Dance with the Devil

descent into the valley her first day on the job, and she had no wish to try to make it back up that insanely steep roadway in even worse weather.
        And so the day passed.
        More wind.
        More snow.
        She watched them both, watched the woods, thought about the bonfire she had seen from this window, the dancing figures, the wolflike tracks in the snow….
        She washed her nylons in the sink, hung them on the shower rail to dry, painted her nails, nibbled at an apple.
        She found herself at the window again, attracted like a moth to a flame, staring at the site of the bonfire which was now covered with snow and as unremarkable as the rest of the land.
        She remembered Yuri saying that they had singled her out as the next convert to the beliefs which the cult held dear, that certain spells would be cast and that she would not be able to resist, that she might very well become as they…
        More wind.
        More snow.
        In the evening, when darkness had dropped across the snowscape without diminishing the speed of the falling flakes, she went downstairs to the library to choose a book from its richly stuffed shelves. The downstairs was as quiet and chilled as the second floor corridor had been, as if there were no one else in Owlsden but Katherine-or, even more exactly, as if this were not a house at all, but some ancient monument, a burial vault of pyramidal splendor. After twenty minutes of choosing one volume only to replace it when she leafed through it, she found a light romance which seemed just the thing to take her mind off the events in Owlsden. She was stepping out of the library into the downstairs corridor when the telephone rang, crying like a wounded bird in the dead silence.
        It rang twice before she picked it up from the table only a few steps to her right. “Hello?”
        “May I speak to Miss Sellers, please?” It was Michael Harrison.
        “This is me, Mike,” she said.
        “Katherine?”
        “Yes.”
        He sighed, relieved. “I was afraid that you'd be outside-or that they might not put you on the line.”
        She laughed softly. Just hearing his voice had done wonders for her, had recalled his warmth, the friendliness of his companions at the cafe-and had recalled, not least of all, the way he looked at her and the way he had kissed her only the night before.
        She said, “Why shouldn't they let me talk to you? Do you think they're all conspiring against me or something?”
        He paused too long for comfort and said, “Not Lydia, anyway.”
        “And what's that supposed to mean?”
        “I'm afraid to tell you,” he said, “for fear you won't believe me, that you'll get angry with me.”
        “Never,” she said, surprised at the boldness in her tone.
        Again he paused, considering his choice of words. “If I were to have the Rover up there at eleven this evening, do you think you could have your luggage outside, waiting for me-without letting anyone know what you are up to?”
        “Michael, this is hardly a time for jokes that-”
        “No jokes.”
        She thought a moment, said, “ What is the matter?”
        “You know how Alex is prejudiced against me,” he said.
        “Only too well.”
        “I hope you also understand that I would never talk against him just to ruin his character or for spite. I would not behave the way he does.”
        “I know you well enough to understand that,” she said.
        “Then understand that I fully believe what I'm about to tell you is the truth.”
        “Tell me, then, for heaven's sake!”
        Michael took a deep breath as if to fortify himself for the explanation, or as if he still was afraid she might not believe him. “I have some fairly convincing evidence that Alex Boland is a member of that Satanic cult which has been causing so much trouble lately.”
        “Alex?” she asked, stunned at the possibility. She had been willing to consider his friends-but not the son of her employer himself. Those who did awful things were always strangers, not people you knew. People you knew were better than that, unable to commit crimes. Or was that nothing more than her optimism working against her again?
        “Alex,” he confirmed. “And not only does it seem that he's a member of the cult, but that he's the head of it, the chief priest.”
        “I can hardly see why-”
        “These