Free Bride of the Rat God by Barbara Hambly Page B

gust that whined over the red roof tiles, then died with a sinister scratching of branches on walls and glass.
    What was it, she wondered, about the dream that had troubled her the night before?
    Why had she encouraged the return of a group of patent crackpots to the house that evening to inquire about some problematic danger threatening them from the astral plane?
    On impulse, she stepped lightly down from the porch and descended the steps, circling the house sunwise to climb the steep rise of the ground where the oleanders grew thick. She realized that Felipe, who usually appeared even before Dominga in the mornings, hadn’t shown up at all that day, and that was odd, too. In the house Black Jasmine barked, one or two flat, quacking yaks, probably in defense of one of his toys. Like an echo, the barking in her dreams floated through her mind.
    Coyotes? Merely cries of the wind, that had given nightmares to humans and perhaps to dogs as well?
    For some time she studied the dark foliage that masked the stone of the foundation. Bare, turned-up earth was just visible beneath the sweeping green-black petticoats of the shrubs’ lowest leaves. Cautiously, she grasped a large branch and pulled it aside to reveal the stucco of the wall.
    “Norah, darling!” Christine leaned over the porch rim above her, the white and black egret feathers of her bandeau flicking in the breeze and the jet beading that scaled the bosom of her crimson charmeuse dress glittering. Behind her in the shadows stood a tall form, and a moment later it stepped into the archway beside Christine, revealing the ancient Chinese gentleman from the lobby of the Million Dollar Theater.
    “Norah, this is Shang Ko.” Long facility with mah-jongg and Cantonese appetizers had given Christine great adept-ness with the pronunciation of Chinese names. “He’s a friend of Felipe’s. He says Felipe is no longer able to come up and work here, so he’s taking his place. Wasn’t that nice of him?” And she smiled her most dazzling smile.
    Before Norah could speak—and she felt it was going to be quite some time before she could find the right thing to say—the old gentleman bowed and said, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Blackstone. Miss Flamande has been so good as to offer me room in the cottage behind the garage, as I have no family and it is a long walk back to Los Angeles each evening.”
    “Indeed,” said Norah, completely nonplussed. She released the branch rather numbly. Had he, standing in this spot this morning, come to see what she saw on the stucco of the house’s foundations?
    “And isn’t it wonderful, Norah?” Christine babbled. “With him here, the house won’t be empty when we go off to the desert, and you know I was worried, since Dominga lives in town, too. Oh, good-bye, Dominga, thank you.”
    Beaming, the housekeeper bustled down the front steps and away to catch the streetcar down on Highland Avenue.
    “Won’t you show him the cottage and give him the keys and everything? I’m dying of exhaustion, and Flindy will be back any minute with dinner, and those spiritualist people are coming at seven to tell me all about the astral plane, and—good heavens, Mr. Shang, you don’t happen to play mah-jongg, do you?”
    The dark eyes, with their strange greenish lights, which had gazed so somberly down at Norah, changed and took on a deeply hidden flicker of amusement. “It is many years since I played manchang, Miss Flamande, and then I never pursued it as others did.” He bowed as he spoke. “But to oblige you, between the performance of my duties in the garden, I would make the attempt.”
    “That would be fabulous !” She glowed with delight, beautiful in the last of the sunshine. No wonder, thought Norah, elderly millionaires followed her from room to room in Frank Brown’s mansion and directors who knew she couldn’t act to save her life still struggled to make her look good on the screen. “Maybe we’ll have