"Good evening." The deep voice purrs into the dark studio. "I'm Dorian Stravinsky."

A scream, followed instantly by a hundred others as the orchestra crashes into the familiar theme. The audience leaps to its feet, glistening eyes tracing the intricate laser whirls overhead that suddenly spin into a vortex then explode in a slash of light center-stage to illuminate the speaker. He stands tall and still amidst the thunderous acclaim, eyes slowly panning across the audience, the famous secret smile playing across his lips as if from a private joke. Black jacket, old style with long tails. A crimson splash knotted about the collar of a luminous white shirt, slightly paler than the face above. The eyelids close, followed by a luxurious shake of the silvery-blonde mane as if basking in a liquid ovation. With a howl of glee the crowd responds, the applause at its apex as the music reaches a crescendo. Eyes flash open, and a full smile for the first time. A crash of cymbals as the music ends, applause and whistles alone echoing off the walls. One hand then rises as in greeting or benediction, and the clapping scatters to a quick death. He gazes now into a room of silence.

"Welcome," he says formally, amplified voice rumbling through the theater. "Welcome to another encounter with what lurks just beyond [dramatic pause] the senses of the sane."

Barris snorted and gestured angrily with the beer bottle. "You see? That's the kind of crap he goes through every night, pumped live into seven million homes, fifteen million gullible viewers sucking it up like the little mindless swillers they are." He drained the bottle in two quick swallows and slid it across the desk to bounce off of the video monitor.

I caught the bottle and set it calmly next to the others lining the desktop, nodding at Barris. "Yeah, he's got the formula all right. Whips'em into a frenzy, then scares the hell out of 'em."

"I know...would you listen to this? Listen to what he's got tonight."

The silky voice rumbled from the wall speakers. "...ving into your homes tonight two visitors, members of covens of conflicting values. 'Montana', as she would like to be called, feels that a coven's operations are best performed in secret, and has agreed to come on this program to discuss the necessity of this. In keeping with her desires, we will mask her face and alter her voice to protect her anonymity."

"Well, that's one of the smarter things I've seen happen on this show. At least she won't be pointed at in the streets tomorrow."

"Shh, Boss." I leaned forward to listen as another face filled the screen, garishly made-up eyes shining above a pretty freckled face, black hair seeming to float hugely above her shoulders. "...ack Oaks coven, located in Masetown Heights, is Daisy McKeen," Stravinsky continued. "Daisy says that being a witch is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, she's proud to proclaim her heritage and methods, since she believes that nobody can become a witch just from watching a program or reading a magazine, that instead it takes years of dedicated training under a seasoned professional." Daisy smiled confidently and nodded, as Barris slapped his hand on his knee.

"Ya see? The blunt acceptance of it? They're not even gonna discuss whether there really are or aren't witches, they're just gonna talk about which witch is better!" He laughed at his pun and reached into the small refrigerator behind him for another beer. I glanced at him as he flipped off the cap and swallowed deeply. Barris' drinking habits weren't my concern. I didn't feel any need to keep up with him, and he didn't seem to mind. After all, I wasn't really here for pleasure. Barris didn't call me into his office a half hour before midnight to watch some magicked weirdoes doing their own talk show because he liked me. I looked at the monitor again.

"Positive energy, Dorian," Daisy was saying. "It flows through and around every living thing in existence, and contains the accumulated essence of the world's experiences. By properly locating the lines of power..."

"Now you're doing it here!" Montana's computer-altered voice cut in. "You said we would discuss whether or not to reveal our hidden secrets, and you jump out and expose us..."

"Hidden secrets? What's that mean?" Daisy snapped back. "I don't think you even know what the real power truly comes from anyway..." The audience was talking back and forth now, and pandemonium ruled momentarily. Then Stravinsky walked forward with his microphone raised.

"Okay. Audience? Be silent. You'll have a chance for comments later. Right now I think it's time to introduce our other guest, Dr. Ned Belmont. Dr. Belmont has studied the history of Wicca and Gaia, among others, and has some interesting insights into why such similar professions could have such discordant philosophies. We'll talk with Dr. Belmont, but first this word from one of tonight's sponsors." The applause rose, and I turned the volume down and looked at Barris. He was a first-rate editor, but we worked for an admittedly third-rate trash news rag with sales heading rapidly for the basement. I waited.

He stared at me over the brown bottle, then said in an unnaturally quiet voice, "What do you think?"

The question caught me off guard. Was I supposed to do public-access cable reviews now? "Well boss," I began. "It's a pretty well-made show. He's obviously got a lot of backing to afford the cameras, and the audience..."

"No, no, DeStoya," Barris waved a hand. "Not the style. The content. What do you think of the subject matter? The attitude?"

I frowned and shrugged. "Um, late night mysticism, obviously a bunch of people who get a kick out of hearing these kinds of people tell what makes them tick. I've never really seen the show before. I don't usually stay up this late." Not when I have to get up at three-thirty I don't, I thought, glancing at the wall clock.

Barris leaned forward. "I'll tell you what I think. This Stravinsky character isn't out to show us alternate lifestyles and explain why these people think they can dance with the devil. He presents it all as a matter of fact, that these two are really witches, that their covens really do perform magic. Hell, this doctor he's got on isn't there to give an objective view on witchcraft being or not being real. This guy's there accepting them as real. He'll be pointing out their different styles and beliefs, but the underlying theme is still that these are real witches! The only kind of skeptics that show up here are fighting over who's got the best interpretation of the Necronomicon Runes, or the value of varying purities of silver in bullets shot at a werewolf!" Barris leaned back to pull again from the bottle, then grimaced and set the beer down.

