Book of Shadows Read Free

sat on the bed and carefully cleaned their ritual knives, removing all traces of blood from the blade and polishing the black handles. As they worked they spoke in Shelta Thari, the language of the Celtic Druids, a language thought to have disappeared from Britain.
    They talked of the man they would kill tomorrow, the antique dealer who was the first of the five threatening the tribe’s life.

THREE
    “S OMEONE BROKE INTO THE house and took two things,” said Nathan Shields. “They stole my address book and a photograph taken of the five of us in England last year.”
    “Doesn’t make sense. You’ve got thousands of dollars worth of antiques lying around. Wasn’t there cash, television sets, clothing, jewelry … ?”
    “None of it touched. Not so much as a pair of tweezers. Naturally my first reaction was that I’d misplaced the book and the maid had simply shifted the photograph to suit her taste, whatever that was. Then I remembered: The maid hadn’t been there in over a week. As for the address book, I tore the house apart and couldn’t find it. But I did find something else—several things, actually—which convinced me that someone had searched my house and I do mean searched.”
    “Like what?” said Marisa Heggen.
    “My shoes.” Nathan Shields sighed, a small hand over his heart.
    “Your what?”
    “Shoes. I’m particular about them, as you well know. I think the operative word is prissy. No one’s allowed to touch them except me. One hundred and four pairs of shoes, all neatly numbered on racks in two closets. When I found a Pierre Cardin sandal on the floor, I knew someone had been poking around.”
    Marisa smiled at him. “Nat, you are married. Doesn’t Ellie—”
    “In twenty-six years of marriage, Ellie has never touched my shoes. She wouldn’t dare. Besides, Ellie hasn’t been near the house for almost two weeks. She spends most of her time in the apartment here in town, especially when the ballet’s at City Center. The maid’s got her own problems. Immigration wants to deport her back to Santo Domingo, so lately she’s been spending more time with a lawyer than with a vacuum cleaner. When I hired Lupe I had a Spanish-speaking acquaintance of mine lay down the ground rules in her native tongue, the most important of which was stay the hell away from my shoes. In over two years of working for me, Lupe never touched so much as a shoelace or a Gucci buckle.”
    Marisa held her cup towards him for more cognac.
    “What about the two men who take care of your horses?”
    “Gone,” said Nathan Shields as he poured. “Actually they’re coming back tomorrow morning. I’d given them some time off. I sold the last of the palominos ten days ago, remember?”
    “I remember.”
    “I’m having a pair of brood mares delivered this evening, which is why I’m closing the shop around six and driving over to the house. One man’s reporting in tomorrow morning and he and I’ll check reports on the studs we’d like to use, their bloodlines, fees, and so forth. I’m going to breed again, so to speak. A marvelous thought at my age.”
    Marisa watched him bring a three-hundred-year-old pink and gold teacup to his small mouth, inhale the aroma of the cognac before sipping it, and gently place the antique cup back on a matching saucer. The loss of the address book and photograph obviously bothered this man, who insisted that his life be precise and orderly in all things. Nat never suffered the violation of his privacy gladly. Psychic rape, he called it.
    She leaned over, took his hand, and watched his lips spread in a tentative smile. Nathan and Ellie Shields, in their mid-fifties and old enough to be Marisa Heggen’s parents, were her best friends. He was a successful antique dealer on Madison Avenue, a balding little man with a long, sad face that reminded Marisa of Stan Laurel. Nathan Shields was the kindest man Marisa knew and too intelligent to allow the loss of an address book and a