The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,502

course,” said Randall in a low stentorian voice. They all paid a quick heed to him. “And Julien knew what he was doing, because the doorway had a special meaning for him, and for all of them back then.”

“If you tell her all this craziness,” said Anne Marie, “she isn’t going to … ”

“Oh, but I want to know,” said Rowan. “And besides, nothing could prevent us from moving into the house.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” said Randall solemnly.

Lauren threw him a cold disapproving glance. “This is no time for scary tales,” she whispered.

“Do we have to drag up all this dirt!” cried Gifford. The woman was clearly upset. Rowan could see Pierce’s concern. But he was on the very opposite side of the little gathering from his mother. Ryan was close to her. Ryan took her arm, and whispered something in her ear.

She’s going to try to break this up, Rowan thought. “What does the doorway mean?” Rowan asked. “Why did they always stand in front of it?”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Gifford cried. “I don’t see why we have to dig up the past every time we get together. We ought to be thinking about the future.”

“We are talking about the future,” said Randall. “The young woman ought to know certain things.”

“I’d like to know about the door,” said Rowan.

“Well, go on, all of you, old mossbacks,” said Felice. “If you mean to tell something finally after all these years of acting like the kitten who got the cream … ”

“The doorway had to do with the pact and the promise,” said Fielding. “And it was a secret handed down in each generation all the way from the very earliest times.”

Rowan glanced down at Michael, who sat with knees up and his arms resting on them, merely looking up at Fielding. But even from above, she could see the expression of dread and confusion in his face, the same damned expression that came over him every time he talked of the visions. The expression was so uncharacteristic that he looked like someone else.

“I never heard them speak of any promise,” said Cecilia. “Or pact, or any doorway, for that matter.”

Peter Mayfair now joined them, bald as Fielding, and with the same sharp eyes. In fact, all of them were gathering in a circle, three and four deep. Isaac and Wheatfield crowded in behind Pierce.

“That’s because they didn’t speak of it,” said Peter in a quavering and slightly theatrical voice. “It was their secret, and they didn’t want anyone to know.”

“But who do you mean, they?” asked Ryan. “Are you talking about my grandfather?” His voice was slightly slurred from his drinking. He took a hasty swallow. “You are talking about Cortland, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want to … ” whispered Gifford, but Ryan gestured for her to be silent.

Fielding also motioned for Gifford to be quiet. In fact, the glance he threw her was vicious.

“Cortland was one of them, of course,” said Fielding, looking up at bald-headed Peter, “and everybody knew he was.”

“Oh, that’s a dreadful thing to say,” said Magdalene angrily. “I loved Cortland.”

“Many of us loved Cortland,” said Peter angrily. “I would have done anything for Cortland, but Cortland was one of them. He was. And so was your father, Ryan. Big Pierce was one of them as long as Stella was living, and so was Randall’s father. Isn’t that so?”

Randall gave a weary nod, taking a slow sip of his bourbon, the dark-faced servant going unnoticed as he refilled Randall’s glass and quietly poured splashes of golden bourbon in others.

“What do you mean, one of them?” Pierce demanded. “I’ve been hearing this all my life, one of them, not one of them, what does it mean?”

“Nothing,” said Ryan. “They had a club, a social club.”

“The hell they did,” said Randall.

“That all died with Stella,” said Magdalene. “My mother was close to Stella, she went to those parties, there were no thirteen witches! That was all bunk.”

“Thirteen witches?” asked Rowan. She could feel the tenseness in Michael. Through a small break in the circle she could see Aaron, who had turned his back to the tree and was looking up at the sky as if he couldn’t hear them, but she knew that he could.

“Part of the legend,” said Fielding, coldly, firmly, as if to distinguish himself from those around him, “part of the story of the doorway and the pact.”

“What was the story?” asked Rowan.

“That they would all be saved by the doorway