“I’m a writer,” he told her.
“He’s had. quite a few stories published,” Kay said, taking her gin and tonic as the bartender offered it.
“I see.” Again Dr. Drago’s eyes moved, very quickly, to Evan’s tie. Then back to his face. She was smiling, but Evan could sense a very definite power behind her eyes; now he knew what Kay had been talking about. It seemed that this woman was trying to pick his brain with her gaze. And nearly succeeding, because Evan felt the sudden urge to tell her about his Bethany’s Sin project. But he resisted. And imagined for an instant that he saw something flicker in Dr. Drago’s gaze—something very brief and sharp, like the dancing of deep blue flames across a gas stove. Evan blinked in spite of himself, and then that strange illusion vanished. The noise of the music seemed louder, more irritating to his senses.
“I didn’t realize until recently that you’re the mayor of Bethany’s Sin,” Kay said. “How in the world can you handle that and your duties at George Ross, too?”
“Not without much effort, I promise you,” she said, looking at Kay now. “But I suppose that, in all honesty, there’s not that much difficulty in managing the affairs of a village the size of this one. And the villagers are all so willing to help, as well.” She smiled. “I delegate ninety-nine percent of the work to others.”
“What about the historical society?” Evan asked. “That has to take up a lot of time, too, doesn’t it?”
She slowly turned her head toward him. Her eyes suddenly seemed heavy-lidded, as if she were regarding him with disdain. She was still smiling, but the smile now appeared cold and calculated. “Ah,” she said quietly. “You know more about me than I thought.”
Evan shrugged. “Just information I’ve picked up here and there.”
She nodded. “Yes. That’s part of your profession, isn’t it? Digging, I mean? The historical society…takes care of itself.”
“I went to the museum a few days ago,” Evan continued, watching for this woman’s reactions, “but it was locked. Neither Kay nor I have had a chance to tour it. I’m very interested in historical artifacts.”
“Are you? That’s Wonderful. History’s a fascinating subject. My life, as a matter of fact. After all, what would the present and the future be without the foundation of the past?”
“I agree. But exactly what kind of relics are inside there? From what period of history?”
She gazed into his eyes for no more than a few seconds. But to Evan it seemed like an eternity. Again he thought he saw that electric flame dance, and mental fingers seemed to be clawing at his skull. The scorching intensity of this woman’s gaze caused a pain behind his own eyes. “Very old and valuable artifacts from an archaeological excavation I supervised in 1965, on the southern shore of the Black Sea. They’re on extended loan from the Turkish government”
“Archaeology? I understood you were a professor of history.”
“Quite so. But archaeology was my first love. When I left field work I drifted more into the study of history.” She looked over at Kay for a moment. “Kay, wouldn’t you like another drink?”
Kay paused for a few seconds, blinked, then said, “Yes. I would.” She gave her glass, still half-filled, to Dr. Drago, who turned away from them to the bar.
“Mr. and Mrs. Reid!” someone said behind them. “How nice to see you!”
They turned to face Mrs. Giles, wearing a flowing gown with golden threads running through it; behind her there was a dark-haired man of medium height in a light brown suit. “This is my husband, David,” Mrs. Giles said, making introductions all around. Evan reached out to shake the man’s right hand, and David Giles offered his left, turning it around to clasp Evan’s hand firmly. It was then that Evan realized, with an icy rush through his veins, that the sleeve of David Giles’s right arm was pinned up just below the elbow. He stared at that sleeve for a few seconds dumbly, hearing his heart beat within him like a distant pagan drum of warning.
“Your gin and tonic,” Dr. Drago said, giving the glass back to Kay. “Hello, Marcia, David,” she said, nodding to them. “I suppose you know the Reids.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Giles said, “we do.”
“Help yourself to whatever you want at the bar,” Drago told them. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better make the rounds of my guests. Enjoy yourselves.” And then she had gone out onto the patio, leaving that lingering odor of musk around Evan like an invisible, sweet-scented noose.
