Rituals Read Online Free PDF Page B

easy.
    There is no harm in an illusion that makes the audience laugh and say, “Wow! How did he do that?” But if that audience is in the thrall of someone unethical enough to suggest that such violations of the laws of physics are possible for people with magical powers, then a very real harm has been done. People who believe in impossible things may lack an understanding of the need to conserve water and energy, and they may feel no pressing need to vote for people who are willing to deal with reality.
    A society consisting of people who believe in the irrational could find itself in a condition where only magic can save them. I don’t know about you, but that’s not a society I ever want to see. Consider this book my contribution to the rationality of the world.
    You can thank me any time.

Chapter Four
    The ruins of the old house reminded Faye of Tilda’s body. The northern summer sky hanging over it was a bright clear blue, without the brassy gleam of the morning sky over her Florida home. Traveling down the rural highway to Rosebower would have been a pleasant morning’s drive if Faye hadn’t known she’d find this at the other end.
    The building looked almost as it had looked the night before, weathered siding freshly painted in period-appropriate shades of ochre, but the scalding smoke that had ruined Tilda’s lungs showed itself in dark smudges over the house’s broken windows. A house was a much smaller loss than a human being, but Faye grieved for it anyway. She’d come to believe that old homes grew souls over time, soaking up the happiness and sorrow of their human occupants. Her own home, Joyeuse, had stood as long as this one, plus a little more, and it had its own spiritual presence. Tilda’s house was dead now.
    Faye saw Samuel standing on the sidewalk nearby, so she parked and joined him there, with Amande at her side. He was watching a woman move around within the yellow crime-scene tape bounding Tilda’s property. She carried a camera in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
    â€œThe fire inspector,” Samuel said, nodding in the woman’s direction. “She’s already said that she wants to talk to you. You two—and Myrna and poor Tilda, of course—were the last people in the house before it burned.”
    â€œHow’s Myrna?”
    Samuel spoke like a man who was choosing his words carefully. “About as well as you could expect. She was up all night, pacing and crying. There were a few of us with her, including her niece Dara. I thought we should call a doctor, but the others vetoed that idea. They called Sister Mama and she sent something over that knocked Myrna right out. She’s still sleeping.”
    Faye looked at Amande. “Have we met Sister Mama?” The girl shook her head.
    Samuel smiled for the first time that day, maybe for the first time since Faye had laid eyes on him. He was a very serious soul. Fortunately for Faye, he was serious about local history, and he had enough spare cash to front the money for the historical society to hire her. For this reason, Faye was inclined to overlook his funereal air.
    Samuel’s skin was unlined and his dark hair was only lightly streaked with gray. Now that she’d seen him smile, she realized that he might actually be in his early forties, about her age. One would think that independent wealth would have made him a bit more lighthearted.
    The fire investigator approached, slipping her phone in a pocket to free her right hand. Extending it first to Amande, then to Faye, she said, “I’m Avery Stein. You must be the Longchamp-Mantooth women. Can I ask you a few questions?”
    Faye nodded, and Avery beckoned for them to step over the crime-scene tape. As they walked toward the house, she asked, “Do you remember anything unusual about your time in Ms. Armistead’s house last night?”
    â€œYou mean, other than the séanceand the