Miranda looked up and saw the hawk still circling overhead. It seemed to be watching her.

“I’m Miranda Malone.” She held out her hand.

“Lancelot Lucas.” He took her hand in both of his, as if they were old friends. His eyes, golden like a jungle cat’s, mesmerized her and for a moment she lost awareness of everything else. A tingling warmth ran up her arms, into her chest, and she felt strangely lightheaded.

“Where did you learn to drum like that?”

“I studied with a Senagalese master drummer in Salem, Massachusetts.”

Astonished, Miranda said, “I’m from Salem. What a coincidence.”

“Perhaps.”

Now the tingling sensation moved up Miranda’s legs and nestled between them.

A soft fluttering, like a butterfly’s wings, tickled her pussy. What the hell’s going on? she wondered. Her knees began trembling and she sat on the bench, trying to get herself under control. The hawk swooped down and perched on the back of the bench near Lancelot’s shoulder.

Miranda stared at the bird in awe. “Oh my God.”

“This is Hermes,” he said, and the hawk bobbed its head.

Hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt, she asked, “What brought you here?”

“I came searching for a pyramid hidden in a mountain, where occult initiations have been held for generations.”

“Did you find it?”

“I did.” He smiled and his golden eyes flashed. “Would you like to see it?”

Won’t my friends in Salem be envious? She answered, “Yes.”

* * *

I must be out of my mind, following a strange man into the wilderness, Miranda scolded herself as she hiked uphill behind Lancelot. I can’t even get a cell phone signal out here. This is how women get murdered and never found.

Back in the park, the idea of exploring a magician’s secret pyramid had sounded like an irresistible adventure. Now, however, it seemed the height of folly. She was hot and tired, but Lancelot, who must have been fifteen years her senior, scrambled over boulders as sprightly as a boy. And that crazy hawk stayed right overhead, a sentry.