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soft undertone, "if that woman's Catholic, then the Pope's a Unitarian." He sighed. "If the Alumbrados ever do send anyone, it'll probably be a guy in an I AM THAT MAN FROM NANTUCKET T-shirt."

Nickie, I'm not being paranoid. . . .

He grimaced, all the response she needed. "Elle, please, just live a little. For both of us. It's not like being up the sleeve ever did me any good. No one but you even knows who Will-o'-Wisp was, or even remembers half of what I did. And in the end, I still got killed. . . ."

Before she was born, Ellen knew, but before she could respond, Nick took the hat off and she was alone inside her skull. Again.

Ellen clutched the worn fedora for a long moment, then slipped it back inside her satchel, shouldering it as bravely as she could, and soldiered on, wind stinging her eyes. Nick was right. Live a little. She smiled and nodded to the woman on the prayer rug and walked on past.

The woman stopped shaking her sistrum and stared at Ellen's throat. "Kamea."

Ellen paused, her free hand coming up to where the wind had whipped the scarf aside, almost touching the exposed brooch. "Excuse me?" she asked, stepping back a pace.

"Kamea," the woman repeated, a word in what sounded like Arabic or Hebrew, then gestured to Ellen's cameo with her free hand. "You bear the charm, the face of Nepthys, the white goddess in the black night. You are her avatar and my prayers have been answered."

"Nepthys?" Ellen echoed, trying to place it as she fumbled for Nick's hat.

"The wife of Set," the woman supplied, "the mother of Anubis and the sister of Isis. And, oh, my dear sister, I am Isis. Isis of the Living Gods. My brother-husband, Osiris, he-who-rose-from-the-dead, had a vision that the avatar of Nepthys would arise at dawn on this morn from the waves at the whale road's end." She gestured with her sistrum, bars chiming softly, indicating Nantucket. "Nepthys would rise, surrounded by the dead that walk and the wind that wails."

The morning wind was brisk but not yet wailing, and as for walking dead, at this hour, there weren't even any hungover tourists. Ellen raised an eyebrow. "See any of those?" she asked, her hand inside her satchel, a death grip on the dead man's fedora.

"No," Isis admitted. "My brother-husband's visions are sometimes confused. I'm afraid he was a little drunk when he had this one. He gets free drinks at the Luxor. I believe his exact words were 'zombies and hurricanes.' " She covered her eyes. "I'm sorry, my daughter has died and I have been clinging to Hope's slimmest thread . . . ." Isis fell to her knees, her sistrum vibrating in a white-knuckled shake. "O Nepthys, send me a sign!"

Ellen bent down, hugging the woman hard before she started ululating. "Hush," Ellen hissed, then whispered in her ear, "I'm the ace you're looking for, but please, I'm up the sleeve."

"O Nepthys be praised," she breathed. "Thank you, O sister."

"I can't promise anything. Just get your stuff and follow me." Ellen rubbed at the bit of Isis's makeup that had smeared on her own cheek and led her back to the dinghy, placing her satchel with Nick's precious hat by her feet. "We can speak when we get to my boat."

The wind was stronger rowing out than rowing in. By the time they were at the boat it was seriously whipping Ellen's ponytail. Isis's circlet was at least keeping some out of her face. "Will-o'-Wisp . . ." Isis read the name on the sailboat's stern. "That is . . . a drowned soul?"

"Yes." Ellen tied up, clambering up the ladder, then helped Isis ascend with her bag. "Let's go below deck." Ellen ushered Isis into the main cabin and shut the door securely behind them. Sound carried, and when dealing with mad monks, one never could be too paranoid.

Isis stood in the middle of the cabin, taking in the Philippine mahogany, the easel, the sketches, the assorted bits and bolts of cloth, and the vintage sewing machine with a half-finished dress strewn inside-out across the galley table. "I wasn't expecting visitors." Ellen shoved aside the unfinished dress, making a place for Isis. "I don't cook, but do you take tea?"

"Yes, please," said Isis. Ellen nodded. A kettle would have been nicer, but a micro wave was a small luxury for a single woman. She didn't bother to ask what type Isis