She's a witch, Karen thought-a genuine, eighteen-carat witch. How did she know what I was thinking when I didn't even know myself? Or did she put the ideas into my head? No wonder Pat became interested in the history of magic and superstition. He had been inspired by watching his mother in action.

"It sounds as if you have everything under control," Mrs. MacDougal announced. "As for sources, I can help there; I have several friends who adore picking up an extra buck or two on the side."

"I'll have to pay you a commission."

"How much?" Mrs. MacDougal asked hopefully.

Karen started to laugh and then thought better of it. Mrs. MacDougal wasn't kidding. "Are you sure?" she ventured, indicating the finery littering the room.

"Quite sure. I wouldn't give my bossy son the satisfaction of admitting it, but he's right; this house is too much for me and my servants. Joseph would rather die than omit a single one of the rituals he considers essential, and one of these days he will-die, I mean. The rest of them are as old as Joseph-Rachel, my maid-you remember Rachel?-and the cook, and the others. I've tried to get them to retire, but they won't; and to be honest, I couldn't imagine life without them. They're my friends. So I'm going to sell, probably at the end of the summer."

"Pat doesn't want the house?"

"What would he do with it?"

"But it's a shame to have this lovely place pass out of the family after so many years-"

Mrs. MacDougal sniffed. "Sloppy sentimentality, my girl. The place is a damned white elephant; it ruined my father, trying to live up to an income he didn't have, and it was falling down around our ears until I married Jackson. Besides, things don't matter. People matter. There isn't a thing in the house, up to and including the house itself, that I wouldn't give up to add a year to Joseph's life."

"Well, of course. But-"

"But nothing. That's it. Have you finished?" Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. MacDougal rang the buzzer that summoned the maid. Rachel opened the door so promptly that Karen knew she had been hovering outside. Before the elderly servant could enter, a shaggy form squirmed through the opening and made a beeline for Karen. The latter hastily hoisted her feet, and the dog, missing its intended goal, snapped viciously at the leg of the chair.

"Bad dog! Bad dog!" Scolding in chorus, Rachel and Mrs. MacDougal converged on the animal. Mrs. MacDougal reached it first and lifted it in her arms.

Rachel gave Karen a hug. "I hope that nasty creature didn't hurt you, honey," she exclaimed. "I tried to keep him out, but he got by me somehow. I guess I'm not as light on my feet as I used to be."

"He missed." Karen returned to her chair, keeping a wary eye on Alexander.

Alexander's chief claim to fame was that he had won an "Ugliest Dog in Washington" contest. Mrs. MacDougal had been one of the patrons of the affair, held in aid of a worthy charity. It had been love at first sight, and she had persuaded the owner to sell him.

Alexander looked like… Karen's imagination always failed her when she tried to find a comparison. Alexander resembled no other creature, extinct or extant. He was about the size of a miniature poodle, but his legs were no longer than those of a dachshund. He was as fuzzy as a sheepdog from snout to rump, but his tail and rear end were obscenely bald. His coloring resembled that of a calico cat, patches of orange, black, and white on a gray background. But it was his head that had won the title. His ears reached almost to the floor. His canines stuck out at right angles to his jaw, which provided a useful guide to the location of his mouth, otherwise totally hidden by hair. Hair covered both his eyes. From time to time he would give his head an irritable shake, baring one optic for a brief period-mercifully brief, for Alexander's eyes were the most malevolent Karen had ever seen on a living creature. Compared to Alexander, buzzards and crocodiles looked kind. Mrs. MacDougal claimed that he located objects by a kind of radar rather than by sight, and he certainly could home in on an intended victim with diabolical speed and accuracy. His bite was worse than his bark, but not by much, for the acute angle of the canines prevented him from sinking them in, and the rest of his teeth, though sharp as needles, were not very long. He was only interested in two things-eating and biting people. His adoring owner insisted that the two were related, and that Alexander's attempts to take chunks out of visitors were the result of his poor sight. To give Alexander his due, it must be said that usually he only bit people once. Usually.

"Bad, bad doggie," Mrs. MacDougal crooned. "You remember Karen. You mustn't bite Karen. You love Karen. Karen loves you. Karen won't let you come and live with her if you bite her."

"Rrrr," said Alexander disagreeably.

Karen looked helplessly at Rachel, who was clearing the table and watching the proceedings at the same time. Rachel's plump shoulders lifted in a shrug. Rachel sympathized, but Rachel was not going to protest. She hated Alexander and had from the start.

"You mean you're going to give Alexander up?" Karen asked, trying to keep her voice from quivering.

"Of course I'm not going to give up my darling." Mrs. MacDougal squeezed Alexander. He burped in a vulgar fashion. "I'm not going to move into one of those nasty sterile nursing homes where the nurses call you honey. I'll buy a nice boring condo surrounded by barbed wire and security guards. Rachel will come with me, of course, and so will Alexander-was he his mother's darling, wassums? I just want you to keep him for me this summer while I travel."

"Where are you going?" Karen asked.

"Borneo." Mrs. MacDougal's sagging jowls split in a malignant grin. "Can't you see Pat's face when I come riding into the clearing on a donkey, or a gnu, or whatever they ride in those parts?"

"But," Karen gasped. "But-but-you can't-"

"Yes, I can." Alexander began squirming and Mrs. MacDougal put him down. "It will be my last fling. If I survive, I'll settle down at Golden Acres or Bide-a-Wee and behave myself. If I don't-well, hell's bells, Karen, I've had a good run. No complaints. I thought of going some time ago, but I couldn't leave Alexander. He doesn't get on well with Joseph, and Rachel is terrified of him- silly old fool. You are a silly old fool, Rachel, to be afraid of a poor little dog."

"Poor little dog nothing," Rachel exclaimed. "That's no dog, that's part alligator and part devil. Don't you take him, Miss Karen, honey. You won't have a spare inch of flesh on those pretty ankles."

"Nonsense. Once he gets used to Karen, he won't touch her. He never bites me."

"He don't like the way you taste," said Rachel.

"That's no way to talk to your employer," said Mrs. MacDougal, grinning. "Get on out of here or I'll make you go to Borneo with me."

"That's no threat, that's a promise," Rachel said grimly. "I am going to Borneo with you. You think you gonna go traipsing off into them jungles without somebody to take care of you, you got another think coming. You're the one that's a silly old fool. Never heard such a wild idea in my life."

She stamped out with the tray, her heavy tread shaking the table.

"I can't let her go with me," Mrs. MacDougal said. "She's too old."

Karen guessed that Rachel must be in her mid-seventies, which made her almost twenty years younger than Mrs. Mac. She tried desperately to think of an argument that might dissuade the old lady, or a way of preventing her, and realized she didn't have a leg to stand on. Even if she had had the legal right and the moral smugness to take such a step, Mrs. MacDougal could not be declared incompetent; she was quite sane-or, to put it another way, she was no crazier than she had ever been. Moreover, Karen sympathized with her point of view. When one's time approached, how much better to go out in a blaze of glorious lunacy, on a gnu, than to dribble one's life away in a rocking chair.