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the Labyrinth. Could they have been the same person? Fentrice’s grandfather, and her—she counted it out on her fingers—great-great-grandfather? Was that why her aunt had saved the pamphlet? But then who was Lydia, Harrison’s wife in the pamphlet? Was that Neesa, the old woman who played pool?
    “The Order of the Labyrinth,” she wrote on the back of the article. “OotL.” She had started to think of it as Ootle.
    How could she find something like that out? Her aunt had forgotten most of it, or so she claimed. Maybe she could hire a private investigator. And hey—she even knew one, John Stow. She just didn’t like him very much.

THREE
    A Sheep in Capricorn
    O n her lunch break a few days later Molly stopped into Tangled Tales, a used bookstore near work with a large occult and metaphysical section. The store was dim, the bookshelves high, with books piled sideways two and even three deep. She picked her way through the narrow aisles, stepping around the leaning stacks of books on the floor. Dust covered everything. A white cat jumped soundlessly from a shelf to the floor.
    A man stood behind the counter at the back of the store adding up a column of figures on a yellow legal pad. He wore a white turban, though with his fair skin he probably wasn’t Indian.
    “Excuse me,” Molly said. The clerk continued to study his numbers. “I’d like some help, please.” Silence from the clerk. “Listen—could you tell me if you have any books on the Order of the Labyrinth?”
    The clerk looked up, blinking. The eyes under the turban were blue. “The Order of the Labyrinth? Where on earth did you hear about them?” he asked.
    “I saw a pamphlet.”
    “Ah. Lady Westingate’s lecture.”
    “How did you know?”
    “That’s the only piece of writing that’s ever come down from the Order. Other people have written about them, of course, mostly rumors and attacks from rival groups.” He paused. “The thing about the Order of the Labyrinth is that several eyewitnesses claim to have seen them work, well, magic.…”
    “Do you have any books about the Order?”
    The man shrugged. “There aren’t any, other than bits and pieces in general histories of the occult. No one knows what happened to them. They seem to have vanished around the turn of the century.”
    “What about the lecture, the pamphlet? Do you have that?”
    “It’s fairly rare. The last time I saw one was, oh, three-four years ago. If you’re looking to sell yours …”
    “It isn’t mine.”
    “Ah. Well, I can take your name and phone number and give you a call if I find one, but like I said I don’t get them too often. It’ll run you something like—oh, I couldn’t let it go for under a hundred dollars.”
    “A hundred dollars!”
    “People are intrigued by them. An order that worked real magic …”
    Molly hesitated. She didn’t want to give this odd man her phone number, and she didn’t have a hundred dollars. The visit to her aunt had taken all her savings. Well, it was John Stow’s problem, after all. Let his mysterious client pay for the pamphlet. She opened her purse and took out the card he had given her.
    “Here’s the person who’s interested,” she said. “Let him know if you find a copy.”
    The clerk looked at the card. “Private investigator,” he said. “May I ask what … ah …”
    Molly wished the man would finish a thought, complete a sentence. “I have no idea, really,” she said, and turned to go. Tonight she would give Stow a call, bring him up to date. If he found anything out he could let her know.
    After she left another man stepped out of the back room of the store. “The Order of the Labyrinth!” he said, sounding impressed. He wore a flat racing cap. “I thought we knew everyone who was interested in the Order.”
    “I guess we don’t,” the bookstore clerk said. His pale blue eyes were still looking toward the door, though Molly was nowhere to be seen. He held the card Molly had given him