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said. “But I’ve not heard of a ritual that fits this description, although there are as many ceremonies as practitioners. Crucifixion is, of course, an important element in many ancient European sacrifices. There were no distinguishing attributes? Markings? Figures? Herbs?”
    “Just the body,” Alex said.
    When they’d lived in Constantinople, a certain Pasha-come-police-magistrate had approached Constantine for help with these types of murders. Surprisingly, given how Grandfather felt about the Turks, he’d always been gracious and helpful. His interest in morbid criminality apparently outweighed his political aversions.
    “Perhaps the ritual was only symbolic, not necessarily efficacious,” he said. “It’s also interesting that one of your new friends observed a relationship to the stigmata. And a female?”
    Alex laughed. “The world’s changing on you, Grandfather. I read in the paper about women starving themselves in protest for the right to vote.”
    The expression that crossed Grandfather’s face was like that of a man discovering a long overlooked cheese in the ice-box.
    “Allowing women the franchise would be like expecting fish to speak.”
    Alex’s sinuses filled with snorted coffee grinds.
    “Some Greek you are,” he said when he recovered.
    Constantine’s yellowing old eyes narrowed.

    A sliver of rising sun peeked above the horizon as Alex headed for the Highland Avenue trolley. He enjoyed the brisk walk until his reverie was disturbed by a neighbor’s German Shepherd barking at him incessantly. Dogs made Alex nervous, particularly pointy-eared dogs with ill-natured temperaments. He was chased for at least a quarter-mile, escaping only when the streetcar drowned out the barks, shrieking and rattling around the corner. He swung onto the crowded trolley and clung to a pole while the dog continued its pursuit, losing ground and eventually reaching some territorial limit.
    As the vehicle rolled into town he marveled again at the contrast with Greece, and not just the wood and brick buildings. New England buzzed with energy, smokestacks and construction, a constant reminder of the infestation of factories and businesses. People here didn’t revel in past glories — they worked, fashioning the raw materials borne in on trucks and carts into finished goods. Americans were clearly fond of the whole process, judging by the time and money they spent flitting about the insane variety of shops.
    The buildings grew more residential near the new high school, where Alex spied a handwritten sign, “Special Assembly, 7:00 a.m., Hawthorne Hall.” He let the current of students pull him inside. Brick walls and terrazzo flooring amplified the boisterous conversations. He’d been forcing himself to think in English, but his lack of fluency hit home with every babbled sentence.
    “Alex! Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”
    He swiveled too slow to avoid a jovial blow to the back. Sam stood with his twin and another girl who looked like a miniature reflection of her.
    “Let me introduce our baby sister, Emily,” Anne said with a big grin. “I’m embarrassed to say that your surname escapes me.”
    “I’m not a baby anything. I’m fourteen.” The girl gave Alex a theatrical curtsey. “I’m embarrassed to say God made me Anne’s sister.”
    “Ignore them,” Sam said. “Sarcasm is a Williams family trait. In England, two hundred years ago, some ancestor insulted an important lord, and onto the boat they shoved her.”
    He gave Anne a push. She stumbled right into Alex and he barely managed to grab her arms before they ended up in a decidedly public embrace.
    “Thanks,” she whispered, and turned to kick Sam in the shin.
    She was still grinning when the surrounding babble quieted and Principal Burnsworth took the stage.
    “It is with great regret that I inform you of the tragic death of one of our entering freshmen, Charles Danforth…”
    The low murmur of the crowd rose to a cacophony as