Kay and Marcia Giles made small talk about the village for a few minutes while Evan studied David Giles; the man seemed ill at ease, his shoulders hunched up as if he were expecting a blow across the back of his neck. He looked to be in his late forties, with dark brown eyes and cheeks that were almost gaunt. He never allowed his gaze to be held by Evan’s; always he evaded Evan’s eyes, as if fearful of looking at the other man. But it was that pinned right sleeve that disturbed Evan. He remembered the armless figure he’d seen silhouetted against window curtains, and he felt a cold finger, like the touch of steel, along his spine.
“What do you do for a living?” Evan asked the man.
Giles looked up at him as if he hadn’t heard. “Pardon me?”
“Your work. What do you do?”
“I…sell insurance for Pennsylvania State Equity. We’re the company with the big umbrella that covers everything.”
“Right,” Evan said, and smiled. “I’ve seen the television commercials. Do you have an office in the village?”
“No, I work out of my home.” He paused for a moment, looking around the room. “Marcia’s told me about you and your wife. You moved into a house on McClain Terrace?”
“That’s right.”
“A fine neighborhood,” he said. Another pause. “I hope you’ve found the village to your liking.”
“It’s an interesting place,” Evan said. “Of course, for me any place with secrets is interesting.” He said it calmly and slowly, watching the man’s face. It showed no reaction, though from the corner of his eye Evan saw Mrs. Giles’s head turn slightly toward him.
“Secrets?” Mrs. Giles asked, smiling pleasantly. “What kinds of secrets?”
“I’ve been doing some research for an article on the village,” Evan explained. “There seems to be a secret behind the village’s name. Or let’s just say it’s damned difficult finding out anything about it.”
Mrs. Giles laughed softly. What kind of insect does she remind me of? Evan wondered. Something cunning and aggressive. Yes. A praying mantis. “I’m sorry if you’ve found that to be so,” she said. “I could’ve saved you some bother, I suppose. In the fifties there was nothing here but a few clapboard houses and a general store. But there was one important resident: his name was George Bethany, and he owned a…well, lets just say he was a self made businessman with an eye for the ladies. Some of those ladies he put to profitable labor. On their backs.”
Evan raised an eyebrow. “Prostitution?”
“I’m afraid so. His ladies served the farmers and woodsmen in the Johnstown area until the police ran him out of the state. Someone—I don’t know who—came up with the name Bethany’s Sin in dubious honor of the man. The name stuck, though we’ve been trying to get it changed for some time now.”
Evan shrugged. “Why change it? I think it’s very interesting.”
“Not quite the image we’d like the rest of the state to see, though.” She smiled her praying-mantis smile. “And certainly not what we’d want all Pennsylvania to read about.”
“It was just an idea he was working on,” Kay said defensively.
“An idea I am working on,” he corrected her. Then looked again at Mrs. Giles. “How did you find out about all this?”
“Property is my business. I was searching for some old records of ownership in Johnstown when I came across some of the man’s…professional records. They’re stored in the basement of the Johnstown municipal building. At least they were there three—no, four years ago. Might not be there now.”
?
??I’ll have to have a look sometime.”
“Well, good luck.” Mrs. Giles reached over for her husband, touched the stump of his severed arm. and began to caress it. “Though I must say I hope your article remains unwritten. I’m afraid the villagers aren’t as open-minded as you might think.”
Meaning what? Evan wondered, looking into her flat, stony gaze. That Kay and I might be tarred and feathered and run out of the village? That we’d become social outcasts? Whatever the penalty, the veiled threat was there. Interesting in itself. Evan took Kay’s hand. “I think we’ll mix and mingle,” he told the woman. “It was very good to see you again. And good to meet you.” He nodded to ward David Giles and saw in that man’s eyes an unfathomable and disturbing darkness. He’d seen that empty stare before, and he searched his memory. Yes, of course. The eyes of Harris Demargeon. And the eyes of the men who’d been caged behind bamboo bars in a Vietcong POW holding camp. What could they possibly have in common?
Evan led Kay toward the patio. “What’s wrong?” she asked him as they stepped outside. “You’re acting strange.”
“Oh? How?”
