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played.
Truth frowned in disapproval. Even when she had been a committed
rationalist, the blind belief in the infallibility of the medical profession
had been one altar of Science at which she had never worshiped.
"Always a pleasure," Dr. Mahar said meaninglessly. "Now. How may I
help you?" He seated himself once more behind the meant-to-be-intim-
idating desk. If the outer room was designed to soothe and reassure, then
this one was meant to inspire unquestioning faith.
"I understand that Winter Musgrave was a patient here until recently.
I realize that her records will have been sealed, but I wonder if I might
speak to the doctor who supervised her care." Andfind out what HE thought
was wrong with her.
Dr. Mahar's face settled into an expression of grim dislike at the men-
tion of "patients." "We do not discuss our guests," he said brusquely.
Although it was only what she had expected once she had seen the
place, the man's arrogance was such that Truth could not resist needling
him a little.
"Ms. Musgrave came to the Institute for help. I know she would ap-
preciate your cooperation."
244 MARION Z ! M M E R BRADLEY
"'The Institute,'" Dr. Mahar said suspiciously. He looked down at the
card on his desk blotter--the same one she had handed to the reception-
ist at the front desk, Truth realized.
As the woman at the front desk had, Dr. Mahar, studied her card care-
fully. "'Psychic Science Research Institute,'" he read slowly. Nailed, Truth thought with
resignation.
As the meaning of his own words penetrated, Dr. Mahar raised his
eyes and glared steadily at her, his face darkening with unreasonable
anger. "Well! I don't know what your game is, young woman, but I must
say you show a certain amount of barefaced nerve coming here--" He got
to his feet.
Truth stood also, determined to outface him--for the honor of her
calling, if nothing else.
"Were there any unexplained fires while Ms. Musgrave was here? More
false alarms--shorts in the electrical system--than normal? Did staff and
other residents complain of missing small objects--many of which later
turned up in places inaccessible to both them and her? You had trouble
keeping the french doors in her room closed, I understand. The locks didn't
seem to help. You finally nailed the doors shut. Did that work? Or did
something pull out the nails every night and open them anyway?"
"That is enough/" Dr. Mahar blustered, his face an alarming scarlet.
"No, it is not." Truth's icy tone matched his. "The Margaret Beresfotd
Bidney Memorial Psychic Science Research Institute is a reputable orga-
nization with international standing, affiliated with a nationally ranked
college. The staff of the Institute is composed neither of frauds nor
quacks--as you seem to be implying. It is your decision not to cooperate
with my investigation if you choose, but l will not submit to being treated
like a simple-minded con artist."
There was a momentary silence as Dr. Mahar all but gaped at her in
shock. Truth wondered if he'd ever been spoken to that way by any
woman in his entire life---or by any person since he'd received his sacred
MD. But despite her expectations, Dr. Mahar was honest enough to try
to listen, and Truth watched with surprised pity as the man opposite her
struggled against a lifetime of assumption, of tacit promise never to
question the bounds of reality as marked for him by equally unquestion-
ing peers, of willful blindness.
W I T C H LI G H T 245
And fell, powerlessly, back into that blindness which was far more
comfortable than knowledge.
"I have nothing more to say to you," he said heavily. 'TII ask you to
leave now. As a professional courtesy I will not have you escorted from
the grounds."
Truth turned and walked out--before she broke something, and by far
more mundane means than that of a poltergeist.
We/l, that was a waste of time, Truth thought to herself, stepping out into
the hot spring sunlight once more. If she turned back to the building she
had just left, undoubtedly she would be able to see white-garbed Cer-
beruses peering out the windows, waiting to see if Security needed to be
called to deal with her after all. Truth felt cross and guilty. Why in God's
name had she come here?
"Ms. Jourdemayne? Truth Jourdemayne?" A voice came from behind
her.
Truth turned and peered in the direction of the voice, blinking against
the glare of the sun. All she could make out was the silhouette of a tall
figure. I guess they called Security after all.
"You don't have to get nasty, I was just leaving," she said peevishly.
"No. You don't understand. Winter Musgrave--is she all right?"
The speaker stepped forward, blocking the glare of the sun with his
body. Truth saw a spare man, closer to fifty than forty, with a tracery of
silver in his dark hair and an almost stereotypical mustache and goatee
edging his ascetic face. His eyes were a startling pale brown, nearly am-
ber, and he was wearing a white lab coat and dark trousers. The only
thing out of the ordinary about his appearance at all was the scarab pen-
dant in bright blue faience that hung from a silver chain about his neck
and rested against his sober institutional necktie.
The gossip mill in this place makes the one at Taghkanic look slow. "She's . . .
all right," Truth said. At least she was the last time I saw her, but maybe not
for long, if that creature catches up with her. "Who are you?"
"My name is Dr. Atheling; I'm a consultant here at Fall River. Winter
Musgrave wasn't my patient, but--may I have a few moments of your
time?"
Truth looked past him to the house. "I don't know," she said dryly.
W I T C H L I GH T 247
What you mean is, Dr. Luty drugged her nearly insensible,f Truth mused fu-
riously.
"Now, let me ask you a question," Dr. Atheling continued. "Why did
Winter seek out the Bidney Institute after she left Fall River?"
Truth hesitated, wondering how much she should tell this man who
seemed to fit in so oddly with everything else she'd seen of Fall River.
"Poltergeists," she finally said. She might as well tell him the truth, after
all; she could hardly damage her reputation--or Winter's--further, at
least in the eyes of Fall River.
"A classic presentation, wouldn't you say?" Dr. Atheling said.
Truth looked at him sharply. Her eye was drawn once more to the
bright azure spark of the scarab Dr. Atheling wore about his neck. Al-
most instinctively she shifted her sight to see him, not as this world saw
him, but as he appeared in the Otherworld.
Blinding white light; a rigorous discipline refined down through centuries; of
li~ after li~ dedicated to the Great Work...
Truth recoiled, involuntarily flinging up a hand to shield herself. Dr.
Atheling was an Adept; a follower of the Right Hand Path, but unlike
any such Adept she had met before. At the same moment, she saw him
quickly sketch a symbol in the air; meant for defense against the Dark-
ness and the Great Unmaking, it barely touched her.
"So," Dr. Atheling said. "It's true. There are.., others."
He studied her intently, as if trying to solve a riddle that Truth knew
to be unsolvable. Not Black, not White, but... Gray. "What is your in-
terest in this matter?" he added pointedly. His manner was no more hos-
tile than it had been a moment before, but there was a stern watchfulness
present now, as of a warrior awaiting the summons to battle once more.
"Winter Musgrave came to the Bidney Institute for help," Truth said
honestly, dismissing her personal curiosity for the moment. "If you've
heard of us, you'll know that we receive many requests for help each year
from people who are certain they are haunted.., or possessed."
Dr. Atheling gazed at her intently for another frozen moment, then
seemed to come to a decision. He relaxed, and smiled at her again with
genuine warmth.
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