I was also sent to a Web site on cryptozoology, which studied legendary animals - like Bigfoot. They thought there were werewolves all over the place.
Next, I typed Gypsies into the search engine. I got back a helluva lot.
I made my way to a promising Web site, run by an anthropologist in California writing a book about the legends and folktales of the Rom. She asked for any new tales to be sent to her at an e-mail address provided. A table of contents for the book listed the titles of the chapters she'd already written.
One in particular interested me - "Strigoi de lup" - because loupe meant "wolf" in some language or another, so it followed that lup might be just that in Romani. Wouldn't hurt to ask.
I clicked on the e-mail link, composed my question, and hit send. A creak on the staircase made me tilt my head, my ears crackling as I strained to listen.
While I doubted a werewolf would creep quietly up my stairs - I had firsthand experience that a werewolf would just crash through the window - nevertheless, I was nervous.
I grabbed the phone, stuffed it into my pocket, then glanced around my office for a weapon of some sort.
"Where's a silver candlestick when you need one?" I muttered, though I'd never been able to figure out exactly when such a thing would be needed. Now I knew.
I picked up a crystal paperweight. Beggars couldn't be choosers.
Creeping into the hall, I cursed my father's thrifty nature. After years of nagging, I could no longer leave a room without shutting off a light, so the stairwell was as dark as the first floor below it. Shadows swirled. To me, they all looked like wolves.
I was just turning back to the office when another creak made me hurry forward, skirting as close to the wall as I could, hoping if I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me.
Yeah, that always worked.
Reaching the landing, I peered down the steps.
They were empty.
A scritch from the other direction made me spin.
Oprah sat in the middle of the carpet, blinking solemnly.
Duh. The cat. How could I have forgotten? In my defense, I had been thinking of a hundred other things.
Suddenly Oprah's gaze shifted behind me, and she hissed, then scampered away. I had a really bad feeling something was coming up those stairs. Perhaps something I couldn't see but Oprah sensed.
I wanted to follow the cat to whatever hiding place she'd run to, but I'd let fear drive me from Atlanta. I would not let fear stalk me here.
I spun around to discover Malachi halfway up the steps. I let out the breath I'd been holding in a noisy rush.
The relief I felt not to discover a slavering, snarling man-wolf disappeared as my head went light with delayed reaction.
"Are you crazy?" I held up the paperweight and waved it around. "I could have killed you!"
He approached cautiously. "I don't think that would have killed me. "
"Think again," I muttered.
Right now the adrenaline rush was so high, I thought I might fly. I would definitely have caused some damage if I'd put that energy into my pitching arm.
"How did you get in?"
"Did you think any lock could keep me out?"
"You couldn't knock? Ring the bell?"
"I didn't want to wake you. "
"Only frighten me half to death. " The paperweight dropped from my suddenly limp fingers, and I swayed.