back steps of the house. At the rear door he paused and let the tiny sounds and nuances of the night infiltrate his heightened sense of awareness.
Zac could usually tell when a place was occupied. There was a sense of presence about a room or a house or a building that made itself felt. It wasn't anything concrete, just a kind of instinctive awareness. There had been times in the past when that kind of awareness had kept him alive. There had also been occasions when it had let him down at awkward moments. He hoped this wasn't going to be one of those moments. Zac didn't fool himself. He wasn't psychic; he simply had fairly well developed survival instincts. But they weren't infallible.
Still, there was nothing to indicate that anyone was at home here tonight. Zac slipped into the deeper shadows of the porch and examined the lock on the back door. Piece of cake. He pulled the small twist of metal out of his pocket and, a moment later, let himself into what proved to be the kitchen.
As he eased the door shut behind him he stood still for another few seconds, trying to pick up any new vibrations that might indicate the presence of another person.
The house was silent. Perhaps too silent. Zac frowned thoughtfully and walked through the kitchen. The refrigerator was turned off, and there
Zac quietly walked through the backyard of a vacant house next door to what had once been the Sandwick place. He assumed the house was vacant because of the for sale sign in the front yard, but he didn't take any chances. About half the houses in the neighborhood had for sale signs in the front yards. So far he had been lucky enough not to arouse any dogs in the area, and he was hoping to keep it that way.
The neighborhood was one of the streets near Capitol Hill that had not yet been rehabilitated by the upwardly mobile types who had been moving into the district in droves during the past few years. The Sandwick house was slightly more run-down-looking than its neighbors but not significantly so. Whoever had paid cash for it several months ago had obviously not had a lot left over to effect even minor repairs.
Moving quietly and without the aid of a flashlight, Zac made his way around to the rear of the house Adair and his friends had once used for their occult games. When he reached the back steps, he paused and glanced up at the unlit windows with a certain morose resignation.
This wasn't, Zac decided, the kind of investigation he thought appropriate to the newly emerging image of Free Enterprise Security, Inc. It was his firm's mission to cater to the security needs of sophisticated businesses. He was supposed to be a consultant, for God's sake. One who charged very large fees in return for reports bound in genuine, simulated leather binders. This business of sneaking through decaying neighborhoods to spy on an old house that once might or might not have been used for witchcraft definitely came under the heading of tacky. Very low-class. And it was all Guinevere's fault.
He thought of Guinevere as he had left her over half an hour ago. She had been lying in the tousled bed, her dark hair tumbling around her bare shoulders, eyes wide and a little worried in the shadows. Zac admitted to himself that he rather liked it when she became anxious on his behalf. He couldn't remember anyone else in recent history who had ever really worried about him. Already he was looking forward to the coffee and concern that would be waiting for him when he returned from this sortie into the wilds of Capitol Hill. A man could get used to the idea of someone waiting for him.
No use putting off the inevitable. The sooner he was finished here, the sooner he could collect both the coffee and Guinevere. Silently Zac started up the back steps of the house. At the rear door he paused and let the tiny sounds and nuances of the night infiltrate his heightened sense of awareness.
Zac could usually tell when a place was occupied. There was a sense of presence about a room or a house or a building that made itself felt. It wasn't anything concrete, just a kind of instinctive awareness. There had been times in the past when that kind of awareness had kept him alive. There had also been occasions when it had let him down at awkward moments. He hoped this wasn't going to be one of those moments. Zac didn't fool himself. He wasn't psychic; he simply had fairly well developed survival instincts. But they weren't infallible.
Still, there was nothing to indicate that anyone was at home here tonight. Zac slipped into the deeper shadows of the porch and examined the lock on the back door. Piece of cake. He pulled the small twist of metal out of his pocket and, a moment later, let himself into what proved to be the kitchen.
As he eased the door shut behind him he stood still for another few seconds, trying to pick up any new vibrations that might indicate the presence of another person.
The house was silent. Perhaps too silent. Zac frowned thoughtfully and walked through the kitchen. The refrigerator was turned off, and there
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