“Preoccupied. And you were a little rude to Mrs. Giles, weren’t you?”
“I wasn’t aware of it,” he said. “If I was rude, I’m sorry.”
“And you stared at her husband’s arm as though you’d never seen an amputee before.”
Evan grunted. “That’s the trouble,” he said quietly. “I have.”
She looked at him, not understanding. His gaze had darkened, and she quickly looked away so she wouldn’t see those strange, haunted things surfacing from the hiding places in his soul. Not here! she told him mentally. Please, for God’s sake! Not here!
He put his arm around her. “I’m okay,” he said, as if he’d sensed her growing fear. “Really I am.” It was a lie. The clockwork mechanisms in his brain had begun to turn around the angles of questions, vague premonitions, feelings he was unable to shake. Can’t let her see it, he said to himself. Got to keep myself under control.
And suddenly, from out of the throng of people on the wide, wrought-iron railed patio, another couple stood before them. The man was shorter and stockier than Evan, and perhaps a few years older, with longish sandy brown hair and alert, intelligent-looking blue eyes. A briar pipe was clenched between his teeth, but it didn’t seem to be lit. Beside him stood a pretty, petite woman with honey blond hair and attractive green eyes that reflected the lanterns’ light from the trees. Somehow they seemed to fit together, though Evan could tell with one glance that they were opposites: he gregarious and outspoken, she more sensitive and thoughtful.
“Don’t I know you?” the man asked, looking at Kay quizzically.
“I don’t think so…”
“Oh, yes, I do! You’re the new math teacher at George Ross, aren’t you?”
She nodded, thinking that his face looked oddly familiar. And then, seeing that patched pipe, she remembered. “Of course! You’re the man who lost money in the Coke machine in the teachers’ lounge one day. You’re a professor of—”
“The classics,” he said, and smiled, turning to Evan and thrusting out a hand. “I’m Doug Blackburn, and this is my wife, Christie.” Evan shook hands with him and introduced Kay and himself. “They still haven’t given me my money back yet,” the man told Kay. “Cheap bastards pick your pockets over there. Have you eaten in the cafeteria yet? If you haven’t, let me warn you about it. Don’t go without a physician at your side. And make sure he brings a stomach pump. Better still, bring your own lunch from home!” They laughed, and the man looked around at the other people on the patio. “So many people here, but not very many we know.” He put his arm around his wife. “Where do you two live?”
“Bethany’s Sin,” Evan said.
“We’ve driven through there a few times,” Christie said. “It’s a very beautiful village.”
“Do you live near here?” Kay asked them.
“In Whittington,” Blackburn said. “Boring as all hell over there. They roll the sidewalks up at five o’clock. So”—he paused for a few seconds while he lit his pipe with a match—“are your classes all right?”
“It’s still touch and go,” she explained. “If I can make it through August, I think everything will be fine.”
“Let’s hope we all make it through August. Little bastards in my eight o’clock class are driving me crazy. Never do their outside reading, never answer questions in class; they wouldn’t know a Gorgon if Medusa herself gave them the eye. I’m going to flunk every damned one of them. No, I’d better not do that. At least, not for spite.” He struck another match and held it above the pipe’s bowl.
“Mythology?” Evan asked. “That’s one of your subjects?”
“That’s right. Mythology, Roman history, Latin, Greek. Are you interested in it?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. I saw an etching over at the library in Bethany’s Sin; it shows a woman with a bow and arrow in a forest setting. She’s some sort of Greek deity, and I was wondering…”
“Artemis,” Blackburn said. “But she’s recognized by other names as well: Diana, Cybele, Demeter.”
“Oh. What’s she the goddess of?”
Blackburn smiled and shrugged. “A little of everything. Those Greeks had a tendency to complicate things, including the powers of their deities, you know. Artemis was the goddess and protector of women, overseer of the harvest, and goddess of the moon. But she’s most commonly known as the Huntress.”
“The…Huntress?” Evan asked quietly.
Kay took his arm. “What’s all this about?” she asked. “I didn’t know you were so interested in mythology.”