I looked at the set again where Dr. Belmont was silently talking, gesturing at Daisy next to him on the stage. Stravinsky stood nodding near the audience, then mouthed something back at the stage. "What else does he have on here besides witches?"

"Hmph. You name it. Self-proclaimed werewolves, warlocks, devil-worshippers, voodoo priests. Anything remotely related to the occult is given free reign. Some guys were on last week claiming to be disguised aliens from the Pleiades, surveying mankind for spiritual qualities. He likes vampires. Hell, he looks like a vampire in that get-up. He's had them on a lot, real sickos who actually think they need to drink blood. Guess a lot of'em get by on animal blood. Hah, s'not that easy getting human blood, not being a law-abiding vampire and all," he chuckled into his bottle.

"Do you think he thinks he's a real vampire?" I asked.

"Nah, he's obviously in makeup. Besides, he's pretty slick, he asks some good questions, kind of puts these guys on the spot. Not to attack what they think they are, now, but to get their stories accurate, drawing out all the dirty little details people like to hear." He was silent for a moment, looking at Montana's shadowed profile. "But why is this show so damn popular? I mean, sure people like to watch these shows for the sensationalism, to see that their lives aren't nearly as messed up as the poor slob who bares it all on TV. But this show isn't received quite like the others. People talk about it, but they aren't mocking it." He leaned forward and looked at me. "People are believing what they're seeing. They'll be talking tomorrow about which method of witchcraft makes the most sense to them, not about whether these three are ding-dongs for saying they're witches at all. Do you see?"

I wasn't sure. I looked at the set again. Daisy was talking directly to the camera. She didn't look like a witch, not what I'd pictured a witch as looking like. She was actually quite good-looking, and very serious about what she was saying. I eyed Barris again.

"What do you want me to do, a report on how they film this? Where they find the guests?"

"More than that, DeStoya," Barris said. "Find out what makes the audience tick. The viewers. This is the highest-rated show for this time period. Why? Why are so many people staying up to watch this stuff? Why do they talk about it as if it were gospel? Why are they so willing to accept that this guy on TV really did eat a hitchhiker, but his main concern is having to buy a new wardrobe every month?"

"Who, Stravinsky?"

"No, the werewolf. Last Tuesday. Why are we sympathetic to these acknowledged murderers? How come they get so much acceptance? That's the tale I want told. That's what I want you to do."

I stood up and walked around the desk for another beer. Barris punched the volume button on the remote.

"...deep repression in Montana, revealing itself in her interpretation of her coven's desires. Their actual practices do not reflect the degree of restrictiveness that she claims." Dr. Belmont, thin and fidgety, looked uncomfortably at Daisy. She had unbuttoned her collar and was looking at the doctor from under lowered eyelashes, her mouth slightly open. "The, uh, Black Oaks Coven, on the other hand, has embraced a freedom of expression not found in most other organizations, and, um, but...this is not necessarily bad. They do seem to function effectively..."

"Yeah, they're effective all right," came Montana's voice. "Look what she's doing! She's enspelling him right here!"

Daisy looked up, blinking innocently. "I'm not be-spelling anyone, sweetie. I just enjoy looking at Ned," she smiled.

"Okay, both of you," said Stravinsky, coming up next to the slightly befuddled-looking doctor. "We're all aware of the ground rules and that we do have sensitives to note any spellcraft. Daisy, my darling," He moved to place a hand gently on her head. "Your natural charms can be bewitching." The audience chuckled, as Daisy rolled her eyes. "Please try to keep them in check for a while longer. It's about time for some questions from the audience. Yes, you sir, in the blue shirt."

I saw the audience clearly for the first time. I guess I expected red-lined capes and pointed hats, but these were just your average people, business suits and t-shirts, some obviously tourists, most could be anyone's next-door neighbor.

"Yeah, I got a question for Montana." He was a big man, looked like he spent a lot of time in the sun. "I don't know, it just seems to me that with you hiding behind that screen and all, with your voice changed, well, it just makes me kind of nervous to think that your coven is out there operating in secrecy. I mean, I don't know what you're doing, black or white magic. At least with Daisy's coven, we know what they're all about, and I feel a lot more comfortable with them than you." Scattered shouts of agreement from the crowd drowned out Montana's answer for a moment, then Stravinsky cut in.

"Well, I didn't really see the question in that, but it's an interesting point. How many people here feel that Montana's secrecy makes them suspicious?" A brief burst of applause. "How many do not feel that their concern for privacy is something to be worried about?" Scattered applause, not as much as before. Daisy grinned and ran one hand through her hair.

Belmont cut in. "May I say that I also do not feel that Daisy has compromised her profession in anything she said tonight. In fact, her alluring responses have only served to strengthen the respect I have for her years of devoted study." He smiled wanly at her. She bowed her head slightly and smiled back.

"Come on, Dorian, this seems pretty one-sided," Montana rasped angrily. "It's obvious he's not thinking objectively..."

"Well, Montana, it was your choice not to show your pretty face tonight," Stravinsky said. He turned to the camera and spoke louder over her voice. "We'll be back with more questions, after this." The music rose, and then abruptly cut off.

Barris tossed the remote back on the desk. "I've been watching this thing for nine weeks now, and I can't figure it out. Hell, I admit it's fun to watch. But why such a success?" He pointed a finger at me. "Give me a story, something I can run on page two. Make it a three-parter, we need to keep pulling in readers." He grabbed the remote and leaned back, looking at the monitor.

I slowly got up, and set down my bottle. "How soon do you want it?"

He didn't look at me. "One week."

Great. I nodded and walked out of his office. As the door closed I heard the sound come back on, and Stravinsky's smooth voice welcoming the viewers back. One week, I thought. I needed to get some sleep.