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of researchers on a project dear to my heart.”
    Liz allowed herself a question. “About vampires?” she asked. It was all she asked, but Hugo Shawcross gave her an impatient glance as if she had interrupted some private moment, and turned back to Elodie.
    â€œHave you heard of the Malleus Maleficarum ?” Without waiting for a response, he continued, “Not many have, so let me explain. It is a fifteenth-century Latin text on the hunting of witches. In English, the title means ‘The Hammer of Witches.’ At one time, there was much heated discussion in the Catholic Church about its validity as a part of Catholic doctrine, but the twentieth century more or less threw it out the stained glass window.” He chortled at his little bon mot . “We, a group of us, feel it’s time to take another look at it.”
    Elodie got up, took Hugo’s plate back to the stove for another helping of lamb. His back was to her and, above his head, she threw a glance at Liz and grimaced. “Sorry, Hugo, if I’m being a bit slow here, but does this book have anything to do with vampires?” She brought the plate back to the table and placed it in front of him, then reached out for Liz’s plate.
    â€œIt’s okay, El. I’ll get my own, thanks. This is just delicious.”
    Cutting into her remark, Hugo went on. “Not directly, but the man who first translated it from the Latin was indeed a vampirologist. His name was Montague Summers. A much misunderstood man, in my opinion. I became interested in him, and thus interested in vampires.”
    â€œHence the subject matter of the play.”
    â€œOh yes! The perfect topic to bring in a younger audience, and to recruit new talent to the group. A dramatic theme.” Hugo wiped a piece of bread around the last juices on his plate.
    â€œA melodramatic theme.”
    Standing behind him, Liz could not see the expression on Hugo Shawcross’s face at her observation, but she saw Elodie’s eyes widen. She picked up her plate and walked back to her seat. As she passed him, he grasped her arm, nearly knocking the plate out of her hands.
    â€œWrong, little lady, wrong. Serious theatre. I will not allow it to be played any other way.”
    Looking down into his eyes, Liz saw malevolence — or was she now being melodramatic? She pulled her arm away.
    â€œSorry I spoke.” She resumed her seat and her meal as if nothing much had happened.
    â€œBut there is the chance nothing will come of this, because of Mrs. Maxwell’s opposition.” Elodie poured herself the last of the wine from the bottle on the table. She could hear the wind getting up and starting a gentle moaning in the chimney, the defruited elderberry tap-tapping against the kitchen door. They were usually familiar, soothing sounds, but the conversation around the kitchen table gave them a disturbing quality.
    â€œExactly. I think I played my cards wrong there. Any advice as to how I can appease the lady?”
    â€œYes.” Elodie got up and started clearing the dishes. “Write a part for her she cannot bear to refuse. There are always more women than men in community theatre, and more competition for roles. Is there a good role for her in the play?”
    She laughed, and removed the empty wine bottle from the table. Hugo had demolished most of it, also the first, and was now at the stage where his tongue was having difficulties shaping itself around his words. He was looking thoughtful.
    â€œNot yet, but I haven’t started Act Two. “ His face lit up. “But I have the perfect role for her daughter!”
    Liz, who was beginning to wonder when she could take her departure, but also whether she should leave her aunt with this weirdo who clearly wanted nothing more than to be left on his own with her, started to pay attention.
    â€œMarla Maxwell?” Elodie asked. “Stunning girl, and quite a handful, from what I hear.