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job.”
    The stillness shattered; they all moved at once. Father Mac took the cup, his father got up and went out, his mother flicked the television channels.
    â€œA job?” the priest growled. “Who’s that desperate?”
    â€œAs an archaeological artist.”
    â€œSounds impressive. What do they pay?”
    â€œNo idea.” He sat down. “Actually, I don’t know anything about it, but it might be interesting.”
    Father Mac nodded, drinking. “Something a bit different for the portfolio.”
    â€œThat’s what I was thinking.”
    They were doing what they always did. Making a conversation up, acting it out before his parents. Reassuringly normal. His mother was the actress, but now she sat there tired and subdued, like an audience at a boring play. Their whole life was a play, a pretense at normality, he thought, getting up to see Father Mac out.
    â€œYou get straight to bed, Katie Mcguire.” The priest took the remote control in his big hands and turned the television firmly off. “Tomorrow’s another day.”
    She looked up at him, her eyes red rimmed. “How many more days? How many, Mac?”
    Gently, he shook his head. “Trust the Lord, Kate. Trust him. We’ll get her back.” He paused a moment, his gray-stubbled face hard, his eyes steady. Then he called, “God bless, John!”
    Out on the porch, Rob breathed in the night air. The darkness of the garden was soft with smells: wet grass, lavender, honeysuckle. Bats flitted, tiny dark flutters around the roof. His godfather came and stood next to him, a big clumsy shape that took out a cigarette and lit it. The lighter made a sputter of sound, a cobalt blue flame. It threw shadows on the priest’s face, moving hollows, darknesses. It would be good to draw him like that, Rob thought, to get all the edginess and danger that was in him.
    The lighter went out; Father Mac started to walk down the drive. “So. Is this job at Avebury?”
    â€œNot really. There’s some sort of new dig toward East Kennet. I might not go—it’s just an idea.”
    â€œYou go.” Mac turned at once. “If they think you’ve got something to fill your days, that’ll help them. Remember our deal, Robbie. Problems to me, normal face to them. Untroubled. Supportive. Your mother’s acting the biggest part of her life right now. Woman deserves an Oscar.” He smoked rapidly, his weight crunching the gravel on the winding drive. Behind him the trees were dark against the sky. Just before the road he turned. “That reminds me. What’s wrong?”
    Rob grimaced. “Apart from the obvious, you mean?”
    â€œApart from that.”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œYou look a bit … askew.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Mac snorted. “Knocked sideways.”
    Rob smiled, alarmed. The big man was so sharp. It was as if he felt what you were thinking, picked up some sort of invisible vibe. For an instant Rob was ready to blurt it all out, about the girl on the horse who had been Chloe riding Callie, the horse that was dead now, that had been killed in the accident. For a second he was desperate to be reassured, to be told it couldn’t have happened, that it wasn’t real. But Mac wouldn’t say that. Mac would smoke and consider and say something deep that would keep him awake all night, wondering. So instead he opened the gate and laughed. “Think I’ve joined a New Age tribe.”
    Mac groaned.
    â€œPeople of the Cauldron, they call themselves. Waiting for a master to come down and lead them.”
    â€œHe’s already been. Hasn’t anyone told them?” Mac ground the cigarette butt out and tapped Rob on the shoulder. “Don’t you get mixed up with that guff. Well-meaning but totally confused, most pagans.”
    Going through the gate he took a few steps and turned. “Did he turn