The Mephisto Club

interests me is the chalk circle in Lori-Ann Tucker’s house. The one drawn on her kitchen floor.”
    There was no point denying the facts; this man already knew the details. “So what does the circle mean?”
    “It could be a ring of protection. Another symbol taken from satanic rituals. By drawing that circle, Lori-Ann may have been trying to shield herself. She may have been trying to control the very forces she was calling from the darkness.”
    “Wait. You think the
victim
drew it, to ward off the devil?” Her tone of voice left no doubt what she thought of his theory:
utter nonsense.
    “If she did draw it, then she had no idea who—or what—she was summoning.”
    The fire suddenly fluttered, flames reaching up in a bright claw. Maura turned as the inner door swung open and Dr. Joyce O’Donnell emerged. She paused, clearly surprised to see Maura. Then her attention shifted to Sansone.
    “Lucky me. After two hours of questions, Boston’s finest finally decided to let me go home. You throw a hell of a dinner party, Anthony. This is one evening you’ll never be able to top.”
    “Let’s hope I never do,” said Sansone. “Let me get your coat.” He rose and pushed open a wooden panel, exposing a hidden closet. He held up O’Donnell’s fur-trimmed coat and she slipped her arms into the sleeves with feline grace, her blond hair brushing across his hands. Maura saw familiarity in that momentary contact, a comfortable dance between two people who knew each other well.
    Perhaps very well.
    As she buttoned, O’Donnell’s gaze settled on Maura. “It’s been a while, Dr. Isles,” she said. “How is your mother?”
    She always goes straight for the jugular. Don’t let her see she’s drawn blood.
    “I have no idea,” said Maura.
    “You haven’t been back to see her?”
    “No. But you probably already know that.”
    “Oh, I finished my interviews with Amalthea over a month ago. I haven’t seen her since.” Slowly, O’Donnell pulled woolen gloves over long, elegant fingers. “She was doing well when I last saw her, in case you’re interested.”
    “I’m not.”
    “They have her working in the prison library now. She’s turned into quite the bookworm. Reads every psychology textbook she can get her hands on.” O’Donnell paused to give her glove a last tug. “If she’d ever had the chance to go to college, she could have been a star.”
    Instead, my mother chose a different path. Predator. Butcher.
No matter how hard Maura worked to distance herself, no matter how deeply she buried any thoughts of Amalthea, she could not look at her own reflection without seeing her mother’s eyes, her mother’s jaw. The monster peering back from the mirror.
    “Her case history will take up a whole chapter in my next book,” said O’Donnell. “If you’re ever willing to sit down and talk with me, it would contribute a great deal to her history.”
    “I have absolutely nothing to add.”
    O’Donnell simply smiled, clearly expecting the snub. “Always worth asking,” she said, and looked at Sansone. A gaze that lingered, as though she had something more to say, but could not say it in Maura’s presence. “Good night, Anthony.”
    “Shall I have Jeremy follow you home, just to be sure?”
    “Absolutely not.” She flashed him a smile that struck Maura as distinctly flirtatious. “I can take care of myself.”
    “These are different circumstances, Joyce.”
    “Afraid?”
    “We’d be crazy if we weren’t.”
    She flung her scarf around her neck, a theatrical flourish to emphasize that she, for one, was not going to let something as trivial as fear slow her down. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    He opened the door, letting in a whoosh of frigid air, a flurry of snowflakes that scattered like glitter across the antique carpet. “Stay safe,” he said. He waited in the doorway, watching as O’Donnell walked to her car. Only after she drove away did he close the door. Once again, he faced Maura.
    “So you and your friends think you’re on the side of the angels,” said Maura.
    “I believe we are.”
    “Whose side is
she
on?”
    “I know there’s no love lost between her and law enforcement. It’s her job as a defense witness to be at odds with the prosecution. But I’ve known Joyce for three years now. I know where she stands.”
    “Can you really be sure?” Maura picked up her coat, which she’d left draped over a settee. He did not attempt to help her on with it; perhaps