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were now climbing the steps, and their owner would be appearing at the top of the flight in a very few seconds' time.
    Why was she filled with this unreasonable fear, this sudden panic that was enveloping her, making her breath come rapidly, making the back of her neck prickle as she stood in the darkness? I his crazy place had unsettled her so drastically. Had Scotty's fears of "vultures" and her own overworked imagination colored her ability to think clearly?
    After all, it was probably Mrs. Raymond, or even Mr. Raymond, trying to find her, to give her a message, to show her around. There were a million normal reasons why someone might be seeking her out. She was being ridiculous in her fright.
    She was almost ready to step forward into the slight beam of light that filtered into the turret room, ashamed to admit her slip of reason, ready to laugh at her sudden attack of suspicion. But just as she was putting her foot out from behind the polished armor, a dark head appeared at the top of the stairway. It was not Mrs. Raymond, it was not Mr. Raymond.
    Indeed, the figure that climbed the last few steps, slowly and quietly, was a person she had never seen before. The fear was stuck in her throat again. Her heart was pounding with great intensity.
    What should she do?
    The dark figure spoke.
    "Now isn't that the strangest thing? Where the heck did she get to? Nurse Holt? Nurse Holt, where are you?"
    His voice was young and cheerful and light. Somehow it didn't fit the terrifying image she had conjured up of her pursuer. She took a deep breath and stepped out from her shadowy hideout.
    "I'm right here," she said quietly. "Why are you following me?" Her voice was cool and calm, hut her heart was still hammering at a ferocious pace. She didn't like this place. She didn't like the things it did to her mind.
    "Just playing detective. I guess. I suppose you're wondering who the heck I am."
    "Good deduction, Sherlock." Her green eyes stared defiantly into his.
    "Oh, a feisty one. I like that. Well, for starters, I'm Mitchell Morrison, aged twenty-six, most distant relative of the wonder-witch who owns this mausoleum. My grandmother was her cousin. Don't ask me to tell you what relation that makes me. I just call myself a distant relative. And you are Hillary Holt, the new Florence Nightingale of Eagle's Watch. So now we've been introduced. Nice to meet you."
    His attitude was light and flip, and Hillary wasn't at all sure that the feeling was mutual.
    "I thought the family was arriving tomorrow."
    "So we are, formally, that is. The other three will arrive in fashion, late in the morning, I'd guess. But I got an offer of a lift most of the way here from New York, so I grabbed it. Some of us find it necessary to watch our expenses, you know. But I didn't want to bother Aunt Priscilla with my change of plans. She thinks I'm an irresponsible devil. So I just settled in and thought I'd announce myself in the morning. Old Mrs. Raymond took care of everything. Have you run into her yet?" His eyes were twinkling.
    "Run into is exactly what I've done. We don't exactly get along, for some reason."
    "Don't mind Mrs. Raymond," he said, throwing his head back with a laugh. She noticed his even white teeth, his wavy, longish hair, his dark clear eyes. He really was quite handsome when he laughed.
    "Mrs. Raymond and I get on famously. I'm not here often, but when I am, she gives me the royal treatment. But it doesn't surprise me that you don't get the same. Her son, Tony, is about my age, and he was always the apple of her eye. But about three years ago, he ran off with a spritely little redhead, much to his parents' undying dismay.
    "Of course, they blamed it all on the 'willful' girl, but I'll tell you this, old Tony was hooked on her. She was something else. I don't blame him at all, no matter how long it lasts.
    "But Mrs. Raymond says I remind her of her dear boy, and so she coddles me something awful. Which I love."
    He reached out to Hillary