"And you don't think the spirits are capable of setting fire to a sinner?" asked an old, old teak-colored man in a neatly-pressed suit. Elizabeth noticed a well-worn bible on the table near his elbow.

"Now, now," Beauray said, holding his hands up peaceably. "No one here is calling Miss Fionna a sinner. At least, no more than usual." He managed to raise a chuckle from the warring groups. "Let's just put our heads together and see if we can come up with an explanation that rings true."

From there the talk broke down into a group discussion. Individuals began comparing notes, and various groups merged, then split and remerged with other groups as possibilities were posed and discarded. Boo was pleased to see that they could set aside their individual philosophical differences to concentrate on a problem. Even though only one person was in peril, and an out-of-towner at that, the greater matter concerned them all. He'd often thought that a council like this would be of great help to the Department, although the bean counters in Washington weren't too receptive to the idea. They wouldn't know how to catalog the expense. Too bad. This group was no weirder than any of the other think tanks going on in other places. Someone caught him by the arm.

"Hey, Beauray," said the tall Native American woman in the embroidered chambray blouse and silver-and-turquoise jewelry, "have there been any visible manifestations, apart from the fire and the scratches? Spirits? Faces?"

From there the discussion broke down into specific details. Elizabeth and Beauray were both cross-examined numerous times on what they had experienced and witnessed, as well as asked to give their own views on some of the theories being broached.

"Think someone's got a voodoo doll of this gal?" a voice rose above the crowd from a very stout woman in a flowered dress.

"They never heard of voodoo over there in Europe," another voice exclaimed, shouting down the first. It was a man, red-eyed with indignation. He felt in his pocket and came up with a yellowed scroll. "Demons, though. She might have a demon following her. Look here, I got a list..."

"What you think you're doin'?" a woman with café-au-lait skin exclaimed with concern, rounding on him from a small group nearest the bar. She whisked a cloth bundle out of her purse and sprinkled a pinch of pale dust from it on the paper. "Even the names have power. You brought them in here!"

The man and woman immediately fell into an argument, paying no heed to the others around them. The rest regrouped and began to talk among themselves.

Elizabeth went from one cluster of people to another, listening and taking notes while she answered questions. Several forms of attack that Elizabeth had never even heard of before were all aired and reviewed by the gathered specialists with the seriousness of doctors consulting each other on a puzzling diagnosis. She made a mental note to ask Beauray about some of the terms they were using, but for the time being, the focus had to remain upon Fionna and her problem. Time was an issue.

After nearly two hours, the larger of the two men in conservative suits set his glass down on a table with a sigh. He raised his voice to get everyone's attention.

"I'm hittin' the same dilemma over and over again, my friends. For a force to be powerful enough to have the effect Beauray is talkin' about, there must be some trace or indication of its direction or source. It's a case of conservation of energy, y'understand? Big effects call for big energy, and I don't see where it's comin' in, here. Nor why."

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Elizabeth said. "In real life, even the wizard Merlin could not simply wiggle a finger and move a mountain. There's far more to the equation than that. Both Mr. Boudreau and I should be sensitive enough in our own ways to detect any energy source strong enough to produce those spectacular results, but neither of us could pick up the faintest whiff of anything even fractionally powerful enough."

"Well, let's call a halt to the proceedin's," Boo said, glumly. "I want to thank y'all for comin' today. I'd appreciate it if you'd try to think of anythin' we haven't covered. Y'all know how to reach me. And keep your eyes open for any display of energy that strikes you as new or unusual."

"We'll do what we can," the café-au-lait woman said. She rose from the wing chair, laid a sympathetic hand on Boo's arm, and shook hands with Elizabeth. Her grip was firm, dry and comforting.

"I'll tell everyone I know to intensify their personal alertness," said the other man in a business suit. "We'll pin this thing down, Beauray."

"Thanks, Bobby Lee," Boo said. "Thank y'all for comin'." The room cleared quickly, as the peace of the watering hole was broken, and lifelong rivals hurried to get out before the shadow of the others fell on them.

"I must say, that was a new experience for me," Elizabeth said after the last of their guests had left. "Your friends were really quite helpful."

"Not helpful enough," Beauray said, almost to himself.

"Excuse me?"

"Hmm? Oh. Sorry about that, Elizabeth. I'm just a bit disappointed is all. For all the drinkin' and talkin', we still don't have any clearer idea of what's goin' on than when we started. I guess we just have to stay on our toes and hope for the best."

Lloyd Preston put his hand over the phone and turned to Fionna, who was sitting anxiously on the big bed on the upper floor of her suite.

"That was Kenny Lewis, wants to know when you're coming back to finish rehearsal."

"Not yet—not yet!" Fionna said, holding out her long-nailed hands. "I can't face them. It's been just too awful. I feel if I pull down one more disaster that it'll kill all of us!"

Lloyd spoke to the phone. "Maybe later, Ken boy. She needs a break. We're going to stay here for a while."

Fee's keen hearing picked up the tone of the grumble coming through the wire. She knew the others were upset with her, but she didn't know what else to do. Blast that Elizabeth Mayfield! She was always right—always had been. Fee started pacing around the sitting room, its dimensions suddenly too small. She flung herself into a chair and reached for a cigarette. Lloyd automatically dug into his pocket for the lighter before he even hung up the phone. She smiled up at him as she blew out a plume of smoke. He was so good to her.

"They're stopping for dinner, love," Lloyd said. "Mr. High-and-Michael wants you there for the evening run-through even if you're on your death bed."

Fee shuddered and let her head drop back against the cushy damask of the armchair. "I wish he wouldn't put it like that!"

She was too agitated to chant any of her spells of protection. How did she know they would do any good, anyhow? She had no way to tell. The books she'd bought from the occult antiquarian might be phonies. She hadn't read Latin at school, and had to rely on the translations. Liz seemed to be another deep believer, though, and she'd nosed around in the suite. Fee ought to be safe here. She wished she felt that way.

When the knock came at the door, Fee was unaware how long she'd been sitting and staring up at the ceiling. She shot a nervous look at Lloyd, who got up from the table where he'd been reading a book. He returned with a couple of large paper bags in his arms, and Robbie Unterburger trailing behind him.

"Hi, Fionna," Robbie said, timidly. Fee only raised an eyebrow at her.

"She brought us some dinner. Thank you, love. It was really thoughtful of you."

Robbie simpered as Lloyd set the bags down on the table and began to take clear plastic containers out of it. Something crisp-fried. Something stewed—two stewed somethings. A chunk of bread in a waxed paper bag. A mass of slightly wilted salad. The unfamiliar yet savory smells wafted toward Fee's nose, but couldn't work their magic on her. She was too tense to enjoy them. Unable to bear the sight of food, or Robbie, Fee looked away and stared at the curtains, conscious that the girl was staring at her.