Dance with the Devil

Начало книги

Katherine Sellers was sure that, at any moment, the car would begin to slide along the smooth, icy pavement and she would lose control of it. She had not had that much driving experience; this was her first time on really bad winter roads.

The sky was a gray metal lid clamped on the pot of the world, so low and flat that it looked as if she could just reach up and tap a fingernail against it. A fine, heavy snowfall — as if someone were adding salt to the stew in this pot — shrouded the Adirondack countryside and swept across the hood of the old Ford, lacing over the windshield. The wipers thumped steadily, a pleasantly reassuring sound, but not reassuring enough to calm her queasy stomach and her bad case of nerves.

Katherine hunched over the steering wheel and peered ahead, straining to part the white curtain that seemed always to be advancing towards her, though it actually arrived and passed her by many times. In the city, cindering crews would have been at work long ago, spreading salt crystals and ashes in the wake of the big, thundering plows. But here, in the boondocks, the situation was something else again!

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