“I’ll take care of you, Nan.”
“You a sweet man, Arn,” she said, putting her head on his shoulder and hugging his arm, “but you already has a wife. One’s enough for any man to take care of. Don’t want you to join the coven either.
“But now I’m scart. I’m in far deeper than I want to be—feared of Yog—thing ain’t at all humanlike! Wants to leave the group if’n I can find a way. Will you help me, Arn?”
“Course I will. But tell me a tad ’bout Chief Bates. How come he be the leader, wearing them phony horns and the like?”
“Oh, Ed be just a big bogus, Arn. Say he be the son of Margaret Alice Murray who he claim knows all ’bout witchcraft. Died in ’63, I think he said. Because of her, he say he be the leader, the High Priest. While back he make me the High Priestess. Don’t care what he calls h