“I wasn’t until just recently.”
“Then you’ve probably been talking to Kathryn Drago,” Blackburn said. “She’s cornered me more than a few times, too. And since you live in Bethany’s Sin, I’m not surprised you’re curious about Artemis.”
Evan paused for a few seconds. “I don’t understand,” he said finally.
“The museum in Bethany’s Sin!” Blackburn said. “Artemis was the goddess of the—”
“Here you are,” someone said, a figure moving alongside Evan and taking his arm. “I’ve been looking for you.” Dr. Drago nodded toward Blackburn and his wife. She held a cut-crystal glass filled with a thick-looking red wine. “Dr. Blackburn. I see you and your wife have met the Reids?”
“Yes, and we were talking about a subject you should be interested in,” he said offhandedly. “Mr. Reid was asking about the goddess Artemis. I don’t suppose you’ve given him the grand tour of your museum yet?” He smiled thinly.
Dr. Drago was silent for a moment as she swirled the wine around in the glass. Ominously silent. Evan could feel a hostile tension building between her and the other man, and he knew Kay could feel it too, because Kay’s muscles seemed to have tightened. “You’re mocking me,” Drago said quietly. “I’m not sure I like that.”
Blackburn stood perfectly still, as if transfixed. Perhaps he felt the same thing that Evan did: the presence of something dangerous within the woman that might suddenly leap without warning.
“Your private opinions are, of course, your own,” the woman said calmly. “But when you choose to make them public, in my house, you tread on dangerous ground. Dr. Blackburn, for a man of intellect you are surprisingly…myopic. Perhaps this autumn we’ll schedule that debate we’ve been considering?”
“I have the feeling our debate’s already begun,” Blackburn said, glancing uneasily at a few of the guests who’d moved in a circle around them.
Drago smiled. Her eyes were like blazing blue bits of glass, seconds out of the kiln, still glowing with unrestrained power. But there was no heat from them; only a numbing cold. “I’ll destroy you,” she said. “You’ll stand on your opinions, and I’ll stand on my evidence.”
“Evidence?” Blackburn shook his head incredulously. “What evidence? Those fragments and weapons you’ve put under glass in your museum? Surely not
!”
A group of people had gathered, drawn by the man and woman standing like combatants beside Kay and Evan. Kay found herself staring at Blackburn’s head as if she could see the skull.
“I have truth,” Drago said.
“No. Only myths. And dreams.”
Drago leaned toward the man. Evan thought for an instant that her hand, still clutching his arm, had begun to tighten its grip. He could feel the strength behind it, as if her fingers were flesh-covered bands of metal. “In a cavern on the shores of the Black Sea,” she said very quietly, but all ears could hear her because her voice had taken on a. low, threatening quality, “I found what I’d been searching for all my life. Not dreams. Not myths. But reality. I touched the cold stone walls of that tomb, Dr. Blackburn. And no man on earth can mock what I know to be true.” Her eyes glinted.
It seemed to Evan that the circle of people around them had become larger and tighter. When he looked up, he saw that, oddly, they were all women.
“I’m not mocking your beliefs,” Dr. Blackburn persisted, though his wife was gripping his sleeve now, “and of course your Black Sea excavation was important by anyone’s standards. But I’m telling you as a professor of classics, you have no basis on which to—”
“No basis!” The woman spoke sharply and, Evan thought, bitterly. He sensed raging emotions within her, and he sensed also that she was holding herself back with tremendous willpower. “For over ten years I’ve been trying to prove my beliefs,” she said. “I’ve gone back to both Greece and Turkey several times to follow whatever threads of information I could uncover—”
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll follow those threads right into the ground. There’s simply no hard evidence.”
A chill skittered down Evan’s spine. Of course he didn’t understand what the man and woman were arguing about, but he now had a feeling of deep dread and sudden, inexplicable panic. The music was still playing from the house, but it sounded distant now, worlds away. The group of women who had ringed them out of mere curiosity now seemed threatening. Beside him, Kay trembled. Dr. Drago released his arm, and he was certain her grip had left bruises.