Peregrine's intuition went instantly on the alert. "I've heard that line before," he said. "What's up?"
"Something that warrants our attention," came the gruff response from the other end of the line. "There's been an incident up at the Callanish Ring on the Isle of Lewis. A police colleague has paid me the dubious compliment of asking my opinion - at the scene. He's related by marriage to Callum Kirkpatrick, up at Blairgowrie."
The mention of Kirkpatrick and Blairgowrie instantly brought back to Peregrine chill recall of the horror they had discovered when called out on another cold winter night to investigate a case. He was already familiar with the stone circle at Callanish, having sketched it during his university days in conjunction with a survey course on Scottish archaeology. When McLeod related how the site had been desecrated, the young artist experienced a mingled pang of distaste and foreboding.
"If you think I can be of service, of course I'll come," he told the inspector. "What are the arrangements?"
"I've got some pull with a chap who's got a private plane," McLeod replied. "Weather permitting, he's agreed to fly us up at first light."
"Well, fortunately, that isn't nearly as early as it might be, other times of the year," Peregrine said, retrieving his pencil from Hero to jot down notes. "About half past eight, then?"
"Aye. Meet us at the airport, and don't forget your kit."
"Will do. Have you any idea when we'll be getting back?"
"None," McLeod said succinctly.
"That's what I like about working with you, Noeclass="underline" everything's always so well-planned," Peregrine said drily. "Anything else?"
"Nothing I can think of. See you tomorrow morning. Cheery-bye."
The inspector rang off. Peregrine cradled the receiver, grimacing at McLeod's ironic farewell, then realized that Julia was standing in the doorway.
"That was Noel McLeod, wasn't it?" she observed. "Is there some kind of trouble afoot?"
"I don't know yet," Peregrine said. "Hopefully, just a bit of a mystery."
Julia scooped up the kitten. Cradling the purring bundle on her shoulder as she sat, she asked, "Are you allowed to tell me about it? Or does this fall under the Unofficial Secrets Act?"
Peregrine gave his wife a sharp look. "The Unofficial Secrets Act?"
"That's what I call it, anyway," Julia said with a smile. "You know what I'm talking about: the Statute of Confidentiality. The Code of Professional Conduct for Psychic Investigators. Whatever system of ethics sets the rules of the game when you and Noel and Adam have an investigation under way. The sort of thing you do on the quiet so the newspapers won't find out about it."
Julia's manner was composed, her blue eyes disconcertingly bright as she waited for his response. Peregrine shifted uncomfortably, toying with his pencil.
"You make it sound very hole-in-the-corner," he protested.
"That's what makes it so exciting," she said. "Are you going to tell me about it or not? I know you may not be able to tell me everything, but - "
It was not the first time Peregrine had found himself caught out by his wife's discernment. With an inward sigh, he asked, "How much have you heard already?"
"Your half of the conversation," Julia said. "Which was, shall we say, less than complete."
Peregrine hesitated, not quite certain how to begin. "The facts aren't very savory," he warned.
His wife arched an eyebrow. "Worse than finding a body on our honeymoon?"
"No. Not nearly as bad as that, thank God."
The body had been that of an Irish Fisheries officer washed up on the west coast of Scotland, initially believed merely to have been lost at sea. But eventually the body had tied in with a far more sinister set of circumstances that had taken the resources of both the Scottish and Irish Hunting Lodges to resolve. As at Blairgowrie, the trail had led back to one Francis Raeburn, a powerful black magician as dedicated to the pursuit of illegitimate power as the members of the Hunting Lodge were dedicated to the service of the Light. Though Raeburn again had managed to elude justice, at least his intentions had been thwarted - but not before Peregrine had been obliged to make some telling disclosures to his new wife about his secondary line of work as a psychic investigator.
"Are you going to tell me nor not?" Julia said quietly, still stroking the kitten. "You needn't be coy. If you can take it, so can I."
Still prey to some misgivings, Peregrine repeated the broad facts of the case as McLeod had reported it to him.
"This may turn out to be nothing more than a crass and ugly prank," he told her at the end of his recital. "On the other hand, there might be something far more serious at stake. Either way, since Adam's in America, it's up to Noel and me to look into the matter."
Julia absent-mindedly scratched the kitten's furry ears as she mulled over what Peregrine had told her.
"What exactly are you going to be looking for?" she asked. "I mean, I know you don't see things as other people do - or rather, that you see things that aren't apparent to the rest of us. But since psychic impressions aren't exactly admissible as evidence in a court of law, I'm not sure what practical purpose your efforts serve."
"It all depends on what area of jurisdiction you're talking about," Peregrine replied. "I'm less concerned about satisfying the requirements of the law than I am with upholding Justice."
"It sounds like you're talking about some kind of justice on a higher plane," she ventured.
He paused a moment, nodding as he continued. "I suppose I am. But actually, you might think of Noel and me - and Adam - as being the psychic equivalents of government health inspectors. Where conventional public health officials are charged with the task of identifying environmental health hazards, we look for evidence of psychic pollution."
"Psychic pollution?"
"Precisely," Peregrine went on more eagerly. "You see, evil, like goodness, is an active force in the world. It involves traceable expenditures of energy - psychic energy as well as physical exertion. That expenditure of psychic energy leaves behind residual evidence in the form of psychic resonances. Those resonances can be as tangible in their own way as a bad smell or a dissonant jangle of noise - or images, in my case. If you're psychically attuned to the right frequency, you can sense what is wholesome and what isn't."
Julia considered this explanation, finally nodding comprehension. "I see. And if you and Noel find something unwholesome in this instance, what will you do about it?"
"Extend the investigation, and hope it will get us to the root of the problem, so we can resolve it."
"But health inspectors don't have enforcement authority," Julia pointed out. "What if the problem turns out to be more than you can handle?"
"Then we call in more help," Peregrine said. "And we do have enforcement authority." He smiled at his wife reassuringly.
"Noel and Adam and I aren't alone in this venture, Julia. I don't know all the other people involved in our vocation, but I do know this: We stand united in opposing evil wherever it rears its head. It isn't easy work - and I won't lie to you and tell you it's always safe. But if one of us should ever be seriously in need of help, there are no lengths the rest wouldn't go to in order to render aid."
Chapter Nine
A forty-mile stretch of open water separates the Isle of Lewis from the Scottish mainland. Skimming half a mile above the foam-flecked waves in their twin-engine Cessna, Peregrine pressed his forehead against the window glass and watched the shadow of the plane sweep before them like a dark hound leading the hunt. He hoped there was nothing but poetic allusion in the comparison. With the nature of the case confronting them yet to be determined, he preferred not to encounter any ill omens at this early stage of their investigation.