“Do you know what that means?” Teresa resumed. “That the attacker ate it or put it in his pocket and took it with him. Either way, I guess this place already has a devil of its own, and I’m afraid it’s pretty real. I’ll tell you what I’ve been wondering about, Mayor: Does this village intend to cooperate, or will it take yet another assault before it decides to do so?”

The mayor’s eyes and those of his friends shifted to the demonic mask that hung near the beer tap. They saw something else, now, in its predatory snarl.

“Nobody’s saying we won’t cooperate,” said the mayor.

Teresa shook her head.

“You see everyone from outside your community as trespassers—even us, though we’re here to help. You huddle together and reject the outside world thinking that will save you, but all you’re doing is making things worse.”

The mayor didn’t react. He left without saying a word, followed by his friends. Perhaps they were still angry, or perhaps they were now also a little scared.

Teresa sat back down among broken glass and scattered peanuts. The barman hurried over to wipe her table clean and mop the floor, his eyes downcast. A young woman brought her a fresh glass filled to the brim with beer, telling her sheepishly that it was on the house.

Slowly the chatter resumed, though it was quieter than before. Teresa sipped her beer. Only then did she notice the man sitting at a table on the opposite side of the pub. Doctor Ian raised his tankard in Teresa’s direction, and she did the same. She watched him rise to his feet and walk toward her, bringing his hat and beer with him.

“May I?” he asked.

“Of course.”

The doctor sat down.

“You mustn’t take it personally,” he said. “The mayor is a good man, though his methods are questionable. For many families in Travenì, having fewer tourists would make it impossible to make ends meet. There’s not much else to live on around here.”

“I don’t enjoy frightening people or spreading panic, Doctor, but this time I don’t have a choice. Fear is often the difference between survival and death. It can save you.”

“Oh, I understand, of course. Fear originates in the most primitive part of our brain, the one we have in common with reptiles. Even after millions of years of evolution, its core is still here,” he said, tapping at his head, “in a tiny hub the shape of an almond. God must think it indispensable if He hasn’t seen fit to change it in any way.”

Teresa smiled. It seemed bizarre that a man of science should bring God into play when discussing human anatomy.