Word had gotten around quickly and it seemed as if they'd alienated, if not infuriated, the entire adept

population of Santa Fe. And it would have been even worse, Loomis thought, if they'd known that Paul

was reading their minds. He hadn't said anything about it, of course, and Ginny had reluctantly agreed to

keep her knowledge of Paul's gift to herself, but Loomis had a feeling that it wouldn't be very long before

the word got out. As Ginny had said, it wasn't exactly the world's best-kept secret. There were people in

town who knew about it, which was how Ginny had found out, and with Paul's involvement in the case

being general knowledge, it wouldn't take a great intellect to put two and two together. The people who

knew would talk and when the adepts found out about it, all hell would break loose. Paul would

probably wind up the target of a class action suit. He would certainly lose all his friends. It seemed he'd

lost a lot of them already.

Several of the adepts they'd visited were up and dressed, having been awakened by telephone calls from

colleagues, warning them to expect a visit from the police. They'd been allowed in grudgingly by most of

them, but several had refused to open their doors and told them angrily that they wouldn't be allowed in

without a warrant. Loomis hadn't bothered trying to get their cooperation. He had merely marked their

names off on the list, so that he could obtain the proper warrants in the morning. He could easily have

forced the issue and not bothered with warrants, but that would have only made things worse. He knew

that time was running out on him and the hopelessness of his task was beginning to overwhelm him.

There were not only local adepts to question, but those who had recently arrived in town for the

convention. The necromancer could be any one of them. And if Cornwall was right about the cult angle,

there could be more than one killer. Or maybe Cornwall was just blowing smoke, because he was the

killer himself, though for some reason, Loomis didn't really believe that. He wasn't sure why he didn't

believe it, but his instincts told him that whatever Cornwall was up to, he was playing an entirely different

sort of game. Only what the hell was it? The strain was beginning to tell on Loomis. He couldn't think

straight.

"Things will never be the same again," Paul said suddenly from the backseat. Loomis had thought he was

asleep. He sounded bone-weary. "Even if we find the killer—"

"Whenwe find the killer," Loomis interrupted.

"Whatever," Paul said listlessly. "The end result will be the same. We may stop the killings, but we'll still

be left with an atmosphere of suspicion and distrust that won't dissipate for years."

Loomis shook his head. "I just don't know about these friends of yours," he said. "You'd think they'd be

anxious to help us find the killer. One of their own, who'd betrayed them and everything they stand for.

You'd think they'd understand and want to bend over backward to help."