what the attraction was. I stayed on the outside of the circle until the last little bird, a

chickadee with a black mohawk, pink heart-shaped glasses, and an upside-down crucifix

necklace departed with a final curious look at me.

The professor was ejecting the video tape from the VCR as I approached. He looked up,

his eyes brilliantly green in the artificial light. Contacts, I thought. Nobody’s eyes were that

color.

“I enjoyed your lecture,” I said. “Is it your opinion, then, that the media don’t have any

particular influence over the young and suggestible?”

“That would be an indefensible position,” Snowden replied in that lazy public-school

accent. He tilted his head. “You arrived toward the end of my lecture. I prefer observers to

ask permission before they sit in.”

“Do you take a lot of heat over your curriculum?”

“This is UCLA,” he said. “I’m expected to be controversial. And you are –?”

“Curious.”

He arched a querying eyebrow.

I introduced myself, explained my relationship to Angus. I said all the usual stuff about

hoping I wasn’t catching him at a bad time and could I have a moment.

He was very brown and very muscular, like polished teak – but he exuded energy, a

virility that was anything but wooden. “So you’re Adrien English,” he murmured. “Well,

well.” He looked me up and down with a certain appraising glint that you generally don’t get

from straight guys. “Angus has spoken of you.”

I didn’t doubt it, since I’d had to read Angus the riot act on more than one occasion

when he’d blamed Snowden and the demands of academia for not getting his job done. No

stretch to think he’d used me and the bookstore in reverse circumstances.

“Have you seen Angus lately?”

He looked…guarded. Or maybe I was reading into a natural reservation about what

concern of mine it was. He said finally, “He missed class Friday and again today. No word of

explanation.”

“There may be extenuating circumstances,” I said. “Were you aware that he was being

harassed by former classmates?”

Once again Snowden raised the most supercilious eyebrow this side of the royal family.

“I was not,” he said finally.

“Apparently Angus and some other kids took a course with you called ‘Practical Magic.’

Witchcraft in modern society. Anyway, the enterprising little tykes went off and started

their very own coven – but I imagine you already know that.”

“Ridiculous,” he said sharply.

“What is ridiculous?”

“Why, the idea that a student – my students – would attempt to put into practice –”

He stopped.

I shrugged. He smelled a bit like pipe tobacco, which I like, and Masculine, which I

wear myself on occasion. I found it just the least bit distracting.

“You think these…classmates are harassing Angus? Exactly what do you mean by

harassing?”

“Curses – I don’t mean cussing, I mean threats – I’ve heard a few of the phone calls.

Alexander Graham Bell would not be happy.”

The green eyes narrowed. I had to admit that expression was not quite as enjoyable as

the way he’d originally looked at me.

When I failed to be razed to cinders, he asked, “What is it you think you can do about

this?”

“Well, I can start by talking to you. If you have any influence over the little shits,

perhaps you can warn them off. Maybe they don’t get that making threatening phone calls

violates both state and federal law.”

“And if I don’t…if I am unable to influence them?”

“Then I’ll talk to them.”

He spluttered. “Talk to whom? What makes you think I know who these…these

juvenile delinquents are?”

I’d figured this was likely a waste of time. If Angus trusted Snowden, or believed

Snowden could help him, he would have gone to him himself. But I was working at a

disadvantage. Snowden was the single lead I had. I said, “If you didn’t know, I think you

probably would have said so up front.”

His eyes flickered, acknowledging the truth of this. He either knew or strongly

suspected who these assholes were. “How are you qualified to deal with this sort of thing?

What makes you imagine you won’t make it worse by butting in?”

“It’s my experience this kind of thing thrives on secrecy. When you drag it into the

light, when you make it public, it tends to shrivel up and blow away.”

“Had a lot of experience with cults, have you?” he asked sardonically.

I said evenly, “We’ve all had experience with bullies. You can dress this in black and

teach it to quote bad poetry, but it’s still the same animal.”

His turned off the television set. Back to me, he said quietly, “I have no proof, but I

have my suspicions. Will you allow me to deal with this in my own way?”

“If you truly will deal with it.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his smile askew. “Word of honor.”

He offered a well-shaped, strong hand.

We shook on it. His grip was warm, just the right amount of pressure. I wondered how

far I should trust to the honor of one of Satan’s highly placed minions.

* * * * *

Bob Friedlander was waiting for me at Cloak and Dagger.

“We wanted to stop by and thank you for Friday night.”

We, White Man? Maybe he meant the publishing house; there was sure no sign of

Gabriel Savant.

“The pleasure was ours,” I said. “We had a great turnout. One of the best ever.” Angus

was the fan. He had pushed for that signing – and he had been right. It had been a success.

The shame was that Angus hadn’t been around to enjoy it.

“I hope you sold a lot of books?”

“We did very well.”

Friedlander appeared to be perusing the bookshelves behind the desk where Gabriel

had signed books.

Curiously, I inquired, “Was that announcement at the end for real? Is there a cult

expose in the works?”

He spared me a harassed look. “No. I can’t imagine what Gabe was thinking.” He stood

on tiptoe to examine the shelf above his head.

“So there is no book planned?”

“Absolutely not. It was a publicity stunt. A dumb stunt.” He removed a couple of books

from the shelf.

“What did you lose?” I asked.

His heard jerked my way. “Huh? Nothing. Well, actually…yes. You didn’t happen to